The leaders of both houses of parliament were being held captive. The prime minister had been out of the city at the time of the takeover and had assumed control of what was left of the government. However, he was having difficulty rallying support among the remaining legislators.
In absence of a plan or a functioning government to support that plan, a vacuum had developed. And in that void nothing was getting accomplished, giving Nils Schatz and his tiny band of fascists more time to solidify their stranglehold on the famous city.
On one of the northwestern roads leading into Paris, a heavily armed convoy of French soldiers had stalled at the city's outskirts. Concrete barriers lined the road.
French army soldiers milled helplessly around trucks and jeeps on their side of the partition. On the other side a woefully outmatched force of neo-Nazi soldiers stood smugly at attention.
The French forces could easily have overrun the band of invaders, but hadn't yet been given instructions to do so. The Germans knew this. Like neighborhood milquetoasts given licence to taunt the local bully, the skinheads were milking their newfound power for all it was worth.
The Germans jeered and spit toward the French soldiers. The French could do nothing but stand back and stand down.
The standoff had gone on like this for several hours when Remo and Chiun finally drove up in their stolen Fiat.
They were waved to a stop by French guards. "We're in kind of a hurry," Remo pressed, leaning out the window as an armed French soldier approached.
"You are American?" the soldier said in English.
"Yep," Remo replied. "Hey, Frenchie, could you move that tank?" he called up ahead. He beeped the car's horn.
"I am Korean," Chiun said to no one in particular. Sensing he had a couple of potential lunatics on his hands, the French soldier took a step back from the car.
"Could you wait a moment, please?"
As Remo's car idled, the soldier walked briskly over to his commanding officer. The officer-a colonel-looked suspiciously at Remo and Chiun. He, in turn, went off to find his commander.
For a few long minutes, Remo tapped the dashboard anxiously. There seemed to be a dozen large vehicles in their way along with a dozen more huge concrete barriers.
He turned to Chiun.
"You want to walk?" he asked.
"It would be preferable to sitting here," Chiun admitted with a curt nod.
The two of them got out of the car and headed up the road alongside the stalled column of army vehicles.
By this point word of the car and its strange occupants had gotten up to the general in command of this particular detachment.
The general's name was Adrien Cresson. He was a wiry man with thick curly hair and a deep baritone that belied his size. He was also in a foul mood.
Suspecting they might have a pair of Nazi sympathizers on their hands, General Cresson had come personally down from his command post to Remo's parked car.
"Traffic into the city is restricted-" the general started to say as he approached the car, his hand perched on his side arm.
He stopped short. The vehicle was empty. General Cresson glanced angrily back at the colonel and private accompanying him.
"Where are they?" he demanded.
The men only shook their heads in confusion. Furious, he ordered the platoon to spread out along the road, searching under trucks and around the sides of tanks.
The scurrying French army soldiers located their prey in a matter of seconds. The two men from the car were seen strolling calmly through the barren stretch of road between the convoy and the first of the concrete barriers.
"No one stopped them?" General Cresson boomed, furious.
"No one saw them, sir," begged the colonel.
Cresson wheeled on his men. "Level weapons on those two!" he yelled.
The French soldiers obeyed.
On the other side of the line, the arrogance of the German soldiers melted into deep concern as the weapons of the French army detachment were pointed in their direction.
Remo and Chiun felt the pressure waves of rifles aimed at their backs.
"Beautiful country, isn't it?" Remo said.
"It reeks of fermented grapes," Chiun commented.
They strolled past the French barriers and over to the German end of the road.
"Halt!" an angry, French-accented voice shouted from behind them.
In front of them the Germans were at a loss what to do-with either the French army or the two men approaching.
Until now, the kidnapping of the French president had awarded them a sense of impunity. Now it seemed as if that air of privilege had evaporated.
Rather than flee, the half-dozen skinhead soldiers raised their own weapons at the approaching men.
BACK AT THE FRENCH lines, General Cresson had been ready to give the order to shoot. But when the occupying soldiers raised their machine guns at Remo and Chiun, he ordered his men to hold their fire.
Anxiously the French line watched the drama that was playing out before them.
"HALT!" the leader of the German troops called in English, echoing the command he had just heard the French general give. He was an unregenerate old Nazi. One of the men Schatz had brought with him from the IV village. He and his comrades were crouching alertly behind their protective wall of four-foot-high barriers.
"Wo ist die Toilette?" Remo asked, using a German phrase he had picked up from a guide book on Le Shuttle.
The neo-Nazi soldiers frowned. Was it possible this lunatic had broken through the French lines and was risking his life approaching occupied Paris simply to locate a bathroom?
The German in command decided that it made no difference.
"Turn around slowly and go back the way you came," he ordered, aiming his gun at Remo's chest.
"No can do," Remo said, shaking his head. "It's an emergency. I just had a big plate of snails at a little outdoor cafe that specializes in health-code violations." He continued toward the German defensive barriers.
"Stop!" the Nazi officer called one last time. His curled finger closed within a hair of his trigger. Remo and Chiun kept coming.
That was enough for the officer. Without further preamble the German opened fire. His men followed his lead an instant later.