"Let's go, Fred. We better call the captain."
"Yeah."
The two detectives ran back toward the elevator, while Remo and Chiun went to the exit door leading to the stairwell.
As he went into the doorway, Remo leaned back into the hall. "A white man and an Oriental, you say?"
"Yeah," said the one called Fred, impatiently jabbing the elevator button again.
"You heard about them on the news?" said Remo.
"Right, right."
"If we see them, we'll be sure to call you."
"Thanks."
Remo and Chiun went up to the roof, then to an adjoining building and down the stairs.
They met a second pair from the world of officialdom outside that building.
"Watch this, Chiun," said Remo with a smile.
Remo approached the two men, who wore trenchcoats and snap-brim hats.
"If you're looking for Sashur Kaufperson, she's gone to Spokane, Washington," Remo said.
The older of the two men turned toward Remo. "Strange you should ask, mister," he said. His partner backed away from him, moving off to Remo's right side.
"Why strange?" said Remo, looking over his shoulder and winking at Chiun, who shook his head sadly.
"Because we're not looking for her. We're looking for you."
The agent pulled his hand from his trenchcoat pocket. In it was an automatic pistol. He pointed it at Remo at exactly the same instant that his partner's gun was pointed at Chiun,
"What happened, Remo?" asked Chiun.
"I don't know. I thought I was going good."
"That'll be enough talk," said the agent covering Remo. "You two are under arrest. You're coming with us."
"A little problem there," Remo said.
"Yes. What's that?"
"I don't want to."
"You don't have much choice," the agent said. He nodded toward his gun.
"True," said Remo. "Have I ever shown you the golden triangle?"
"Don't try bribing us."
His partner added angrily, "Don't you know that in fifty years no FBI man has ever been bribed?"
"I didn't know that. Fifty years?"
"Yes. Fifty years."
"Well, I wouldn't try to bribe you. I just want you to watch. You see, it's all in the feet."
Remo looked down at his feet and crossed his right foot over his left foot at the ankles. "That's the starting position," he said.
"Come on, pal. You're going with us."
"Wait. I'm not done. How am I doing, Little Father?"
"For a fool playing foolish games, you are doing very well."
"Now from this point of the crossed feet, the spin is next," Remo said.
He spun on his feet, turning his body in a wide semi-circle. The agent with his gun on Remo followed the lower half of Remo's body, gun aimed at Remo's midsection. Then Remo moved at the waist. As the lower half of his body finished the semi-circular movement, the top half of his body kept twisting around, then moved forward toward the agent.
One moment, the agent had the gun; the next he had an empty hand, and Remo had recrossed his feet, spun again and was gone.
"Where…?"
"Behind you, Harry," called his partner.
"It's a mistake," said Remo, "to do it fast. Slow is the key. Slow, sure, precision." As Harry turned toward Remo behind him, Remo went a third time into the spin. The legs rotated, the upper body moved even farther through the turn, dipped low, moved forward and Harry's partner felt, rather than saw, the pistol disappear from his hand, and then Remo was walking off toward Chiun, both guns in his hands.
"Ridiculous," said Chiun. "You take a great secret from the ages of Sinanju and play with it on a street corner like a toy."
"Yeah, but it was good practice," said Remo. "In case I ever come up against anybody good."
"Hey you two," the two FBI agents called. "Come back here and give us our guns."
"Give them back their guns, Remo. They probably have to pay for them themselves."
"Good thinking, Chiun. Here." Remo pulled the clips from the automatics and dropped the weapons into a waist-high litter basket on a utility pole and the clips through a sewer grating.
Behind them, they heard the agents running. But by the time the FBI men had retrieved their weapons, Remo and Chiun were gone, down into a subway entrance, where Remo stopped to buy the bulldog edition of a morning paper at the newsstand.
He opened it to page three and was confronted with pen and ink sketches of "Two Secret Agents Hunted as Assassins?"
"Next you will tell me that is supposed to be me?" said Chiun.
"None other."
"Hah. Where is the joy? The love? The wisdom? The true inner beauty?"
"Shhhh, I'm reading. This general says we're probably assassins for some secret organization. The paper says it's the CIA."
"Well, see, there is some good to be found in everything. Even though that picture looks nothing like me, it is good that Sinanju is at last getting some recognition."
"That ninny general held a press conference to talk about this."
"A press conference." Chiun mused a moment. "It is a good idea. Think of the work we could get, Remo, if others knew more of us and our availability."
"Yeah, but this general blamed Kaufmann's death on us."
"Who?" said Chiun.
"Kaufmann. The guy at the Army post."
"But he was killed by gun shots."
"Right," said Remo.
"Don't they know that we would not use bullets?" Chiun's voice explored the depths of outrage.
"Guess not."
"That is a terrible thing that general did," said Chiun. "Some may see this and believe it."
Remo and Chiun walked up the steps leading to the street on the other side of the subway platform.
"This makes things tough," Remo said.
"When things get tough, the tough get things."
"What?" said Remo, folding up the paper.
"It is something like that. I heard your president say it. 'When things get tough, the tough get things.'"
"Yeah. Well, we've got a problem. Those pictures in the paper. Exposure by that nit general. We're going to have a goddam posse of bounty hunters after us next."
"Do not worry. No one will recognize me. Not from that drawing, which is not at all like me."
"And me?" asked Remo.
"You have no problem either," said Chiun.
"No? Why not?"
"All you whites look alike. Who can tell you from anybody else?"
CHAPTER TEN
"You're doing wonderfully, Smitty. Have you ever thought of taking an early retirement?"
"Now, Remo…"
" 'Now, Remo,' my ass. Yesterday, the Justice Department sent out a bulletin on us. Now, the general. All night we've been on television and in the papers. When do you have us booked for 'The David Susskind Show'? Why are you telling me not to worry? What the hell's gotten into you?"
"The pictures don't look anything like you," said Smith. "And frankly, I misjudged. I didn't think that General Haupt would fight back."
"Well, I've got news for you. General Haupt has brought great unhappiness into my life. I'm going to bring some unhappiness into his. First chance I get."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Smith said blandly. "The first thing is the kids. Have you found out anything?"
"Warner Pell. It was his plan."
"Then why did one of his own children kill him?" Smith asked.
"Well, Pell had this woman in it with him. Sashur Kaufperson. When the heat got put on, he was going to hand her up, and she convinced one of the kids to splat him."
"What kind of name is Kaufperson?"
"It's got one N. It's German. Two N's are Jewish."
"That's not what I mean. I never heard a name like Kaufperson."
"It used to be Kaufmann. Her husband was one of the witnesses that got zapped."
"Where is she now?"
"I've got her under lock and key. Don't worry about it."
"All right," Smith said. "Stay where you are. I'll get back to you."