"Hold that thought, because you're going to like what we found out even less," Remo said gravely. "The captain of that scow was right. The boats were torpedoed."
The Russian agent was instantly forgotten. "Are you certain?" Smith asked tightly.
"Those weren't love taps on the sides of those scows."
"Have you any idea who is responsible?"
"Not yet. But a couple of guys tried to kill Chiun while I was out checking the boats. Could be related."
"Is Master Chiun all right?" Smith asked.
Near the balcony windows, the old Korean clucked indignantly. "Four months," he muttered to the newborn night sky. "I have not been Reigning Master for a mere four months. Does the mad ghost-face think my skills were scattered to the winds with the relinquishing of my title?"
"Chiun's fine, Smitty," Remo said. "Which is more than I can say for the guys who came after him. They had no ID, no nothing. But dollars to doughnuts they're tied in with whatever's going on down here. They probably saw us when we were taking our tour of that doohickey or something."
"You saw the device in action?"
"Yeah. And you can surrender your skepticism, Smitty," Remo said. "It definitely works. By the looks of what Chiun and I saw today, this machine of theirs is really incredible. I can see why everybody's lining up to haul their junk down here. The world gets cleaner and Mayana gets richer. Seems to me like everyone benefits. Actually I don't see why anyone would want to stop it."
"Since the device was unveiled there have been complaints issued from a number of quarters," Smith said. "Some poorer nations are saying that lack of funds will limit their access to the device. A few in the scientific community have suggested that the technology is too important not to share it freely with the entire world. There are also some groups with environmental concerns. Any one of them has a motive to throw a monkey wrench into the works."
"I suppose there's no lack of screwballs out there," Remo conceded. "So I guess this means the President won't be coming down here after all."
"Unfortunately I doubt this will be enough to change his mind," Smith said. "The Mayanans have successfully kept outside investigators from checking out the scows-I'm assuming so as not to derail the Globe Summit. They have too much invested in it, especially now. The President has already made clear his intention to go. Unless the sinkings become public knowledge-or expand into something that affects more than a few garbage scows-I doubt he will change his mind. However, I will bring the matter up once more. It would help if you found something concrete on whoever is behind this. Perhaps that will help sway him to err on the side of caution."
"If you wish to know who is responsible, Emperor Smith, look no further than the Russian pretender who once occupied beloved Czar Ivan's throne," Chiun called. "Not only is his name garbage, but he once ruled the trough of garbage that poor, late, lamented Ivan's Russia has become."
"Oh, yeah, Smitty. Garbegtrov's down here, too," Remo said. "And it doesn't work that way," he told Chiun. "His name doesn't have anything to do with anything, other than the fact that he got shafted by his parents."
"Believe what wrong things you wish," Chiun sniffed.
"I heard the former premier was there," Smith said thinly. There was a note of disapproval in his tart voice.
"I know what you're thinking, Smitty, and I don't want another lecture."
Smith would not be deterred. "It was reckless of you to do what you did," the CURE director said. "Breaking in to the former premier's house and tattooing that slogan on his head was not something that I would ever have authorized."
"Wasn't up to you," Remo replied. "Russia stole some techniques from Sinanju. Three Russian leaders knew all about it, starting with Garbegtrov. That made it a Sinanju matter for punishment, not a CURE one. Ol' Garby was just lucky this wasn't the day of Master Nun. Back then a Chinese baker tried to steal just one ingot of gold from an Egyptian tribute caravan as it passed through his village. Nun flayed him alive and made him cook his own skin in his own ovens. Big mess. At least Garbegtrov got to keep all his skin. He got off easy. Besides, that tattoo was some of my finest work. It's still holding up even after a couple of years."
"You actually saw him?" Smith said.
Remo's tone grew sheepish. "We kind of shared an elevator," he admitted.
He could almost see the look of intense irritation on the CURE director's face.
"Did he see your face?" Smith pressed.
