"If you are sure?"
"I'm sure," said Remo. "See you in the morning."
Was there something devious behind the young man's smile as he made way for Remo at the console, or was that simply imagination working overtime? Remo could not be sure, but he was positive about one thing: if there were pirates waiting for them in the darkness, up ahead, he didn't want the new man at the helm.
Besides, he had schemes of his own to carry out. Carefully, so as not to touch any of the helm electronics, he lifted the satellite phone and dialed home. Dialing home consisted of leaning on the 1 key until somebody answered.
"Basique Boutique."
Remo honestly couldn't tell if it was a male voice or a female voice. It sure did lilt a lot. He said, "Give me Smith."
"We have a Judith working tomorrow." Remo realized that he was, in fact, talking to a computer. "Also a Maximillian."
"I want Smith."
"Well, actually, there's a new stylist starting tomorrow. Not sure of his name. You realize we're closed now, don't you?"
"If I don't get Smith, Harold W., in the next five seconds I'll call up Armitage, Senator Chester, and let him handle this problem."
"Remo, it's me," Smith said, coming on the line abruptly.
"Hey, Smitty, I don't appreciate having my chain jerked by your fruity little mainframes."
"It's a new system, Remo. Just be a little patient. It's not always easy to get a positive voice ID, especially on the poor audio signal a telephone provides."
"Is this screening really necessary?"
"My old methods of screening out bad calls just aren't as effective as they used to be," Smith explained curtly. "If I could convince you to learn a few basic code numbers-"
"Forget it," Remo sniped. "Where's the ferry?"
"On its way. Let's see. ETA twenty minutes."
"Who's handling the pickup?" Remo asked. "DEA."
"They know the plan?"
"Yes, they were fully briefed."
"I'd rather not go swimming this evening if they screw it up."
"They won't."
"Twenty minutes," Remo said.
"Make it nineteen," Smith answered tartly.
REMO DIDN'T WEAR A WATCH. He didn't need to. He had a clock in his head and it kept perfect time. He went belowdecks, moving silently. Not a floorboard creaked. He paused outside the economy berth belonging to Pablo Altamira and listened to the breathing of the man inside. Pablo was asleep. Then he went to the luxury stateroom where Stacy Armitage waited. She was in her vast, circular bed wearing only the ivory satin topsheet and a perky smile.
"I thought you wouldn't come," she said. He could read the arousal in the pattern of her breathing, in the dilation of her pupils.
He sat on the bed alongside her. She dropped the sheet. Remo nodded sadly and said, "Unfortunately, I won't."
She was confused for just a moment, then he touched her neck. She slumped over, unconscious, breathing peacefully. It took him minutes to stuff her limp limbs back into sweatpants, sandals and an oversize T-shirt from a Puerta Plata souvenir shop. It featured a large toucan lounging on a beach towel and drinking a tropical drink from a pineapple. It was emblazoned with the message, "I changed my attitude in Puerta Plata!"
"Not really, you didn't," Remo said to the sleeping daughter of a U.S. senator, who simply didn't know when to leave well enough alone.
He draped her over one shoulder and toted her onto the deck. He heard Pablo still sleeping, but knew he had someone waiting for him outside. "Oh, Remo, are these the tactics to which you are reduced to procure female companionship?" Chiun asked, shaking his head sadly.
"I wish. I'll have you know she was ready for a hay roll. Instead I put her to sleep and got her dressed without any hanky-panky."
"Because?"
"She was responding to the pheromones or whatever, just like all the others. No, thanks."
"Maybe it wasn't your Sinanju essence. Maybe she was attracted to you, Remo Williams." Chiun followed him down the length of the Melody.
"Come off it, Chiun."
"Unlikely, I know, but still possible. Stranger things have happened. I have seen the most hideous and deformed human beings with mates, so why not you, my son?"
"What, with this big head?"
"It is a comically oversized brainpan, yes, but there must be a woman somewhere who can overlook this trait. Perhaps the trollop sprung from the senator's loins was the one."
"I don't think so," Remo said as he yanked out a life raft and pulled the plug, hoisting it off the aft end of the Melody as it expanded from a tight rubber wad into an eight-person raft. He handed Chiun the line that held it and leaped down to the raft. He laid the unconscious woman inside it.
"Of course, there are also the ears, which are genuinely repulsive," Chiun mentioned. "And then there are your flabby, slobbering lips. They disgust me, but perhaps a woman in desperate straits would see past them."
"I doubt it," Remo said, half listening to Chiun as he peered into the wake of the Melody. The nineteen and a half minutes were up when he saw the strobing light, so distant as to be nothing more than a glimmer on the horizon.
"Let her go," Remo said.
Chiun shrugged and released the line.
Stacy Armitage, sleeping quietly, floated off into the blackness of the Caribbean night.
Remo watched the raft until even his sharp eyes could no longer make out the black shape on the black ocean.
"Wow, is she gonna be pissed," he observed.
"Yes," Chiun agreed. Remo could hear the amusement in his voice.
He returned to the helm and phoned Rye, New York, and found himself talking to Jude, the nightshift manager of Pets? You Bet! Pet Supply Warehouse, "where all rawhide chew toys are on sale for two weeks only!" Of course it was the new CURE call-filtering system. In order to provide the system with a sufficient audio signal from which to make a positive voice print ID, Remo began an in-depth description of what use she should make of her discounted rawhide bones.
"Does your mother hen know that kind of talk comes out of your mouth?" interrupted a familiar voice-but it was not Harold W. Smith's.