"Good."
"And Chiun and I talked to Don Cooder."
"Was that wise? Given their past history?"
"Chiun was so stuck on finding Cheeta, he didn't cause any more of a fuss than usual."
Smith released the air in his lungs slowly. It would have passed for a sigh if it weren't for a certain nasal whistling quality.
Remo added, "Cooder has a harebrained theory."
"Yes."
"He thinks Dieter Banning is behind this."
"Banning? The ANC anchor?"
"I told him the center of the jamming area looked like Canada to me and-"
"Canada?"
"Yeah. BCN showed a graphic. The center looked like Canada to me."
"Where exactly?" Smith asked.
"Search me. Canada might as well be Antarctica for all I know about it."
"Remo, I just got off the phone with the President. The FCC has so far been unable to get a fix on the audio transmission. I wonder if it is because the signal is not of domestic origin, as supposed."
"Would the Canadians be jamming our TV?"
"Canada has always been sensitive to U.S. cultural contamination. Particularly in the area of broadcast signal spillover. Their Federal government is engaged in a program of converting their television broadcast system to cable in the hope of regulating-in effect, prohibiting-U.S. television programs from reaching their citizenry."
"What's wrong with our programs?"
"They complain about the violence and corruption."
"They don't have violence or corruption up on Canada?" Remo asked.
"They have a different culture than we do," Smith said.
"I didn't know they had any culture."
Smith's voice grew sharp, "Remo, why does Don Cooder suspect Dieter Banning of complicity in this matter?"
"He thinks Banning is a Canadian agent. Is it possible?"
"I cannot say, but Don Cooder is well-known for his reliable news sources. He could be right. Remo, look into the Banning connection. It is all we have until we get a precise fix on the pirate signal."
"Okay, but I can't count on Chiun. He's making noises about looking for Cheeta in every hospital in the city."
"Your priority is the assignment. Perhaps one will lead to the other."
"One other thing, Smitty."
"Yes?"
"I found some prescription pills in Cheeta's office. Looks like she dropped them on her way out the door."
"What is it called?"
"Terbutaline Sulfate."
Smith logged onto his portable pharmacopoeia database and input the unfamiliar words.
"Remo," he said, "Terbutaline Sulfate is normally prescribed to delay labor, where there is risk of a premature birth."
"According to the label," Remo said, "the prescription was refilled just last week."
"I am not sure I understand," Smith said slowly. "Miss Ching is now in her tenth month."
"Well, I do. Cheeta's been trying to keep the kid in until sweeps month."
"Preposterous. What kind of mother-to-be would-"
"A ratings hound," snapped Remo. "And if all that's holding her back are these pills, then Cheeta could drop the big one any second now, and our troubles come in triplets."
"Remo, look into the Banning angle. Make no moves without further consultation. I will pursue my own leads."
Harold Smith hung up and returned to his yogurt, a pained expression on his lemony face. He was not thinking of the developing crisis, or of Cheeta Ching's impending childbirth. Harold Smith was thinking of the cable installation fee that would have to come out of the CURE operating budget. It was a small expenditure in the larger scheme of things. Still, it rankled his thrifty soul.
Licking the last traces of yogurt from the plastic spoon he fully intended to wash and surreptitiously return to the Folcroft cafeteria dispenser, Smith made a mental vow to cancel his subscription to cable as soon as this crisis had passed. He hoped to solve it in thirty days. The entire fee was refundable if cancelled in the first month.
It made him feel much better as he piloted his station wagon back through the watchful stone lions that guarded the gates of Folcroft Sanitarium.
Chapter 19
Remo Williams stepped from the phone booth near Times Square. It looked like a ghost town of boarded-up theaters, storefronts and deserted buildings.
There was no sign of the Master of Sinanju. Anywhere.
"Damn," he said.
Remo had left Chiun at a line of cabs, telling him that he would only be a minute. Chiun had agreed without the usual argument, because the location allowed him to watch the BCN studio entrance, in case Cheeta Ching showed up.
Remo had felt guilty over prolonging the deception, and was half-resolved to break down and tell the truth about Cheeta's abduction, but now . . .