"Yes, but that's not a problem," Remo sighed. "He was asleep during the tattooing. And even though he saw me and Chiun years ago when Russia tried to steal our contract and get us to work for them, we gave him the Sinanju amnesia thing. He wouldn't remember me."
"Perhaps," Smith said. "But you do not exist in a vacuum. You have operated in Russia several times since then. It is possible you are known to some within their security services. Remember Anna Chutesov."
"I told Remo the same thing, Emperor," Chiun said.
Remo scowled. "Why does everyone keep bringing her up today?" he complained. "Anna doesn't remember me, and neither does Garby. I wiped both their minds clean of me, okay? And besides, the last time Garbegtrov saw me was before my last plastic surgery, so he wouldn't even know me even if he remembered me, which he doesn't."
There was a reluctant hmm on the other end of the line. "Very well," Smith said slowly. "Still, as a simple security matter in future it would be best to limit your contact with world leaders, current or former. Especially so soon after the Sinanju Time of Succession."
"That's gonna be hard to do if I'm still around here at the end of the week," Remo said. "This place is going to be crawling with presidents and dictators and other assorted assholes in another couple of days. And every one of them got a dead-body-o-gram from me a couple months back."
"Which lends even more urgency to your work," Smith said. "At the time I was uncomfortable with the requirements of the Time of Succession. You came in direct contact with too many leaders of the world. I want you finished in Mayana before too many of them are there, so please work as quickly as you can."
"No problem," Remo said. "After meeting some of them, color me unimpressed. In fact, if you could talk the President into staying home, I'm tempted to leave right now and let them all fend for themselves."
"Absolutely not," Smith said firmly. "Now is not the time for political instability in any part of the world. Regardless whether the President was going, I would still want you in Mayana. Given the climate we now live in, I do not want any of the other world leaders in jeopardy."
"Except for the ones we decide need the ax," Remo said. "Which I don't have a problem with, by the by. Okay, Smitty. I'll try to wrap this up fast."
"Please do," the CURE director said. "Also, bear in mind Mayana has an antiquated phone system. The delegates to the Globe Summit are reporting problems with the phone lines. But satellites will work even if landlines are frozen. If you have trouble calling in to report, find a cell phone. It doesn't matter whose. It will be scrambled from this end so there will be no chance of a trace."
"You got it," Remo said. "Talk to you soon." He tried to hang up the phone but couldn't figure out which button to press. Shrugging, he took it in both hands, snapped it in two and dropped the halves in a bureau drawer.
He heard a rustling of fabric from the bathroom, followed by rapidly retreating footfalls.
The door was thick. He doubted Petrovina could have heard much.
"Seek your answers from the garbage trough," Chiun instructed as Remo crossed over to the bathroom. "I have heard him speak his native tongue. He commands the Russian language as poorly as he commanded the Russian nation. That one has garbage on his tongue, as well as between his ears."
"I don't know, Little Father," Remo said skeptically.
Chiun shook his head, disturbing the soft tufts of yellow-white hair above his ears. "Listen. Do not listen. I was only the Reigning Master long before you were born. Why would I have anything of value to say?"
Remo pulled the chair out from under the doorknob and swung the bathroom door open.
"Coast is clear," he announced.
Petrovina Bulganin was perched on the edge of the toilet, long legs crossed neatly at the knees. A white napkin was draped across her lap. Knife and fork in hand, she was eating her meal from the serving cart. The Russian agent turned a bland eye on Remo.
"Oh," she said, chewing a mouthful of stringy beef. "Are you finished insulting my country, keeping secrets from your ally and locking me away in this porcelain gulag?"
"Lose the melodrama, Ivan Denisovich. We've been allies for all of twelve hours."
"Which is twelve hours too long," she replied snidely. As she stood, she slipped the napkin from her lap and dropped it on top of her plate. "This was mistake. Korkusku was idiot, but forming alliance with American agent makes me bigger fool. I will proceed on my own."
"Your funeral," Remo said, shrugging as she brushed past him. Kicking off his shoes, he flopped on the couch.
"You want duck tonight, Little Father?"