"This is Melcher," a harried voice said. "We're a little busy down here, Smith. What can I do for you?"
"You went off the air at approximately 3:30."
"Three twenty-eight. I know because that's when my heart stopped, too. We couldn't get out a signal no matter what we did, so we switched to our backup tape library to run the most recent feed. The master monitor showed a No Signal. We can't figure it out. We got so desperate we tried airing commercials only, and got the same damn thing."
"You might enter your tape library, pull a tape at random and play it on a machine," Smith suggested.
"What good would that do?"
"Try it please."
Smith held the line. A minute later, the program director came back on. "The fucking thing-excuse my Cajun-is coming up No Signal on the tape deck. It's prerecorded to go out black. And there are other tapes with that glory hound Cooder on it wearing a TV set for a helmet."
"Your tape library has been sabotaged," said Smith.
"I know that now."
"Who is in charge of your prerecorded library?"
"Duncan. Why?"
"He may be the saboteur."
"Duncan? He's one of the best. We got him from BCN. "
"Excuse me. Did you say BCN?"
"That's right. They laid him off and we snapped him right up. Good timing, too. A hit and run driver had just nailed the guy he replaced."
Smith, Remo and Chiun exchanged silent glances.
"One more question," said Smith. "Before you went off the air, you were about to air a taped segment."
"We call them pieces and yeah, we never got it out."
"What was the content of that piece?"
"It was a sayonara piece, you know, a feel-good thing. We always end broadcasts with something light. This one was about a religious statue that just up and appeared on a mountain up in Canada. No one can explain it."
"I see. Where did you get this information?"
"Where else? It came off the wire and we put our Montreal correspondent on it."
As Harold Smith had been listening, his thin fingers were picking apart the international section of his morning paper. He scanned the first page and turned to the second. When his eyes came to page three, they widened.
"Holy Christ!" Remo exploded. "I know what that is!"
"Who's that?" asked Melcher.
"Thank you for your time," Smith said and hung up.
Smith looked up from the paper. Remo and Chiun were staring at the photo over the headline: MYSTERY STATUE APPEARS ON MOUNTAINTOP.
"That's St. Clare of Assisi," said Remo.
"Yes," echoed Chiun. "It is definitely St. Clare."
"Yes?" said Smith, face and voice equally blank.
"She is the patron saint of television," intoned Chiun. "Pope Pius XII placed that odious burden on her frail shoulders in 1958, poor woman."
"How do you both know this?" Smith asked.
"Simple," said Remo. "Don Cooder had a statuette just like this on his desk."
They looked to the TV screen where the computer-generated image of Don Cooder with a television set for a head continued gesturing animatedly.
"So," Remo said. "Does this mean that Cooder is Captain Audion after all, or he isn't?"
Chapter 32
Don Cooder refused to vacate the tiny television studio in One Times Square.
"Don Cooder is not leaving this studio," he shouted.
"Please, Don," begged Tim Macaw in a wheedling voice.
"Yeah, Don," added Ned Doppler. "You had your turn. Give us a shot."
"Never. As of right now, Don Cooder owns broadcast news. My audience may be small, but it's the only audience there is. When this is all cleared up, I'll go down in anchor history."
"You're already on the front pages of the newspaper," said Macaw. "Isn't that enough?"
"Liar! I did that interview only two hours ago. The paper won't come out until tomorrow."
"They put out an extra," Doppler explained.
Don Cooder's voice grew suspicious. "An extra what?"
"An extra afternoon edition. Just to cover breaking developments. You know, like a bulletin."
"Can newspapers do bulletins?"
"The News did," said Doppler.
"So did the Times," added Macaw.