"Do you really think it's all right?" asked the man.
"I most certainly do," said Harrison Caldwell to the director of the Nuclear Control Agency. "And by the way, were these two gentlemen the ones you warned me about, the ones who were getting in the way?"
He pushed the two photographs forward across the table.
"I think so. I think they are the ones at the McKeesport site right now. I think they are plants by some agency I have yet to discover."
"You don't worry about that. I am sure I can trace them," said Caldwell, his dark Spanish eyes flashing with the joy of battle. "I will get the best information money can buy."
Chapter 6
Consuelo Bonner saw the bodies outside her house. She saw the bullet hole in the window. She felt her head grow light while the skyline grew dark, like winter.
If she were not dreaming, she would swear Remo and Chiun were arguing over who should clean up the bodies, as though they were garbage to be taken out. If she were not dreaming, she would have thought the Oriental really had explained to her:
"I have done so much for him, and yet he still tries to make me a servant."
She would have also sworn Remo had answered: "He never does his bodies."
She asked them to please throw some very cold water on her.
"Why?" asked Remo.
"So I will wake up."
"You are awake," said Chiun. "But even I would not dream of such ingratitude."
"They were trying to kill you," said Remo.
Consuelo nodded. She went to the window where the bullet hole was, and rubbed a finger over it to feel the edges of the hard glass. Remo looked on. She glanced back to him.
"I know," she said. "We must be getting close to them in some way. They don't try to kill you unless you're a danger to them."
"Or unless they made a mistake," said Remo.
"Or something else," said Consuelo.
"What else?" said Remo.
"This is my nuclear plant. My responsibility."
"You mean you don't want to admit you need us this much."
"Don't patronize me," said Consuelo. "I will do what any man does."
"Then why aren't you running for your life?"
"Because if I ran they would say I ran because I am a woman. I do not run." She steadied herself against the window. "I do not run. I do not run. I do not run." Chiun noticed this courage in the woman. She was not Korean, and who knew who her family was, but she did have courage. She also had the failing of so many women in this country. In trying to show they were as good as men, they tried to be what most men never were. They tried to be what men thought they were.
Then again, all whites were crazy. What were they doing in this country to begin with? Working for mad Emperor Harold W. Smith who never attempted anything honorable like seizing the throne, never asked for services that would accrue to the honor of Sinanju, never provided Chiun with anything he could inscribe in the histories.
How did one pass on to future Masters of Sinanju that one acted like a storeroom guard for an emperor one did not understand?
And who would there be to pass on to if Remo did not have a child?
Chiun watched the white woman closely. He would, of course, prefer a Korean for Remo, one from Sinanju. But Remo had not been able to see the true beauty in the fairest maidens of Sinanju, seeing only their physical properties instead of how good they would be to the child and of course to Chiun.
"What do you think?" asked the white woman. "Do you think we are getting closer?" She was looking at Chiun. She had black hair, that was good. But the eyes were blue. And the skin was so pale, like clouds in the sky.
"I think I would like to meet your parents," said Chiun.
"They're dead," said Consuelo, puzzled.
"Then never mind," said Chiun. He was no longer interested in Consuelo for Remo. There was no longevity in the family. Her parents might have died in accidents, of course. But then that would only mean they were accident-prone.
"What did he mean by that?" said Consuelo.
"Never mind," said Remo. "You don't want to know."
"You don't treat him kindly," she said.
"You don't know him. I know him and I love him. So don't get involved. Besides, your life is on the line."
"You want me not to report this to the police, don't you?"
"It would help."
"Help what?"
"Keeping you alive. Someone tried to kill you. We can keep you alive. Don't bet on the police doing that."
"What policeman is going to believe that bunch out there killed themselves in a gang fight and then stacked themselves up neatly for the garbage removal?"
"Tell them we stacked them for you."
"But weren't all those young men out there killed by hand? Won't they be suspicious? I know that if I were a policeman I would be reporting something like this as unusual."
"Don't worry," said Remo. "It'll work."
As Consuelo predicted, the homicide detectives of McKeesport were suspicious. Under normal circumstances this might have caused the investigators some confusion. But since their department had recently received instructions to report any deaths like this one-deaths caused by "no apparent weapon"-to a central bureau, the detectives' next move was clear. They would pass the buck.
What none of the police knew was that their report did not end up at the FBI but at Folcroft Sanitarium, where Harold W. Smith saw the computer flag the whereabouts of Remo and Chiun. He was the one who had the request issued to every police department in the country, not so much to keep track of Remo and Chiun as to make the local police believe someone was tracking the strange deaths nationwide. Smith didn't want local cops getting together and comparing notes; that might cause an outcry. There had been so many bodies, so many criminal bodies, that the liberal press could have had a lifetime supply of martyrs.
And it would be just as dangerous if there was an outcry in favor of such killings as there would be if it were against. It would attract attention. And that was the last thing the organization could afford.
But Smith paid little attention this morning to the McKeesport report. Something was happening in America, and he was getting only inklings of it. He could not prove it yet, but someone was building another country somewhere in America. Appearing on the computer screen was a network of people who were stockpiling the one resource that could build an empire-gold. Breaking down all the statistics, one could see they were already powerful enough to form an independent nation. Smith focused on that this morning. Remo and Chiun would be all right. They were always all right. The problem was never their survival. It was the country's.