"Authorities from Martinique have claimed the jurisdiction," Dr. Smith replied, "although their provenance is far from certain. As it happens, they're cooperating with our friends from DEA."
"Your friends," Remo corrected him.
"Carlos Ramirez and his bevy of Colombians were quite a bonus, Remo."
"Should I recognize the name?"
"He's low profile-or, he was-but I'm informed that he ranked third among the DEA's 'most wanted' fugitives from Columbia."
"Do I get a bonus?"
Smith cleared his throat. "In any case, aside from shutting down the pirates, you apparently took out the leadership and first-string soldiers of a leading cocaine ring in Cartagena."
"Well, I had some help," Remo reminded him. "Of course, and that's another bonus. To the media, it looks like Kidd and this Ramirez person had some kind of private feud in progress, and they wiped each other out."
"That's pretty close to the truth."
"It's convenient." Dr. Smith was on the verge of sounding happy.
"Don't get all exuberant on me, Smitty. I don't know if I can take it. Did they find Ethan Humphrey?"
"Yes, the professor was found in the forest, buried up to his neck in the sand," said Dr. Smith.
"Wonder how that happened."
"The ants got at him and he nearly died-"
"Aw."
"But they choppered him to the mainland, and he was treated in time. They think he'll pull through.
"Aw."
"The man is an accessory to murder, hijacking, assorted other felonies. Police in the Dominican Republic want to have a talk with him and see if he can finger any more associates in Puerta Plata," Smith explained.
"Well, I wish them luck."
"There's still the matter of Stacy Armitage," said Dr. Smith. "Her father is concerned, as you may well imagine."
"Right. It's getting closer to election time."
"Remo-"
"She's fine. I'll have her on a plane this afternoon."
"Fine."
The connection was severed.
"Thanks. You take care, too. Bye-bye now," Remo said sarcastically and pressed some buttons. The display on the phone was supposed to go dark. Instead it said, "Menu Options: 1) Program Caller ID. 2) Program Quick-Dial Numbers. 3) Activate GPS."
Remo pressed more buttons. The little green display wouldn't turn off. In fact, it was still glowing green when the phone sank beneath the waves a hundred yards off the port bow.
Stacy, on the beach chair, lifted her sunglasses to watch it disappear, then haughtily allowed them to drop back in place.
"I hate phones," Remo explained.
"You hate a lot of things," she observed without rancor.
"I do like your bikini top."
"I'm not wearing the top." She grinned.
"You saucy wench, that's what I like about it."
"Eeee!" The wail came from the bridge of the Melody, where, above them, Chiun was busily inventorying his long-lost treasure chests and, when he had time, keeping the craft on course to Nassau.
"What's the matter with the old fart?" Stacy asked.
Remo smiled. He really liked it when Stacy called Chiun "the old fart."
"Tell the young harlot this!" Chiun cried out, and the rest of his instructions were too softly spoken for Stacy to hear.
"Well, what did he say?"
Remo grimaced. "It's not very nice."
"So clean it up enough that my delicate sensibilities will not be offended."
"Uh," Remo said. "Well, in a nutshell, he said if he has to listen to any more of our, uh, sexually charged banter that he'll be forced to kill us both or himself."
"I see," Stacy said, expression unchanged behind her sunglasses.
"And could we please just go belowdecks and commence quote rutting unquote so that he is not forced to endure any more of said sexually charged banter."
"I see." She sipped her bottle of water and stood, and a second later she was doing the same thing with the bikini bottom as she was with the top-not wearing it.
"He's not going to spy on us, is he?" she asked.
"Naw," answered Remo. "The old fart won't leave his gold."
"For your insolence, I am not giving you a share!" Chiun squeaked from the bridge.
"Big surprise," Remo said. He took the hand of the beautiful, naked senator's daughter and led her inside the Melody.