But Smith could tell from the tremor in Chiun's voice that the Master of Sinanju was thinking the same thing that he was, thinking that the one eventuality that the people who had originated CURE had never foreseen, finally had come about.
"Could this shooter of guns be Remo's father?" asked Chiun. "Is that what you are thinking?"
The search file stopped running before Smith could answer. The computer screen flashed: NO FILE FOUND ... PRESS: ESCAPE KEY.
Smith hit the escape key and brought up Remo's original CURE file.
"At fifty-five, the man would be the right age. But he couldn't be. Remo is supposed to be an orphan. He has no known living relatives of any description."
"Everyone has relatives," said Chiun, thinking of his wicked brother-in-law, now dead. "Whether they want them or not."
"Remo was an infant when the nuns found him on the doorstep of St. Theresa's Orphanage," said Smith, skimming the Remo file. "It's not clear who named him. Perhaps they found a note with the baby or the nuns named him. The records that might have told us-if they ever even existed-were destroyed in a fire years before Remo joined CURE. St. Theresa's is long gone, too."
"Remo must never learn of this," Chiun said.
"Agreed," said Smith, looking away from the file. Sometimes it bothered him to read it. He had done a terrible thing to a young policeman once, and even though it was for a greater purpose, that didn't make it any less of a terrible thing.
"This man who calls himself Remo Williams is your assignment, Chiun. I expect you will carry it out."
"If this man carries the same blood as Remo, then I have as much to lose as you," Chiun said coldly. "More." Smith nodded. He knew that Chiun saw Remo as the next Master of Sinanju, the heir of a tradition that went back to before the recording of history. It was one of the great conflicts in the arrangement between Smith and Chiun that each saw Remo as his own. Neither bothered to ask Remo what he thought.
"Good," said Smith. "I have heard from Remo, our Remo, but I have refused to tell him where you are. I will hold him off as long as I can and in the meantime, perhaps you can dispose of this matter."
"Consider it done, Emperor," Chiun said.
"The other two big car men are James Revell and Hubert Millis. They have announced that they will be at Lyle Lavallette's press conference tomorrow. If an attempt is to be made, it might be made there again."
"This killer's hours are numbered, O Emperor," said Chiun gravely. "You do not know where our Remo is?"
"He was in Utah. I expect he'll be coming here to find out where you are. I'll try to stall him until I have your assignment-completed call," Smith said.
"That will be fine," Chiun said and hung up.
Smith closed down Remo's file. Chiun would take care of this man who might or might not be Remo's father. And that would be the end of that and Remo would never know. Perhaps it was unjust but what was one more injustice on top of the others? When Remo Williams had become the Destroyer for CURE, he had lost all his rights, both natural and constitutional. Losing a father he never knew he had wouldn't really make much of a difference.
Remo Williams, the Destroyer, arrived in Detroit around midnight.
After Smith had refused to tell him where Chiun was, Remo had been at a loss until he remembered that Smith had mentioned Detroit. Mentioned it twice, in fact. Smith had thought Remo was calling from Detroit, and why would he have thought that?
There was only one good answer: Smith had jumped to the conclusion that Remo was in Detroit because the CURE director knew that Chiun was already in Detroit.
That was simple and it annoyed Remo that Smith would not expect him to figure it out. The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he got and when he reached the Detroit airport, he went to the car-rental counter and asked for the most expensive car they had.
In his wallet, he found a credit card for Remo Cochran. "I'm sorry, sir, but all our cars are the same rate," the clerk told him.
"Okay," Remo said. "Then I want four of them."
"Four?"
"That's right. I don't like to be seen in the same cheap car too long. It hurts my image."
"Well, is it just you?"
"Yes," Remo said. "Do I look like more than one?"
"No, sir. I was just wondering who will drive the other three cars."
"Nobody," Remo said. "I want them to sit here in the parking lot until I come back for them. Better make it a three-month rental on all four."
With discounts for long-term use and for Remo's excellent driving record, but adding in penalties for renting on a Friday which cost Remo the weekly special rate which was only good if your week started on Tuesday, and adding in the insurance which Remo insisted he wanted, the bill came to $7,461.20.
"You sure you want to do this, sir?" the clerk said.
"Yes," Remo said.
The clerk shrugged. "Well, it's your money."
"No, it's not," Remo said. Let Smith chew on that bill when he received it. "Where's your nearest phone?"
The clerk pointed to a booth three feet from Remo's left elbow.
"Didn't see it," Remo said. "Thanks."
"You want the numbers of every hotel in the city?" the information operator asked in a frightened voice.
"Just the best ones. He wouldn't stay anywhere except at the best hotels," Remo said.
"I'm sorry, sir. But making quality judgments on various hotels is not the policy of American Telephone and Greater Michigan Bell Consolidated Amalgamated Telephonic and Telegraphic Communications Incorporated."
"Gee, that's a shame," Remo said, "because now I'll just have to get the telephone numbers of every hotel in Detroit. Every hotel."
"Well, maybe you can try these," the operator said reluctantly. She gave Remo a half-dozen hotel numbers, and he started dialing.
"Hotel Prather," said the first hotel's switchboard. "Do you have an elderly Oriental staying there? He probably arrived with a bunch of lacquered steamer trunks and gave the bellboys a hard time?"
"Under what name would he be registered?"
"I don't know. It could be anything from Mr. Park to His Most Awesome Magnificence. It depends on his mood."
"Really. You don't have his name?"
"Really," Remo said. "And exactly how many Orientals fitting that description do you think you have in the hotel?"
The switchboard operator checked. No such Oriental was staying at the Hotel Prather.
Remo asked the same questions of the next three hotels. His fifth call confirmed that an Oriental fitting that description was indeed staying at the Detroit Plaza and that the bell captain who had overseen the carrying of the gentleman's trunks up twenty-five flights of stairs, because the gentleman did not wish his luggage transported by elevators that might crash, was recovering nicely from his hernia operation. Did Remo wish to ring the old gentleman's room? "No thanks," Remo said. "I want this to be a surprise." Chiun's door was locked and Remo knocked on it twice. Chiun's voice filtered through the wood. "Who disturbs me?" he asked. "Who galoomphs down the hall like a diseased yak and now pounds on my door interrupting my meditation?"
Chiun knew very well who it was, Remo knew. The old man had probably heard him when he got off the elevator a hundred feet away and had recognized his footsteps on the heavy commercial hallway carpet.
"You know damn well who it is," Remo said.
"Go away. I don't want any."
"Open the damn door before I kick it in," Remo said. Chiun unlocked the door but did not open it. When Remo pushed it open, the old man was sitting on the floor, his back to the door.
"Nice reception," Remo said. He looked around the room. It was exactly what he expected, probably the honeymoon suite. It looked perfect for starting a harem. Chiun sniffed. That was his answer.
"Don't you want to know where I've been?" Remo asked.