He saw a bare attic, with Navajo blankets hanging from the rafters. In one corner there was a squat, featureless pyramid, which looked like it had been formed of concrete.
Remo looked around for a catch or fastener and, finding none, simply popped the Plexiglas from the skylight mounting. He simply pressed down on the bulbous top, until the caulking surrendered and the Plexiglas jumped up into his hands.
Remo set it in a handy satellite dish and dropped down.
As soon as his feet hit the bare flooring, he froze.
His Sinanju-trained senses instantly detected a heartbeat, and the slow, shallow inhale-exhale of human lungs.
There was no one in the attic. In fact, there was no thing in the attic. Except the pyramid.
Remo slipped up to this. The sound of respiration grew louder. There was someone inside the thing.
Remo looked for an opening. There was none. He decided to knock anyway.
"Anyone home in there?" he called.
"Who are you?" a suspicious voice demanded.
"Secret Service. You Barry Black, by any wild chance?"
"Chance," said Barry Black, "has nothing to do with how I got to be Barry Black."
"I'll buy that," Remo said quickly. "I have a few questions for you."
"I am not answering questions today," said Barry Black.
"You have to."
"As long as I'm in my personal pyramid, I don't have to do anything I don't want to."
"Okay," Remo said lightly, reaching down and grasping the base of the formstone. He straightened.
The pyramid was lifted off the squatting form of Barry Black, like a witch's hat coming off her head. Remo kept it high.
Barry Black, Junior sat in a lotus position on a tatami mat, his hands loose on his knees and his eyes closed. His brow was furrowed in concentration.
"Come out, come out," Remo called.
Barry Black opened his eyes. He seemed surprised to see Remo.
"You don't look like a Secret Service agent," he said meekly.
"I'm in disguise," Remo told him.
"Show me some ID."
"My hands are full right now," Remo pointed out, indicating with a tilt of his chin the pyramid suspended over Barry Black's graying head by Remo's bare, ramrod-straight arms.
Barry Black looked up. His chipmunk face grew worried. "Don't drop that. It's imported from Ceylon."
"Says 'Made in Mexico' on the base here," Remo said.
"Oh my God!" Barry Black squealed in horror. "I've been hiding in a counterfeit pyramid! I could have been killed!"
Remo set the pyramid down. It cracked in three places, and the apex fell in like the crown of a broken tooth.
"Now that we know the awful truth," Remo said lightly, "it's time to come clean."
"It is?"
"I know all about it."
"What 'it'?"
"Every it," Remo said. "You don't think you can hide this kinda stuff from the Secret Service, do you?"
"Just because I'm bucking the establishment doesn't give you Washington insiders the right to harass me," Barry Black said in an indignant tone.
"Who's harassing? I'm just saying that the jig is up."
Barry Black, Junior folded his arms. "Then its up. So what? You can't prove anything."
"Wanna bet?"
"Until I announce, you can't prove anything."
"Announce what?"
Barry Black, Junior compressed his lips and said, "For all I know you're wired for sound. I will not incriminate myself."
"Okay," Remo told him. "Then by the powers vested in me by the President of the United States, your Secret Service protection is hereby revoked."
Barry Black looked stricken. "It is?"
Remo nodded firmly. "I quit."
And to make sure the point was driven home, Remo gave the formstone pyramid a careless kick. It collapsed in a clatter of rubble.
Barry Black, Junior, seeing this, lost his composure.
"I'll do anything!" he said. "I don't care anymore! The voter anger out there is more than I can stand!"
"The truth," Remo prompted.
"It's true. Just as you suspected. I have a secret scam-I mean, plan. Once I'm elected, I'm switching back."
Remo blinked. "Switching what back?"
"Is that a trick question?" asked Barry Black, Junior.
"Yes, and you'd better answer it truthfully."
"Switching back to the Democrats. I knew I couldn't get elected as a Democrat, so I switched to the Republican party, even though they wouldn't have me on a popsicle stick. Once I'm elected, I'll just switch back."
"That's crazy," Remo said.
"It worked for Buddy Roemer in Louisiana."
"Buddy Roemer had his head handed to him," Remo pointed out. "He got trounced in the primaries."
"That was Louisiana. This is California. People understand creative politics out here."
"And that's it? You're running as a Republican, but you're not?"
"Brilliant, isn't it?"
"In a goofball kind of way, I suppose. What about the attempts on your life? Who's behind that?"
"I have no idea. Probably the Republicans."
"I doubt it," Remo said dryly.
"Then the Democrats. They probably see me as a traitor. "
"I think they're probably happy to be rid of you."
"Then I don't know who's trying to get me," Barry Black snapped.
"Then neither do I," Remo said glumly.
At that moment, feet came pounding up the stairs.
"They're coming for me!" Barry Black said, jumping to his slippered feet. He got behind Remo, who wondered aloud, "What's this?"
"You're Secret Service, right?"
"Right."
"It's your job to take the bullet meant for the candidates, right?"
"Normally, yeah," Remo admitted.
"They're yours. Every bullet. With my best wishes for a happy next incarnation."
Frowning, Remo made for the door and threw it open, one second before the man on the other side could take hold of the cut-glass knob. Losing his balance, the other man fell forward. Remo caught him and pulled him into the room.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Who the hell are you?" the other shot back.
"Remo Drake. Secret Service."
"Where's your ID?'
"I answered that one already," Remo said.
"It's true," Barry Black said helpfully. "He answered that question. Remo's okay. Except that he knows about my secret plan to get elected."
"Well, then he's one up on me, and I'm in charge of this campaign," said the campaign manager.
"Trust me. You're better off not knowing," Remo said.
The Black campaign manager turned to his candidate and said, "Barry, they're reporting that Rona Ripper was just shot."
"Is that good or bad?" Barry Black asked, face warping as the brain behind it attempted to assimilate this bizarre turn of the Karmic wheel.
"She's alive."
"Where is she?" Remo demanded.
"They rushed her to St. John's in Santa Monica."
Remo started for the door.
Barry Black, Junior started after him, his voice anguished. "Wait, where are you going? You promised to protect me."
"Consider yourself protected," Remo growled, slipping down the stairs. "Reality won't ever touch you."
Chapter 20
When he reached him by phone, Remo Williams was surprised at the lack of concern in Harold W. Smith's lemony voice.
"Yes, I know about the Ripper shooting," he said crisply. "Regrettable."
"The third candidate shot in almost as many days, and that's all you can say?"
"You obviously did not catch the follow-up reports," Smith said dryly.
"I didn't catch any reports," Remo retorted. "I was in The Twilight Zone with Barry Black when his campaign manager came charging in with the news."
"Remo, Rona Ripper suffered a bullet wound at the hands of one of her personal security guards."
"Huh?"