"Only literally in some cases. It depends upon the density of the atoms. But the practical upshot is the same."
"All metal?"
"Yes," Smith said, nodding. "Everything metallic within the enhanced radiation field would cease to function. This would include all industrial, residential and governmental devices. As well as military."
"The peace bomb," Remo intoned softly.
"What did you say?" Smith asked, surprised.
"It's what one of the Earthpeacers back in San Francisco said," Remo explained. "It just sounded like more goofball-fueled mumbo jumbo to me."
"Not in this case," Smith said. "I have learned that as a public-relations matter, the neutrino bomb was to be dubbed the 'peace bomb.' The name was thought to be more palatable for public consumption. Since the project was defunded years ago, the name is not known outside of Los Alamos."
"Los Alamos?" Remo demanded. "They're the ones responsible for this?"
"The neutrino-bomb prototype was stolen from that facility," Smith admitted.
"Figures," Remo snarled. "Somebody wheel it out past a guard while he was watching the head of the Energy Department on TV claiming that nothing was ever stolen from there?"
Smith's voice was deadly serious. "The weapon was apparently taken from Los Alamos by none other than Dr. Ree Hop Doe during the phase when he was conducting espionage for the Chinese. According to his e-mail records, although he at one time attempted to sell it to China, they were unable to meet his demands. Apparently, he had forgotten it in his garage for the bulk of the past few years. He discovered it when he was searching for items to offer at a yard sale to raise cash for his legal defense."
Remo was amazed. "What, did he run a for-sale ad in the Penny Saver?"
"It did not get that far. Dr. Doe has been a member of Earthpeace for years. When he offered to sell the bomb to them, word reached Interior Secretary Bryce Babcock. He is the one who negotiated the purchase with Earthpeace funds."
"Another screwball cabinet secretary," Remo said. "Doesn't surprise me with that bunch. Isn't Babcock the guy who had his department release piranha into Lake Michigan a couple years back?"
"That is he," Smith said. "According to my information, both Babcock and Doe couriered the bomb to your location."
"I look forward to catching up with them," Remo said, a cold edge to his tone.
"That can wait," Smith insisted. "Your first priority is to find Nossur Aruch before he is able to detonate the bomb. If he succeeds in doing so, every last weapon in the region could be rendered inoperative."
"Hmm," Remo mused. "Imagine the Mideast without weapons."
"Yes," Smith replied gravely. "It would be a disaster of incalculable proportions."
Remo sounded surprised. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "People over here live to beat the snot out of each other. Maybe if they can't shoot at, blow up or launch missiles at each other, they'll finally have to sit down and figure out how to get along."
Smith shook his head. "I see the situation much differently," he said, his tone serious. "I envision chaos on a colossal scale. Remember, Remo, there will be no radio contact with the outside world. Telephone and any other communications devices will also be rendered inoperative. Isolated from their neighbors in the region, suspicions will ignite. Everyone will blame everyone else for what has happened. Clan fighting will erupt. There will be looting and rioting. Fires will be unstoppable due to lack of working equipment. Armies and police forces will be helpless to stop the anarchy. It is a nightmare scenario. If Aruch has gotten hold of the neutrino bomb, it is imperative that you retrieve it from him before he is allowed to set it off."
"Fine," Remo said. "I'll pick it up when I get the President. But I don't necessarily agree with all your doom and glooming."
"About the former President," the CURE director said crisply. "The neutrino bomb is now your dominant concern. If it comes to it, the President cannot be allowed to become a distraction."
There was a familiar flatness to his voice. Smith had used that tone every time he had sent Remo on an assignment against a potential CURE security risk. To a man, they had all wound up dead.
Remo's voice took on a cautious edge. "I don't like the sound of this, Smitty," he warned slowly.
"Nor do I," Smith replied levelly. "But if it is detonated by Aruch in a strategically sensitive location, the neutrino bomb could destabilize that entire region of the world. The former President was already a liability before the bomb was added to the mix. If he becomes any kind of distraction at all, remove the distraction."
"Whoa, Smitty," Remo protested quickly. "Do you even hear what you're saying? You're asking me to kill a United States President."
From out the echoey depths of the Lebanese restaurant, Smith heard a whoop of sudden joy. The sound of breaking dishes and the crash of an upended table were followed by the rattle of an extension being lifted.
"How I have longed for this day, Emperor Smith," the Master of Sinanju sang jubilantly. "We will return to America in haste to dispatch the corpulent pretender to the throne. Once his deceitful head has been separated from his bloated body, the two of us will sit down and plan your coronation."
"Hang up, Chiun," Remo demanded, annoyed.
The Master of Sinanju ignored his pupil. "The patience you have displayed is remarkable, Emperor. In fact, I may now admit there were times when Remo and I had my doubts about your sanity. Mostly Remo," he said quickly. "But you have proved yourself a cunning and stoical man. Now, there are several options for assassination available. If you wish it to appear an accident, that can easily be arranged. A heart attack while jogging would be accepted by all. Especially with that flabby specimen. I, however, would recommend something loud and fun. Something that the public would enjoy. Something that says, 'I am me. Smith the Persistent.' A televised beheading would do the trick nicely. Prime time, of course."
"We are not talking about the current President, Master Chiun," Smith explained with weary patience.
The old Korean's voice sank in confusion. "Who, then?"
"It's the guy we're already looking for he wants us to ice," Remo supplied. "And I won't do it, Smitty."
"I agree with Remo, Emperor Smith," Chiun insisted. "If you wish to assassinate a President, why not the distended lummox who currently squats atop the Eagle Throne?"
"Chiun, please-" Smith began.
"If you feel we need first practice on past rulers, you may rest your regal mind. Our skills are as sharp as ever they were. Years of toiling on your behalf in the farthermost reaches of your kingdom have not diminished our abilities in the least. Our eyes are keen, our hands swift and deadly. We are fleet of foot and sharp of mind. Sinanju waits to aid your ascendancy to the seat of power of the new Rome, the Eagle Throne, O Smith the Patient."
"Will you hang up the freaking phone!" Remo shouted into the recesses of the restaurant.
"Think decapitation," Chiun intoned craftily. "We will talk later."
With that, he was gone.
"I'm not doing it, Smitty," Remo said once they were alone on the line. "I might not know much about politics, but I know who I'd like to bump off. And this guy wouldn't be my first, second or hundredth choice."
"Remo, be reasonable," Smith pleaded. "You know that he represents a liability to begin with. The presence of the neutrino bomb makes the situation even more dire. If he knew what was at stake, the President would agree with me."
"I am not killing a United States President, Smith, and that's that."
"Of course he is not," Chiun called. He was nearer now, listening in on every word of their conversation. "That honor must go to the Reigning Master, not his apprentice. Sinanju has not assassinated an American President for two centuries. We cannot allow Mr. Bent Elbow to taint such a momentous event."
"Will you calm down?" Remo said hotly to Chiun. To Smith, he said, "I'll call when this is all over, Smitty."
"People love a good disemboweling! Always give the people what they want!" the Master of Sinanju could be heard shouting as Remo hung up the phone.
Smith's face didn't even register a single twitch as he leaned across the black surface of his desk. His features could have been carved from solid granite.
The blue phone made a plasticky clatter in its cradle.
The crisis was huge. On several different levels and on multiple fronts. All out of his hands. All he could do now was wait.