"And we will land back."
"They'll seize the car. They already tried it once."
"It is time you got a new car," Chiun sniffed.
"New? I trade this in every six months. You know that."
"I meant a vehicle of quality and worth. Not an American garbage can on wheels."
"Take it up with me if we're still employed at the end of all this."
"Next time buy Korean."
"I wouldn't drive a Korean car off a cliff," said Remo, opening the door. "Now, are you getting out or not?"
"Why must I walk?"
"Because you can't fly, and neither can I. Let's go. Not that I'm looking forward to telling Smith we came up empty trying to find his wife."
Chiun emerged from the passenger side. They began walking. "You will explain that to him, not I."
"You gonna back me up?"
"Yes. I will confirm your failure if that is your wish."
"You didn't find her, either."
"That is not my fault."
"Then it's not mine, either."
"That will be for Emperor Smith to judge. But you will explain all this to him because technically you are not employed by him. You can afford to incur his displeasure. As the sole support of the House of Sinanju, I cannot."
They came to the gate. Remo got up against one of the brick gateposts and peered around it cautiously.
"The coast looks clear," he said.
"What about Fortress Folcroft?" Chiun asked.
"That's what I meant."
"And I meant the cretins who sit in boats with their guns."
"The DEA? I took care of them."
They entered through the gateposts.
Remo's eyes went skyward. He noticed that the trio of circling birds were flying lower, their great wings rising and dipping in languorous waves. It seemed impossible that the air could support them. Their wings were barely moving.
"Looks like they're back," Remo muttered.
Chiun frowned. "They seem familiar to my eyes."
"I was just thinking the same thing."
"They are not sea gulls."
"Sure aren't vultures, either."
"They resemble vultures."
"Maybe they're condors."
"Perhaps they are not birds at all," said Chiun, frowning quizzically.
"They gotta be birds. What could they be except birds?"
"I do not know, but they are an ill omen."
"No argument there," said Remo. "Come on. Let's go in the assassin's entrance."
They reached the freight entrance unseen, and the moment they entered the basement the Master of Sinanju repeated a question that had seldom left his papery lips all night long.
"Where is my gold?"
"Safe as soap."
"That is no answer."
"If it were my gold, I'd say it was the best answer there is. "
"Pah!"
They floated up the steps to the first floor and took a chance on the elevator. It was resting on the first floor, and their sharp hearing told them it was unoccupied.
The doors rolled open at the touch of the call button.
They rode it to the third floor, and Remo stuck his head out, looking both ways before he signaled for Chiun to follow.
The psychiatric wing was quiet. No doctors seemed to be on the floor.
As they passed Jeremiah Purcell's cell, Remo's face hardened.
"He remains a prisoner?" Chiun asked, noting Remo's stare.
Remo nodded. "I wish he were dead."
"Beware the wish that comes true."
"I don't believe that crap about our destinies being entwined."
Chiun sniffed derisively and said nothing.
Uncle Sam Beasley was still visible through his celldoor window when they passed him.
"I'm sure glad he's on ice again," said Remo.
Chiun nodded sagely. "Agreed."
"I'd wring Purcell's neck with pleasure, but I couldn't bring myself to take out Uncle Sam himself."
When they reached Harold Smith's cell, Remo knocked twice.
Smith had been lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling in a posture that was almost identical to Jeremiah Purcell's. At the sound of Remo's knock, he started and rolled off his cot, fumbling for his glasses.
"Remo! " said Smith when he came to the window.
"Bad news, Smitty."
"Remo," Smith repeated, his voice low and wondering. His eyes searched Remo's face.
"By the time we got to your house, the IRS had seized it," Remo explained. "It's locked up tight as a drum. None of the neighbors knew where your wife went."
"She was here," Smith said softly.
"Here?"
"Last night she came to me. I sent her to her sister's."
"That's a relief."
Smith's voice became low and forceful. "Remo, she told me something incredible."
"Yeah?"
"Why do you regard Remo so strangely, Emperor?" Chiun asked.
Smith's voice dropped to a hiss. "Remo, I know who your father is."
"Since when!" Remo exploded.
"Since last night."
Remo and Chiun looked at each other.
"Look, Smitty," Remo said. "This has been a strain on all of us. Why don't you just take a long nap and we'll come back?"
"No! Remo, I want you to open the door."
"What about your alibi?"
"I may not need one. Now, open the door. Please."
Harold Smith's eyes and voice were so beseeching that Remo felt he had no choice. He undid the latch.
When Smith stepped out, he threw out his long arms and gave Remo a stiff, awkward hug. He buried his gray head in Remo's hard shoulder.
Remo looked over Smith's trembling shoulder to the quizzical features of the Master of Sinanju. Chiun shrugged. Remo gave Smith a vaguely distasteful pat on the back.
"It's all right, Smitty," Remo said gently. "We're glad to see you, too. You can let go now. Okay?"
Smith stepped back, cleared his throat and looked Remo Williams dead in the eye. "When the woman you saw in the cemetery told you that you knew your father, she was exactly right. I have no idea who she really was or how she knew this, but she was correct."
"Yeah..."
"Your father is someone you have known for a very long time."
Remo blinked. His lean forearms trembled briefly. He willed them to be still.
"Someone very near to you for most of your adult life."
Remo's eyes flew wide. He turned.
"Little Father!" he said wonderingly. "You?"
"Never!" snapped Chiun. "I would sooner sire a monkey than one such as you."
"You don't mean that. You can't."
"You are not my son, Remo Williams," Chiun flared.
"He's right," said Smith. "Chiun is not related to you."
Chiun lifted his wispy chin defiantly. "I would not go that far. There may be some Korean blood in him. Possibly three drops. Small ones."
Remo's brow was furrowed up. "If it's not Chiun, that only leaves..."
Harold Smith adjusted his tie primly. Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes. That only leaves me, Remo. I am your father."
"Not a chance!" Remo said hotly. "I'd sooner have Richard Nixon for a dad."
"Remo. My wife explained it all to me."
Remo frowned sharply. "How would she know?"
"She's your mother."
"My mother? No way! I saw my mother in the cemetery the other day. She was young and beautiful-just like I always imagined her."
"I do not know who that woman was, but Maude explained everything. It happened while I was in the Philippines many years ago. She had a baby. That baby was you, Remo."
"No freaking way!" Remo shouted.
"Remo, will you calm down? You will call attention to us all. Maude explained everything to me. She placed you on the doorstep of Saint Theresa's Orphanage, along with a note naming you Remo Williams. "
"Bull!"
"Stop it! Stop this instant! Maude knows nothing of you or your history. How could she relate the precise details of your foundling days if she was not speaking from experience?"
Remo took an uncertain step backward. His face went pale.