"Can't, Don. It's as thick as a telephone book."
"Now I know you're lying. Nice try. Newspapers are dying."
"Thanks to Captain Audion, they're coming back.
"Even USA Today put out an extra. With today's news for a change."
"Slip the front page under the door."
"If we do," Macaw asked, "will you come out?"
"No."
"Then we're not slipping you anything," snapped Doppler.
"First man who slips me a readable front page will be interviewed on my next newscast."
Paper started cramming and bunching up under the door so fast it tore. Don Cooder pulled pieces free and began to assemble them on the studio floor like a jigsaw puzzle.
A headline read:
TV BLACKED OUT!
Is Captain Audion Don Cooder?
Another said:
NO NEWS FIT TO BROADCAST
Newsprint Makes a Comeback
"Let us in, Don."
But Don Cooder wasn't hearing the pleading of his colleagues. He was looking at a sidebar story that showed a photograph of St. Clare of Assisi, two hundred feet high, standing atop a mountain in Canada.
"I've changed my mind," he said suddenly. "You can both broadcast."
And he flung open the door.
Tim Macaw and Ned Doppler plowed in and tackled the anchor seat like opposing linebackers.
They were literally pulling it and their clothing apart in their frenzy to be the first to plant his posterior in the rickety bentwood chair, as Don Cooder, a feverish gleam in his eyes, slipped out the building bundled up in a belted trenchcoat, dark glasses, and Borsalino hat.
No one in the growing crowd surrounding the big TV screen overlooking Times Square noticed him as he ducked into an idle cab.
"Kennedy Airport, driver," he bit out.
"Wanna wait another minute, pal? Don Cooder should be back on any second now."
"Don Cooder does not wait for Don Cooder. Drive on, driver."
Chapter 33
At the BCN studio lobby, security had been tripled in the wake of the death of rival anchor Dieter Banning.
"We're looking for Don Cooder," Remo told the ring of guards who looked at him with hands on holstered revolver grips.
One shouted, "Look, isn't that Wing Wang Wo, the Korean Dragon!"
The Master of Sinanju saw the finger pointing at him and naturally looked over his shoulder.
There was no one there.
"What is this, Remo?" he demanded.
"A long story," Remo whispered. "Look, we admit it. That's who he is. And if you don't want to end up separated from your head, you'll tell us where to find Don Cooder."
"He's missing."
"I heard he was broadcasting," said Remo.
"Yeah. From Times Square. But he deserted his post."
"Damn."
At a payphone, Remo called Smith. "Cooder took a powder. No one knows where he went."
"One minute, Remo."
The clicking of computer keys came over the line.
"According to his telephone records, he has not used his home telephone today. Nor his office telephone." More keys clicked. Then:
"According to his credit cards records, Don Cooder took a five o'clock flight to Montreal, Canada, connecting with Fort Chimo in Northern Quebec."
"He's our man!"
"Do not jump to conclusions. Remember Dieter Banning."
"Here, you tell it to Chiun," said Remo, handing the phone to the Master of Sinanju.
"Master Chiun, I am ordering you to Canada," said Harold Smith.
"Speak their names and their heads will be yours by nightfall," Chiun cried.
"I do not want heads. I want answers. Kill no one unless provoked. Now put Remo back on."