"How many thousand years do I have to cook dinner for you?"
Three.
"Let's cut it to two, shall we?"
"Robber!"
And Remo laughed as he dialed. His stomach felt as if it had been boiled in carbolic acid. He couldn't remember the last time he had thrown up.
HAROLD SMITH SOUNDED as if he had been gargling with carbolic acid when Remo got him on the line. His voice was haggard.
"Yeah. Who'd you think?"
"I have heard nothing from you for two days. I thought you were dead."
"Neither of us are dead."
"What happened?"
"We ran into Beasley. He was stage-managing everything, I guess."
"Where is he?"
"Search me. Chiun and I are in a hospital somewhere recuperating."
"One moment." The line hummed. "Remo, you are in the popular Spring Hospital."
"How'd you know that?"
"Telephone back trace."
"Beasley got us with something green."
"What do you mean by something green?"
"A light or something. It was the ugliest green you ever saw, Smitty. It made me sick to my stomach. The doctor said my vagus nerve went crazy."
"Are you saying your flight-or-fight response was tripped by a green light?"
"I'm saying I pitched forward into my own puke and it's a day later."
"Two days."
Remo closed his eyes. "Fill me in, Smitty."
"The Beasley U.S.A. matter has been resolved. There is a truce. All combatants have agreed to stand down until the Virginia State legislature has decided the disposition of the parcel of land adjoining Petersburg National Battlefield earmarked for sale to the Beasley Corporation."
"Then it's over."
"It has just begun. We have a problem in France."
"We always have a problem with France."
"This is different."
"Smitty, I'm not up to dealing with the French. Not on an empty stomach, anyway."
"Remo, listen to me. Two days ago French warplanes bombed Euro Beasley."
"Is that good or bad?"
"We have an international crisis brewing. The French have entirely surrounded Euro Beasley and are refusing to allow anyone to enter or leave."
"Is that good or bad?"
"The French National Assembly have rushed through emergency legislation forbidding the speaking of English within the borders of France."
"Huh?"
"American businessmen and tourists are being thrown out of the country. Our Senate has threatened retaliation. A U.S. mob was intercepted in boats near the Statue of Liberty. They were carrying acetylene torches. One confessed to a plan to dismantle Liberty and send her back to France in pieces. Someone blew up the French pavilion at Epcot Center. Quebec is in an uproar. We are on the verge of a war with France."
"Over a theme park?"
"The specifics are difficult to determine. But you and Chiun must go to France and find out why Euro Beasley is under seige."
"Probably the admission prices," muttered Remo. "What about Beasley?"
"Do you know where he is?"
"No," Remo admitted. "I only know where I am because you told me."
"We will deal with Beasley later," Harold Smith said in a biting tone of voice. "Right now I want you and Chiun in Paris as soon as possible."
"I'm not up to this."
But Harold W. Smith had already disconnected.
Hanging up his phone, Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju and said, "We're going to Paris, Little Father."
"That dump," sniffed Chiun.
AT THE CUSTOMS STATION at Charles de Gaulle International Airport, Remo defenestrated a French customs officer for speaking French to him.
Remo had started to say "I don't speak French," when the customs officer inspecting his passport pulled a whistle from his uniform blouse and blew on it shrilly.
"Il ne parle pas francais!" he cried.