"There are no traces of anyone," she said, sullenvoiced.
"Assuming this is the right truck," Remo asked her intently, "where could they have gone?"
Lupe looked around. "Into any of these places," she said, gesturing toward the cluster of boutiques, theaters, and nightclubs around them. "Or"-her other arm indicated the other side of the Paseo de la Reforma, which hummed with cars and buses and mini-vans--"perhaps into the hotel district. The best hotels in the city are to be found there."
"I don't suppose you could organize a building-to-building search?" Remo wondered, daunted by the task.
"I do not think so," Lupe added unhappily. "I cannot get the local comandante to help us. With these burros we must plow."
"What's that?"
"A-how you say?-expression."
Remo winced. "How about these guys?" he suggested, pointing to the police officers standing out of hearing.
"I will speak with them."
Lupe engaged the two officers in earnest conversation and returned to Remo and Chiun.
"They say they are under orders to guard this truck, and not to interfere," she reported.
"Interfere with what?" Remo demanded.
"They refused to say."
"Is something going on?" Remo wondered.
"Something is always going on in Mexico City. It is a cesspool of intrigues. That is why I work in Tampico. There is less money to be had in Tampico, but also less intrigue. I do not understand what is going on."
"Well, nothing to do but to fan out and look around," Remo said morosely. "It's all we have." He turned to Chiun. "Are you up to this, Little Father?"
"No. But anything to get us out of this land of unbreathable air and unfeminine women."
"What did he say?" Lupe demanded.
"Don't sweat it," Remo returned. "He says that about all women-unless they're Korean."
"He is Korean, then?"
"Can't you tell?" Remo asked, without humor.
They split up and went through the various establishments, finally rendezvousing beside the bread truck an hour later, empty-handed and unhappy.
"Well," Remo said, looking around. "Do we do this in quadrants, zones, or what?"
Officer Lupe Mazatl's answer froze in her mouth.
An olive military helicopter suddenly passed overhead, flying slowly and sweeping around. In the distance came the caterwauling of sirens.
The helicopter descended on a strip of grass near the Hotel Nikko.
"That resembles Comandante Odio's helicopter," Lupe said slowly.
"Just what I was thinking," Remo said. "Let's check it out."
Traffic on the Reforma was so heavy in both directions-it seemed to consist of three mini-vans for every single passenger automobile-that the only safe way to cross was a footbridge constructed of loose planks laid on a framework of orange-painted pipes.
It turned out to be only slightly safer than crossing on a strand of spider silk. The framework hummed and rattled in sympathy with the traffic below. The planking was as loose as the teeth in a centuries-old skull.
Eventually they made it over to the other side.
They rounded a corner past a seemingly unfinished statue of a scowling Winston Churchill and into the back entrance of the Nikko, only five paces behind Comandante Oscar Odio's swaggering figure.
Remo caught Lupe's eye and put his finger in front of his lips. She frowned but went along.
They hung back while Comandante Odio strode up to the reception desk and said loudly in Spanish, "This lobby is under DFS control. No one must be allowed to enter or leave."
"Si, Comandante," a clerk said meekly.
"Which one of you is Emilio?"
A man in a powder-blue coat lifted a hand. His eyes were frightened.
"In what room does your unauthorized guest reside?" Odio's voice was a silken hiss.
"Sixteen-forty-four, senor.''
"Sounds good to me," Remo muttered to Chiun, after the Master of Sinanju translated the exchange. To Lupe he said, "Just follow us."
Remo and Chiun flitted through the lobby, going from sofa to plant, unseen by Comandante Odio. Lupe moved between them, feeling very exposed. She was astonished when they reached the elevators unseen.
Remo stabbed the up button. The doors opened instantly, taking them all by surprise. They rode the elevator to the sixteenth floor in silence.
When the doors separated, Remo stepped out into the corridor.
"The coast looks clear," he said, waving them on.
"What coast?" Lupe hissed. "This is a hotel."
"Expression," Remo said wearily.
They crept to the door of 1644. Remo noticed Lupe extracting her pistol from its holster.
"Put that thing away before I break it over your head," he said harshly. " I don't want any wild shooting if the President's around."
"But it is the only weapon we have among us," Lupe snapped back.
At that, the Master of Sinanju lifted a single gleaming fingernail to Lupe's nose. It hovered there an instant, so close to her face that Lupe's eyes crossed. Then it sliced down with guillotine swiftness.
The leading half-inch of Lupe Mazatl's pistol snapped off, along with the gun sight. Chiun caught it. He presented her with the snapped-off section of the gun barrel in silence.
Officer Mazatl spent a disbelieving second putting the two sections together. They fitted perfectly, but did not adhere.
Swallowing several times, she returned her pistol to its holster.
"Comprendo?" Remo asked.
"The proper word," Lupe said hoarsely, "is comprende."
"All my Spanish comes from Cisco Kid reruns," Remo said. "Now, get set. We're going in."
Chiun set himself on one side of the door. At a gesture from Remo, Lupe stationed herself on the other.
"You will go in last, old one," she told Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju snorted derisively. "Each monkey to his rope," he said. Lupe frowned at the familiar saying.
Remo pressed the heel of his hand to the electronic-lock assembly. He drew his elbow back and then rammed forward.
The sound that the fracturing assembly made was not loud. But the door itself shot off its hinges like a cannon ball.
Lupe plunged in instantly. To her astonishment, she was still several paces behind Remo and the old Korean. They stopped suddenly, blocking her view.
"Hold it right there!" Remo shouted.
"Make no rash moves, traitor!" Chiun cried.
"What is happening?" Lupe demanded, unable to see past their backs in the narrow foyer.
The bed creaked. Then there was a whisk of a sound, like a sword coming out of its scabbard. Lupe reflexively reached for her pistol again.
Then the fight began. Something flashed past Remo's shoulder. He ducked under the blur and Chiun moved in, kicking high.
A man dropped faster than seemed humanly possible under Chiun's leaping crimson figure. There came another flash of steel, like a sword blade in motion. A cry.
And something shot past Lupe's head with the velocity of a rocket-propelled grenade. She turned around. Embedded in the bathroom door was the laminated maple head of a driver.
Lupe whirled back, and beheld the stunning sight of the Vice-President of the United States lifting a headless golf club to defend himself as Remo and Chiun closed in from opposite sides.
"Watch it, Chiun," Remo warned. "He's faster than you'd think with that thing."
"It is only because we are slowed by this infernal bad air."
"Just watch it."
The Vice-President looked at his maimed club. Without a flicker of his fixed expression, he tossed it aside and extracted a sand wedge. He faced them boldly, his grin like a photograph.
"If you think you can hurt us with a sand wedge, you're crazy," Remo said. "Now, put that down and we'll talk. It's not too late to straighten this out."
"Isn't it?" the voice of the Vice-President said as he took the steel sand-wedge head in one hand. He exerted momentary pressure. The metal went grunk! loudly, and when he let go, the head had a sudden sharp edge.