"What, have we joined the ranks of royalty?" Remo asked.
"Some have greatness thrust upon them-" Chiun began.
"And others have it slip between their fingers because they get greedy," Remo finished.
Chiun's face was stung. "I am still the Master of Sinanju."
"Who's in a dither because some brokerage house is about to buy the rug out from under him."
"This is my castle," Chiun said firmly.
"Not if you've sold most of your stock and Looncraft can buy it up."
"Maybe you should buy it back," Faith interjected. "Top his offer."
"What? Buy back all that worthless paper?"
"It's not worthless if you lose ownership because of it," Remo countered. "I may not know a lot about high finance, but I know that much."
Chiun considered. "Perhaps I will speak to Smith after all," he said.
"Can't hurt," Remo said in a reasonable tone.
Moments later they were in Chiun's bare office. Remo put the call through because it was a secure line which couldn't be entrusted to Faith, who waited outside the office.
"Smith, Remo. Chiun wants to talk to you." Remo handed the phone to the Master of Sinanju.
"Smith! Nostrum is under siege."
"Excellent. Who is it?" Smith asked eagerly. His voice was amplified by a speakerphone attachment.
"A cabal who call themselves Looncraft, Dymstar d."
"Wood," Remo interjected. "Buttonwood."
"I was hoping something like this would happen," Smith said.
"What? You admit betraying me, Smith?"
"No, of course not. But obviously Looncraft is interested in the Global block Nostrum holds."
"Maybe not," Remo put in. "Chiun's changed the rules. He's been selling his stock above the market price. No cash, no credit. Investors have to plunk down gold and they walk off with stock."
Smith groaned. "Oh, no. A move like that is like blood in the water to those sharks. They'll think you're up to something. No wonder Looncraft has become interested in Nostrum. They must believe you're an up-and-coming company."
"So maybe they don't want the Global stock after all," Remo said in disappointment.
"It's very, very likely," Smith replied dispiritedly.
"We will find out," Chiun said. "We will offer them Global and see if they go away."
"No," Smith said quickly. "Global is our bait. It's the only thing we have that will draw out the plotters. Under no circumstance must you sell that stock. Or any of your other holdings. We have a responsibility to the world economy to show faith in the marketplace."
"You cannot stop me, Smith," Chiun warned.
"Perhaps you should call a meeting of the board of directors before you begin," Smith said after a tight pause.
"Who are they?"
"The co-owners of Nostrum. Majority shareholders."
"And who are these people?"
"Remo is one. I believe he's secretary."
"What? Remo owns Nostrum too?"
"I do?" Remo said, surprise on his face.
"And there are others," Smith added. "It's standard corporate organization. Before Nostrum can make any major decisions, such as selling off Global stock, a full board meeting must be convened and the matter voted on."
Chiun fumed. His hazel eyes squeezed into slits of bitterness.
"There will be no need for that," Chiun said in a distant voice. "And since you know so much about these matters, what do you suggest I do?"
"Looncraft wants Nostrum," Smith explained. "That much we know. Why don't you meet with him? Take his temperature. "
"Is he sick?"
"It's an expression," Smith said. "See if his interest is in Nostrum or your Global holdings. The Asian stock markets will open at eight o'clock Sunday night, our time. We must be prepared for a rout. Every moment is precious. There is still time to head off another crash."
"Very well," Chiun said, hanging up. He turned to Remo with smoldering eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were secretary of Nostrum?"
"Because I didn't know," Remo answered. "And if you want to know the truth, I don't care. This is just another Harold Smith snow job. I don't own anything. And neither do you. This place is a house of cards, and when this job is done, Smith is going to light a match to it. Count on it."
"And Smith will rue the day," Chiun said levelly.
"Okay, so what's our next move . . . Chief?"
"Your next move it to take your rightful place at the reception area."
"Me?"
"Did you not hear Smith? You are secretary. Then you will do a secretary's job and earn your pay."
"I get paid?"
"Two dollars an hour."
"No chance. I gotta have, let me see . . . two dollars and eighty-nine cents." "Two sixty-nine. And not a penny more."
"I'll take it," Remo said, grinning. "Is that what you pay Faith?"
"No," Chiun said seriously. "She has seniority over you. Besides, she is now my aide-de-camp in the bitter conflict to come."
"Anything to keep me out of that itchy bear suit," Remo said fervently.
Chapter 12
P. M. Looncraft drained the last of his afternoon tea before responding to his secretary's intercom buzz. It was nearly six p.m., the end of a busy day. He was in no mood to be interrupted.
Looncraft spoke into the intercom. "Yes?"
"A Mr. Chiun on line two."
Looncraft blinked. "Chiun, of Nostrum?"
"That is what I understand, Mr. Looncraft."
"Tell him I am at a meeting," Looncraft said instantly. "Let the beggar cool his heels."
"Yes, Mr. Looncraft."
P. M. Looncraft leaned back in his black leather executive's chair. He was surprised. This Chiun was contacting him. Imagine. Well, let him stew in his own juices. There was no reason to speak with him, although Looncraft had a tickle of curiosity about this new Wall Street genius who could command gold ingots in return for his stock.
Looncraft attended to a few minor business details and placed all important papers in his briefcase. Before leaving his office, he went to his personal computer and logged onto the Mayflower Descendants bulletin board. It was quiescent, which surprised him. He had expected an update on the Reuters matter.
Gathering up his briefcase, he left Looncraft, Dymstar d with not so much as a good-night to his secretary or any of his employees, who would toil at their desks for another hour. He especially ignored Ronald Johnson.
Looncraft's Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud was waiting for him at the curb thirty-four stories below, his liveried chauffeur standing stiffly by the open door.
"Home, Mipps," Looncraft said. The door closed behind him and Looncraft settled back into the plush interior.
He noticed the smell first. Like a wild animal's scent.
The Rolls started from the curb, pushing Looncraft into the hairy figure seated beside him in the dim limousine interior.
Looncraft recoiled from the unexpected scratching of rough hair as if from a cactus.
"My word!" he said in horror.
"How's it going?" a rumbling voice asked conversationally.
Looncraft touched a light switch. The overhead light revealed a hulking figure swathed in brownish fur.
"Who the devil are you?" Looncraft sputtered.
"You've heard of the Waltzing Bear?"
"Vaguely. "
"Well, I'm the Wall Street Bear. We're cousins."
"Balderdash. I know Wall Street and everything there is to know about it, and I've never heard of you."
"I came by earlier today. Don't tell me you didn't get the message."
"What message?"
"That I came by."
"Are you daft?"
"Are you English?" the bear asked suddenly.
"My ancestors helped to build this country while yours no doubt were living in dripping caves. The Looncrafts were among the first to settle in Plymouth."
"Your accent doesn't sound English, but your lingo does."
"I am a proud descendant of H. P. Looncraft, who came to this country when George Washington was a mere back-alley drabtail."