Faith met them at the door, wearing only a smile and holding up two bottles of mineral water.
Remo took in the sight of her nakedness without surprise and with both hands stuffed into his chino pockets.
"Thank goodness you're safe," she cooed.
"Chiun and I are safe," Remo corrected, pulling the Master of Sinanju into view by his sleeve.
Faith's eyes went to Chiun. Chiun's hands went over his eyes in mortification. He gasped.
The stars went out of Faith's eyes and she made an eek of a surprise noise like a cartoon mouse. She hopped back behind the door.
"Why don't I handle this alone?" Remo suggested.
"I did not know she was like that," Chiun said, taking his hands from his shocked eyes.
"Must be the stress of high finance."
"I will wait here," Chiun said. "Do it quickly."
"It may take a while to pump her."
"That was not what I meant," Chiun said disgustedly, turning his back.
Remo closed the door behind him. "Hello?" he called.
Faith came out of the bathroom holding a towel around her shapely body.
"Where's the chief?" she asked.
"There are some things that upset him. He decided to wait in the hall."
The smile returned to Faith's face. She dropped the towel, revealing, among other things, possible evidence that she was a natural blond.
"Let's not keep him waiting," she said, reaching for Remo's hand, the better to guide him into the bedroom. Remo kept his hand in his pocket.
"Actually, I came to ask you about Looncraft. I think he was behind the shooting today."
Faith stopped. "Looncraft? Why?"
"We don't know why. But it was something to do with the British. Do you remember anything that would connect Looncraft to the British government or any British agent or interest?"
"I doubt it. He was always humming patriotic songs under his breath. You know, 'My Country', 'Tis of Thee,' 'The Star-Spangled Banner.' Stuff like that."
"Doesn't add up," Remo muttered. "Are you sure about that?"
"I think better when I'm lying down," Faith suggested, arching a provocative eyebrow.
Remo sighed. "Okay, whatever works."
Faith jumped onto the bed so hard she bounced. Remo sat on the edge. He was forced to take his hands out of his pockets. The sight of Remo's fingers sent Faith digging into the drawer of a side table.
"I know that Looncraft had a bug in his ear about people's ancestry," Faith said as she searched. "He asked me once if I had any English forebears."
"Do you?"
"Search me. I guess so. And German and Dutch and maybe a little French. Ah, here it is."
Faith took what Remo at first mistook for an individually wrapped Alka-Seltzer tablet in her mouth and tore the blue foil packet apart with perfect white teeth.
"What's that?" Remo asked.
Faith smiled. She dangled a yellowish rubbery ring under his nose.
Remo made a face. "I hate condoms."
"I believe in practicing safe sex," Faith told him, grabbing Remo by one thick wrist. "Now, put it on. It won't bite you. But I might," she added deliciously.
"First answer a few more questions. Think. Anything British about Looncraft?"
"Well," Faith said slowly, "I do remember one time I brought some reports into his office. He was at his computer. "
"The one on his desk?" Remo asked.
"No. Not the Telerate machine. The other one. He was glaring at something on the screen like he was angry at it. He muttered something about the London relay being down."
"The London relay? Do you remember what was on the screen?"
"Something about a king or queen, or both."
"Could it have been a chess move, like Bishop's King Twelve?"
"That's no chess move."
"Just answer the question."
"Yeah, I think it was a chess move. Satisfied? Can we play now?"
"A deal's a deal," Remo said without joy.
"Oh, goody," Faith cooed, grabbing his wrist again. "Close your eyes and I'll put it on for you."
"Shouldn't I undress first?" Remo wanted to know.
"No. This is my party. We play my way."
Remo closed his eyes. Faith took hold of his wrist. He heard the condom creak at it was unrolled. He frowned. He didn't feel his zipper slide down. But his forefinger felt suddenly tight.
"Open your eyes," Faith called musically.
Remo opened his eyes. He saw Faith sitting there, her eyes closed, her left wrist held out as an offering.
And Remo's right index finger was sheathed in pale yellowish lambskin.
Sighing, Remo began tapping Faith's wrist with it.
"I hate using these things," he groused.
Five boring minutes later, Remo left the apartment, his face at half-mast.
" I got something," he told Chiun.
"No doubt she did too," Chiun sniffed.
"Hey, I kept my pants on. Honest."
"Do not lie to me, Remo," Chiun scolded. "I heard her disgusting cries of ecstasy."
"Have it your way," Remo said. "Looncraft's getting his computer chess moves from London, or near London. Faith remembered him complaining about the London relay, whatever that is."
"Smith should know," Chiun said.
"We can call him from the Nostrum office," Remo suggested.
Harold W. Smith took the call in the near-darkness of the Folcroft office. The glowing green screen illuminated his pinched, unhealthy face.
"Smith? Remo. I got a lead. Those chess moves are coming from London."
Smith listened to Remo's story. "Take the next flight to London. "
"Then what?"
"Contact me when you get there," Smith said in a distant voice. "I have penetrated Looncraft's computer and believe I can break down his passwords."
"Shouldn't be too hard," Remo said airily. "I got a bunch of files to print out just by pounding a mess of keys all at once."
"I will await your call," Smith said, hanging up. He returned to his task and watched as the screen displayed single words in high-speed sequence. The Folcroft mainframe was attempting to feed the Looncraft, Dymstar d system every possible single-word password in the English language. It was just a matter of time.
The computer beeped and locked on the word "CROWN."
Smith tapped the 'Enter' key.
Columns of file names presented themselves to Harold Smith. He chose one at random. It was labeled "MAP." Smith accessed it with a keystroke.
The sight that greeted Harold Smith's eyes at first appeared commonplace. It was a greenish wire-frame map of the continental United States, divided by states.
Smith was about to abandon the file when he realized there was something odd about the state divisions. He tapped a key which magnified the map. He lost most of the West as it expanded, but the Eastern Seaboard showed quite clearly.
"What on earth?" Smith said to himself as he read the state names. At first he thought he was looking at a foreign-language map of America. On closer inspection he realized "Bolton" was the city of Boston. The name was written with the Old English long 's', which resembled an 'f'.
There were other differences. The border with Canada was hundreds of miles lower, cutting deep into Maine and the Great Lakes region. Vermont and New Hampshire were combined under the name New-Hampshire Grants. Massachusetts was bisected vertically. The western half was called Springfield and the eastern portion labeled New Ireland Protectorate. Rhode Island's capital was Providence-Plantations. Further south, there were other changes. Pennsylvania was Cornwallis. Virginia was Victoria. Washington, D.C., had been renamed Wellington. Miami was Kingsport.
"This is insane," Smith muttered, bringing the rest of the map into view again. He put his nose to the screen. Further west, the familiar squarish state lines had been redrawn into arbitrary zones bearing names such as King
John's Land, the Princess Diana Grants, New Wales, and, most bizarrely, the Benedict Arnold Mountains were where the Rocky Mountains should have been. Great Churchill Lake occupied the former site of Great Salt Lake.