"Chiun hired a housekeeper!" Smith said in surprise.
"Don't ask me why. She was guarding the door when I got back. And what happened to telling Chiun about what happened?"
"He did not answer the telephone."
"Okay, you're off the hook this time. But he's pretty steamed."
"Remo, the flag you described. Did it have a white cross in the center?"
"Nope. Just that flower symbol. Got anything?"
"My search failed to bring up an exact match, but the provincial flag of Quebec consists of a white cross framing four designs similar to what you described."
"Sounds right, though. They just got the color scheme reversed. But if they can't handle English, why should we expect them to know their colors? Hey, Smitty. Does Quebec have submarines?"
"No. But the Canadian navy has. They are old World War II-vintage diesel-electric submarines."
"This was an old pigboat," Remo said. "And why would Canada sink the Ingo Pungo?"
"Of course they would not. Canada is our ally, and the ship was in U.S. waters, well within the two-hundred-mile limit."
"That's good because now that I've eaten, Chiun wants me to go chasing subs."
"Locating that submarine is your next mission," said Smith.
"I was afraid that was what you were going to say. Look, can it wait? I just spent a night in the water playing with the sharks and I'd just as soon not see open water for a while."
"A hostile submarine operating in U.S. waters is a security problem. Remo, those sailors you encountered. Did they speak at all?"
"No. The sub might as well have been crewed by Marcel Marceau and his Merry Mimes. Hey, he's French, isn't he?"
"I can think of no reason for a French submarine to be attacking U.S. shipping," Smith said dismissively.
"Maybe it's Quebec after all. They mad at us for any reason?"
"No. Quebec is currently at odds with English Canada over the secession question. But that issue has nothing to with the U.S."
"Then they had to be after the Silver Carp."
"The what?"
"That's the English name. I'm sick of saying 'Ingo Pungo.' It sounds like I go pogo."
"No one other than her crew knew of the Ingo Pungo's mission and cargo," said Smith.
"What exactly was it, by the way?" asked Remo.
"Fish."
"Fish!" Remo exploded.
Harold Smith cleared his throat. "Yes, during the last contract negotiation, the Master of Sinanju requested and I agreed to supply regular shipments of fresh Pacific fish."
"Fish?"
"As you may have read, there is a global fishing crisis. Coastal fisheries have been exhausted worldwide, forcing fleets to go fishing in deeper and deeper waters. The quality of catches is in sharp decline. Prices are skyrocketing. Master Chiun has been unhappy with the varieties available to him and requested that I remedy it."
"Let me get this straight-instead of more gold, he held you up for fish this time?"
"Actually the fish will end up being more expensive than gold on a per-pound basis, once all costs are factored in," Smith admitted.
"How's that?" asked Remo.
"The Ingo Pungo was a factory ship. It plied the high seas catching and processing fish. It made a Pacific crossing from Pusan, harvesting varieties of fish on the way. Many varieties."
"That's a lot of fish."
"Yes, of course it is," said Smith. "Master Chiun insisted these fish be delivered alive so as to be as fresh as possible."
"And it might explain the fish cellar."
Smith made a curious sound in the back of his throat.
Remo explained, "Chiun's got the basement set up for what he calls a fish cellar. I never heard of one, have you?"
"No. But Koreans do salt and pickle fish for winter storage."
"It also explains why I had to eat duck while Chiun gorged himself on fish-head soup. Not that I'm complaining, but he threatened to deny me fish forever. I can't live on duck. I gotta have fish."
"Inform Master Chiun I have contacted another fishing concern. The fish clause of the contract will be honored, of course."
"Don't you feel silly saying 'fish clause'?"
"I stopped being self-conscious about my dealings with the House of Sinanju back in 1980," said Harold Smith with no trace of humor detectable in his colorless voice. "Go to the Coast Guard station at Cape Cod, Remo. I want that submarine found."
"If you say so, Smitty. What do I do with this sub if I catch it?"
"Interrogate the captain and report back to me."
"After I kill him."
"Report to me. I will instruct you of his disposition."
"Forget his disposition," said Remo. "He tried to kill me. I'm the one with the disposition. If I find this guy, I'm going to feed him to the fishes."
With that, Remo hung up.