"I know nothing of histories," said the ninja. "I live by my wits and my sword."
"If that is the case," Chiun sniffed, "expect a short life."
"You saved my life," said the governor, brushing past Remo. He stuck out a grateful hand. "I owe you."
The ninja shook the governor's hand. "It was my duty, which I am proud to perform."
"You realize that I cannot take you on faith alone. Do you have anything to identify yourself by?"
"Oh, come on. That's not how it works," said Remo.
"Of course," said the ninja, reaching into a hidden pocket. He tendered a black card with writing etched in gold ink.
The governor read the writing. It said:
"TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: THE BEARER OF THIS CARD IS A HIGH OPERATIVE IN A SECRET UNITED STATES INTELLIGENCE AGENCY. PLEASE ACCORD HIM EVERY COURTESY."
The card bore the signature of the President of the United States of America.
Governor Princippi looked up. "I'm satisfied," he said.
"But I'm not," said Remo, snatching the card and reading it. "This is ridiculous," he shouted.
"It is worse than ridiculous," said Chiun, taking it from Remo's hand. "This thief gets a magnificent card from the President and Smith denies me a common Gold Card."
"That's not what I meant," said Remo. "Nobody give out cards like these."
"Not to ninjas," added Chiun, slipping the card into a coat pocket. Later he would show it to Smith and demand one of his own.
"The ninjas were the Japanese Secret Service at one time, weren't they?" the governor asked curiously.
"Indeed," said the ninja. "I am a Master of Ninjutsu, which is Japanese for 'art of stealth.' "
"He means 'art of stealing,' " sputtered Chiun. "You should check your cupboards and briefcases after he leaves. Ninjas have sticky fingers."
"Do you mind?" said the governor. "We're having a conversation here." To the ninja he said, "You did an excellent job here."
"Don't tell me you buy his story," Remo protested. "Look at him. He looks ridiculous. And somebody should tell him that the sword went out of style after the Civil War. "
"Look at you," said the ninja. "Is that your undershirt?"
"Hey, I dress like this so I can blend in with ordinary people. "
"I dress in black so that I may blend in with the shadows. These killers did not see me in the dark. Nor did you."
"Sounds right to me," said the governor. "I used to listen to The Shadow on radio. Wasn't that how he did it?"
"What do you do when it snows, pal?" Remo asked smugly.
"I wear white," said the ninja.
"You should wear brown. It's getting knee-deep in here."
"True servants of the emperor do not hide their faces," added Chiun.
"Why not?" said Governor Princippi. "It worked for the Lone Ranger. No doubt this man requires secrecy to protect his private life. "
Remo turned to the governor. "There's nothing on that card that says this guy belongs to it-or it to him. He could have stolen it, for all we know. "
"I can almost guarantee it," inserted Chiun.
"The card looks authentic to me," said the governor. "And this man saved my life. And I'd still like to know what you two are doing here?"
"I told you. We came to protect you from assassins."
"This other person did that. And someone was in my bedroom a few moments ago. And I don't think it was any of these teenage hoodlums," said the governor, gesturing to the bodies strewn about the parlor. Noticing the headless form of the late Antonio Serrano, he grew a little green along the edge of the jaw. He turned away.
Remo shook his head. "Look, just think about it a minute. This guy waltzes in here, won't show his face, won't tell you his name, flashes a card that says he's from the President but which doesn't bear any name or picture or fingerprint, and you accept him for what he says he is?"
"Of course," said the governor. "In his line of work, those kinds of identification would cripple him. And you should talk. You're not carrying any identification at all. Either of you. I think you should both get out."
Not far off, the wail of police sirens grew closer.
"I guess that's our cue," Remo told Chiun. "What about you, pal?" he asked the man in black.
"I will return to the shadows. If the governor needs me, he has only to whistle."
"I think I'm going to throw up."
"Then throw up for me too," said Chiun. "I do not think this circus clown is worth the effort."
Giving a short bow, the ninja stepped behind the screen. "Oh, give me a break," Remo said, whipping the screen aside. He found himself looking at old wallpaper. There was no place the ninja could have gone, no door or window behind the screen.
"How did he do that?" Remo asked no one in particular.
"Who cares?" said Chiun. "Ninjas always cheat. Let us be gone."
As they slipped out the back door, Governor Princippi called after them, "And don't think I'll forget this. If this is the caliber of operative Smith employs, the sooner he's shut down, the better."
"Smitty is sunk, Little Father," Remo said glumly as they got into the Lincoln.
"The governor is merely distraught," Chiun said worriedly. "He may change his mind after the election."
"Not when he finds that letter is missing," Remo retorted, starting the engine. "He's going to want our heads. And the line forms behind the Vice-President."
Chapter 17
It was on nights such as this that Dr. Harold W. Smith wished that CURE security was not so critical.
He stood looking out the big picture window. A steady rain pelted the waters of Long Island Sound. Although he was in his office, the sight of that remorseless rain made Smith shiver in sympathy and yearn for home, with a nice crackling pine log in his fireplace.
But tonight Smith had to stand by the CURE telephones waiting for word from Remo and Chiun. If CURE's very existence had not been a national-security secret, Smith could have installed a private extension in his house. He could now be waiting in the snug comfort of his Rye home, instead of dreading the drive home through the rain. A drive that he might not be able to make for many hours yet. Maude would not be waiting up for him. Smith's wife had long ago given up on waiting up for her husband. Sometimes he wondered what kept them married.
Smith dismissed his gloomy thoughts. What was keeping Remo from calling bothered him more. Obtaining a simple letter from Governor Princippi could not be so difficult. Not for people with Sinanju powers. He hoped that this last mission had gone better than the botched attempt to safeguard the Vice-President's life.
Tired of watching the rain, Smith took his seat and called up the CURE terminal. Message traffic on CIA and Secret Service levels was busy. The Service was still trying to explain the deaths of the detail that had been slaughtered while protecting the Vice-President. Newspapers screamed about Middle Eastern terrorist interference with the American election, just days away.
Smith had been in touch with the President. The President had received another call from the Vice-President.
Oddly, this time the Vice-President had called to thank the Chief Executive for sending a new bodyguard, a martial-arts expert known by the code name Adonis.
The President had not told the Vice-President the truth-that he had not sent for this Adonis. Had Smith?
"No, Mr. President," Smith had replied. "I have no idea who this person is."
"But your person was on the scene?" the President had asked.
"Yes, he was."
"The Vice-President claimed that there were two CURE operatives at Blair House," the President said slowly.
"Ah, he must have been mistaken," said Smith, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
"Yes, he must have been," said the President. "We lost our American enforcement arm last year during that fiasco with the Soviets."