"Call me as soon as you have succeeded," said Konrad Blutsturz.
Boyce Barlow trudged back to his truck, which was parked behind a massive stand of magnolia trees.
"Hair Fairer says we gotta get rid of our personal papers," he told Luke and Bud.
"Why?" Bud and Luke asked in unison.
"In case we get captured, he said."
Boyce got behind the wheel of the truck and turned the ignition.
"Who's gonna try and capture us?" Luke said, climbing in beside him while Bud vaulted into the truck bed. "You got a double-barreled shotgun."
"I tried tellin' the man that, but you know how he is-extra cautious."
They dug out their wallets, tore their Social Security cards and the papers to tiny bits and, as Boyce Barlow set the pickup in motion, released them, piece by piece, down the highway, where they joined the lightly falling snow.
At Fortress Purity, Herr Fuhrer Kanrad Blutsturz hung up the phone and turned to Ilsa.
"They are trying again."
"Think they'll get it right this time?"
"No, I do not."
Ilsa's face pouted. "Then why send them?"
"Because they might. If they do, it will save us more exertion. If they do not, then the White Aryan League falls entirely into our hands, Ilsa."
"Oooh, good thinking."
"And then, Ilsa, you and I will get Ferris D'Orr."
"And Harold Smith," said Ilsa. "Don't forget him."
"I will never forget Harold Smith." said Konrad Blutsturz, his black button eyes reflecting the light of the fireplace. "Never."
Chapter 17
Remo Williams took the big automatic in one hand and shuttled the ejector slide with the other. The mechanism spewed shells like quarters from a slot machine.
He tossed the empty gun onto the desk.
"Remo," Dr. Harold Smith said, ashen-faced, "what on earth are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Sinanju."
"I'm delighted to see you too, Smitty," Remo replied sarcastically.
Smith sank into his leather chair, threw his gray head back, and closed his eyes. A long sigh escaped his thin tips.
"At this moment, even your flip remarks are welcome." Remo noticed Smith's corpselike face and detected the furious pounding of his heart, which, as Remo listened, slowly calmed.
"What's going on, Smith? I'm gone a couple of months and this place is an armed camp."
"I'm in trouble," Smith said, opening his eyes. "Serious trouble."
"Is there any other kind?" Remo asked. And when Smith didn't react, he added: "The operation?"
"CURE is secure-I think. I'm being stalked by a killer."
"Anyone I know?" asked Remo coolly.
"I don't know who he is. But I'm the target of an assassin. Your showing up now may be the solution to my problem."
Remo's shoulders fell a little.
"I guess that answers my next question," he said. "If Chiun were here you wouldn't need me. Funny, I figured Chiun would have come here first thing."
"He was here," Smith admitted.
"Yeah? What did he say? Did he tell you where he was going? I'm trying to catch up with him."
"Is there a problem between the two of you?" Smith asked.
"Nothing I can't handle. So where is he?"
"In Baltimore. On assignment."
Remo's eyes narrowed. "For who?"
"Whom. For whom," Smith corrected absently.
"I asked a question, Smitty. I don't think I'm going to like the answer, but let's just get it over with, shall we?"
Smith sighed. "All right. I've rehired him."
"Unhire him."
"Believe me, I wish I could. I had no desire to see either of you ever again. Life has been peaceful these last weeks. Then this Harold Smith killer business, and then-"
"The which killer?"
"Let me rephrase that. Someone is killing men named Harold Smith all over the country. I believe he's after me."
"What is he doing, saving you for dessert?"
"Don't be smart, Remo. This is serious. I don't have many facts. Thirteen men named Harold Smith have been murdered since last November. All were over sixty years old. I have reason to suspect their killer is an old enemy from my past apparently someone who knows my name, my age, but not my current whereabouts. He is therefore attempting to kill every Harold Smith in my age group he can locate. It's only a matter of time before I'm next."
"Only you, Smitty, could upset someone so much he'd go to all this trouble to settle a score."
"Remo," Smith said levelly, "I could use your help."
"If you think I'm hiring back on, forget it. I'm back in town to find Chiun. Period. He's a big enough problem without my adding another."
"Then there is a problem," Smith said.
"I don't know," Remo admitted. "He's been acting strange, more so than usual. The other night he walked off. Left his steamer trunks and a note. Something about being an old sandal. I figured he had to come here. You mean he actually volunteered for work?"
"He didn't put it that way exactly, Remo. He said he owed me a year's service to replace the gold prepayment from last year."
"I'll give it back," Remo said hastily. "With interest."
"I suggested that, believe me. Chiun refused. He claimed he couldn't do it. He had to repay in services. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't hear of it. If you want my opinion, Remo, he sounded lonely."
"Great. Well, tell me where he is and I'll try to talk some sense into him. When we come back, I'll see what I can do about your problem. For old times' sake."
"Go to Baltimore, the penthouse of the Lafayette Building. He's guarding a metallurgist named Ferris D'Orr. It's too complicated to explain now, but it's important to America that D'Orr and his titanium nebulizer do not fall into unfriendly hands."
"Titanium nebulizer?" said Remo. Then he held up his hands. "Forget I asked. I don't want to know. I just want to find Chiun and talk sense into him.
"Were you happy in Sinanju, Remo?"
Remo paused. "Yeah, kinda. I wasn't unhappy. I was still settling in. It takes some getting used to."
"Married yet?"
"No, that's another problem I'm having. Chiun is trying to stall the wedding.
"Marriage is a wonderful thing, Remo. I recommend it. "
"How is Mrs. Smith?"
"She's fine. Lonely. I haven't been home in a week. If this killer finds me, I want him to find me at Folcroft, not at home where my wife could be hurt."
"Sounds like you're hurting too, Smitty."
"I am, Remo. I feel like a big piece of my life was replaced, only to be ripped out just when I was adjusting to being whole."
"Yeah. I feel that way about Mah-Li. Funny how that is. What do you want me to do about these guards?"
"They're not dead?"
"No, I just put them to sleep. They'll recover."
"I'll handle this as an internal problem. I must keep the police out of this. Entirely."
"Your call, Smitty. Catch you later."
The flight from New York's La Guardia Airport to Baltimore, Maryland, was advertised as fifty-five rninutes. It was accurate if you didn't include the thirty-six-minute boarding delay, the approximately two hours in which the plane sat on the runway with its air conditioner off to save fuel and increase passenger irritability, and the forty-two minutes stacked up over Baltimore-Washington Airport.
It was dawn before Remo Williams found himself in downtown Baltimore, and he considered himself lucky. The other passengers were delayed another five hours while their luggage was rerouted from Atlanta, where it had accidentally been sent. Remo had no luggage.
A cab deposited Remo in front of the Lafayette Building. He tried to pay the driver.
"What's this?" the cabby demanded.
"Look, I don't have any American money on me, all right? Don't give me a hard time."
"Don't give ine a hard time. The fare is twenty-three eighty-seven. Pay up."
"This is a genuine gold coin. It's worth over four hundred dollars."