"Not me," said Remo, folding his arms defensively. He turned to Smith. "Are you sure about this?"
"My computers are secure. They have not been accessed. The only other possible leak is the President. And he denies it. And there's no reason for him to go to the extreme of masquerading as this Tulip. He could shut us down with a phone call."
Remo turned to Chiun. "He's got a point, Little Father."
"Nonsense," snapped Chiun. "If anyone had dared to defile the House of the Masters, my faithful servant, Pullyang, would have seen it and reported it. His last letter to me said nothing of such a crime."
"Isn't this the same Pullyang you once called a barking dog without teeth?" Remo inquired.
"Do not listen to him, O Emperor. He cannot tell a Japanese from an American at three paces. No doubt his hearing is going also."
"It will, if you keep shouting like that," complained Remo.
"Please, please, the both of you," Smith pleaded. "Master Chiun, I'd like your answer."
"My answer is no, no one could have rifled the scrolls of my ancestors. That is a certainty. "
"I meant, will you agree to return to Sinanju to destroy your scrolls?"
"This is an unfair thing you ask of me," said Chiun hotly. "No emperor in history has ever placed such a ridiculous demand upon the House of Sinanju. My answer is no."
Smith nodded grimly. "Very well," he said, standing up. He picked the contract scroll off the desk and studiously tore it down the center.
"Aaaieee!" wailed Chiun. "I worked for days on that scroll. "
"I'm sorry. I cannot sign this document without your agreeing to that stipulation."
"I said no, not definitely no," Chiun complained.
"Then you will agree to destroy the scrolls?" Smith asked.
"Definitely not!" Chiun shouted.
Smith tore the scroll again. Chiun's mouth hung open. Remo grinned broadly. "Looks like we're going home."
Chiun turned on him. "Do not be so smug! This may be your fault for leaving the House of the Masters unlocked."
"I assume," said Smith, "that if you find the scrolls in question are missing upon your return to Sinanju, you will do everything in your power to track them down and eliminate the culprit."
"Aha!" screeched Chiun, his eyes flashing. "I see your game now, Smith. You have tricked me! You are expecting service without payment. Yes, I will track down this thief, if such exists, but do not count upon my eliminating him. Remember the story of Master Sam and the ninjas."
"That is your privilege, Master Chiun. I have my orders. "
"And my contempt," snapped Chiun, striding out the door. "And be assured that this perfidy will be recorded in my scrolls and your name disgraced for all generations to come. "
"I'm sorry it had to end this way," Smith told Remo in a quiet voice.
"I'm not," said Remo, taking Smith's hand. "It couldn't have worked out better. Thanks, Smitty. You want to come along? I'll let you dance at my wedding."
"I don't dance," said Smith, shaking Remo's hand.
"A party pooper to the bitter end," sighed Remo. "It's okay. I don't think you'd fit in anyway. Can we count on the usual transportation by submarine?"
"Of course," said Smith, letting go of Remo's hand. And without another word, Remo skipped out the door, whistling. Watching him go, Smith thought that he had never seen Remo so happy before.
Remo found the Master of Sinanju in his room, writing furiously.
"What are you doing, Little Father?"
"Are you totally blind? I am writing, fool."
"Don't be like that."
"What should I be like? I have been terminated by my emperor. "
"You should be happy. Like me."
"To be happy like you I would have to be an idiot like you. Thank you, no. I will forgo that illustrious experience."
"Then be happy for me. And Mah-Li."
"I am writing to Pullyang now, telling him to prepare for our return. Do not fear, Remo, your wedding will take place as you wish."
"What's that other letter for?" Remo asked, nodding at a sealed envelope.
"It is a wedding invitation," said Chiun.
"I already asked Smith. He says he's tied up."
"I wish never to see that man ever again. He is a base trickster and a taker-back of Gold Cards."
"Then who?" Remo asked.
"No one you know. I have friends who are not known to you."
"I hope they bring a nice wedding present."
"It will be one that you will never forget, I am sure."
"Sounds great," Remo said pleasantly. "But hurry up, will you? The helicopter is waiting."
Chapter 19
Dr. Harold W. Smith watched the helicopter lift off from the old docks that reached out like skeletal fingers from the patch of Folcroft land that fronted Long Island Sound. The air was still moist from the evening rain, and a chill fog rolled in off the water.
Smith stood before his big office window. For some reason, he felt a need to watch them go. To see Remo and Chiun leave his life forever. It had been a long twenty years. It was strange that it would end on this difficult note, but perhaps that was for the best.
As Smith watched, Remo helped the Master of Sinanju, who had reverted to his traditional Korean dress, into the medical helicopter. Smith had summoned the helicopter on the pretext that Mr. Chiun, an Alzheimer's patient, and his guardian, Mr. Remo, needed immediate transportation to another facility. The helicopter would drop them off at Kennedy Airport, from where they would take a commercial flight to the San Diego Naval Air station, where the submarine Harlequin was waiting to take them back to the shores of Sinanju for the final time.
The door closed and the helicopter, its rotors beating the air, lifted. It disappeared into the fog as if swallowed. "It's over," breathed Smith. He returned to his familiar desk terminal. From now on, CURE was just him and his computers.
There was a tentative knock on his door. "Yes?"
The bespectacled face of Mrs. Mikulka poked through the door.
"They're gone?" she asked.
"Yes," said Smith, not looking up.
"Back to Sinanju?"
"Yes, back to-" Smith froze. "What did you say?" he croaked. He was staring at his secretary, who had served him loyally for over five years, who ran Folcroft as capably as himself, and who knew nothing-or should know nothing-about Sinanju.
"I asked if Remo and Chiun had returned to Sinanju."
"Come in, Mrs. Mikulka," Smith said coldly. "And close the door behind you, if you would."
When Smith saw that his secretary had seated herself on a long divan, he asked in a tight voice, "How do you know about Sinanju?"
"I know about CURE too."
"Oh, God," said Smith. "Did you receive a letter from Tulip too?"
"No."
"Then how?"
"I am Tulip."
"You!"
"Tulip is not my real name, of course."
"You are Eileen Mikulka. Before you were a secretary, you taught high-school English. I did a thorough background check before I hired you."
"No," said the voice of Eileen Mikulka. "Eileen Mikulka is locked in a patient's room on an upper floor. She met with an accident as she carried your yogurt and fruit juice from the commissary this morning. Oh, do not worry, she is not dead. It was an effort for me not to kill her, but if I killed her, I might not have been able to stop killing. And then where would my plans be?"
"You look just like her. Plastic surgery?" Smith let one hand drop to his lap. He tried to be casual about it. His gray eyes locked with those of this woman, so that his gaze would not betray any surreptitious movement.
"Plastic surgery would not give me her voice, her manners. And do you really think I-or anyone-would go to the ridiculous extreme of becoming a middle-aged woman permanently to achieve a goal?"