"I never heard of killing someone with a golf club."
"There is no limit to what certain persons will stoop to in the unholy quest for ill-gotten glory," Chiun said sagely. "We must hasten back to America to warn Smith. No doubt the treacherous President of Vice is even now preparing to assume the Eagle Throne."
"No," Remo said as the tape ended. He popped the cassette from the camcorder. "We gotta find the President. He can't have gotten far."
A sudden voice came from the open door.
"Who could not have gotten far?"
Remo's hand shot behind his back, concealing the cassette.
"Whoever did this," he told Federal Judicial Police Officer Guadalupe Mazatl without skipping a beat. Beside him, Chiun's hands joined within his scarlet kimono sleeves.
Guadalupe Mazatl stepped into the shack.
"I do not understand this," she said, indicating the stiffening terrorists with a toss of her short hair. "Who are these pistoleros?"
"Terrorists," Remo said. "From the Middle East. Looks like they were the ones who knocked down Air Force One."
"How did you know to come here?" Guadalupe asked suspiciously.
"Hunch," Remo said evasively.
"Because we are who we are," Chiun said in the same breath.
"And who are you really? CIA?"
"Maybe," Remo admitted because it was far enough away from the truth to be comfortable.
"And what have you behind your back?"
Remo's hand came around. Empty. The cassette nestled in the waistband of his chinos. "Nothing. I had an itch." He grinned faintly.
"To another dog with that bone," Guadalupe said disdainfully.
"What?"
"It is an expression," she said. "And I believe you know what it means."
"Not me," Remo said honestly.
"We must report this matter," Guadalupe Mazatl said.
"Fine," Remo said. "Go ahead. We'll just wait here. "
Officer Guadalupe Mazatl did not move.
"I do not trust you yanquis. You are op to something."
"Who, us? Op to what?" Remo forced a light tone, but the anxiousness in his voice came through like a drill.
"I am not leaving without you," Officer Mazatl said firmly.
Remo looked to Chiun. Chiun looked back. Their expressions matched like red and green socks.
"Look, maybe I can level with you," Remo ventured.
"Remo," Chiun warned. "She is not to be trusted."
"Hah! Who said that of me?" Guadalupe demanded hotly.
"Comandante Odio," Chiun returned smugly.
"That puerco! Everyone knows that the DFS is corrupt. "
"Funny, they say that about you Federales," Remo retorted.
"It is not true!" Guadalupe flared. "Of me!" she added in a metallic tone.
"Time's getting away from us here," Remo said quickly. "Listen, we have reason to believe these are some of the men responsible for shooting down the President's plane. You get word back to the others. Tell them to be on the lookout for . . ." Remo's voice trailed off as he realized what he was about to say. His eyes went to the putter sticking up from one terrorist's shattered skull.
"si?"
"Anyone suspicious," Remo added carefully. "Have them scour every mountain. Extend the search area. If there are others, they're probably on foot. They couldn't have gotten far."
"You cannot get far on foot either."
"That's our problem," Remo shot back. "Not yours. We're outta here. Come on, Little Father." Officer Guadalupe Mazatl followed them outside.
"Those gringos are op to something," she muttered as she watched them sprint away.
Then, clutching her pistol in its side holster, she began running back to the crash site, pacing herself so that she did not run out of breath.
Chapter 10
The chief of staff met with the other Cabinet members in the White House conference room.
"Gentlemen, you all know the situation. Our President is no longer with us."
No one spoke a word. Their faces were gloomy.
The chief of staff went on. "Technically, the Vice-President is our new chief executive."
To a man, their faces drained of color. They looked like unhappy corpses.
"Has he taken the oath yet?" asked the Secretary of Defense uncomfortably.
"He has no inkling what has transpired."
"Wish we could keep it that way . . ." someone muttered.
"At this moment, Air Force Two is taking him to a Detroit location, where he will deliver a prepared speech. He knows this speech is important, but he does not know its contents. His handlers don't even know. "
"Does it matter?"
"It matters very, very much," said the chief of staff. "I have had the staff prepare a speech in which the Vice-President immediately tenders his resignation for health reasons."
A husky gasp raced around the conference table.
The chief of staff silenced it with a raised hand. "I believe he can be persuaded to give this speech on one condition."
"What is that?"
"That he believes it is the President's wish that he resign. "
"My God, you're talking about a palace coup!"
"No," the chief of staff countered. "I am talking about a necessary political preemptive strike. The Vice-President resigns. Then and only then do he and the nation learn that the President has died."
"But consider the political firestorm."
"Imagine, worse still, the Vice President taking his rightful place at the head of this table."
"But the next in line is what's-his-name-the Speaker of the House-a Democrat."
" I can't help that. You all know the Vice-President. He can't chew gum and walk at the same time."
"Hell, we lived through one of those presidencies back in the seventies. And the VP's a much better golfer than that guy was. At least the Vice-President never brained anyone with his nine-iron. "
The Secretary of Housing gave a nervous little laugh. It came out like a giggle. He swallowed it.
"Gentlemen, if you have any arguments that might persuade me not to put this plan into operation, give them now. Just remember that your party is your party, but we're considering the future of America. Can the ship of state navigate these uncertain times with such an unseasoned man at the helm?"
The Cabinet exchanged unhappy, sick-eyed glances.
They talked among themselves in low, urgent tones.
The chief of staff waited, his fingers steepled. He knew their decision even if they did not as yet. It was the only decision that could be made. Once again he rued the day the President had made his choice of a running mate without consultation. If only he had picked one of the other aspirants.
The decision was reached and the chief of staff looked up from his grim thoughts.
"Do what you have to," he was told.
"Thank you, gentlemen. I would join you in a prayer at this time, but every moment counts. Feel free to go ahead without me."
And as the chief of staff left the room, the remaining Cabinet members folded their hands and closed their eyes. Their lips moved, but no audible words came forth.
Chapter 11
Federal Judicial Officer Guadalupe Mazatl strode across the flat sierra, her broad face a copper mask of resentment.
Overhead, the helicopters were clattering like tiny Erector Set dragonflies. The sight of their Estados Unidos insignia made her blood boil.
She did not hate the norteamericanos. She merely resented them, just as she resented the criollos who had subjugated her Indian ancestors four hundred years ago under Cortez and his mad dogs. No, she despised the criollos, who considered themselves more Mexican than the pure-blooded Indians, even though they were Spanish.
Glancing back over her fawn-colored shoulder, she saw the gringo and the old Asian he called papacito-"Little Father"moving through the twisted, tortured cacti like the almighty lords of the desolation.