"I am always happy," Chiun replied placidly. "In fact, there are times when I am positively ecstatic."
And, stepping over the receptionist's lifeless body, the old man slipped back into the hallway. As he disappeared from sight, his wrinkled face was a mask of utter calm.
Alone in the Earthpeace conference room, Remo slowly shook his head. It seemed to take all his effort.
"And I thought you'd be insufferable if your movie was a hit," he muttered.
Still shaking his head, he trailed the Master of Sinanju outside.
Chapter 14
Smith's voice on the phone was fraught with tension.
"Report."
"What do you want first," Remo asked, exhaling, "the bad news or the really bad news?"
He was on an outdoor phone in a small park. Behind him, the Golden Gate Bridge with its garishly painted cellular steel towers rose red from the Golden Gate Strait, the waterway linking San Francisco Bay to the Pacific Ocean.
Smith was instantly wary. "What went wrong?" he asked.
"Chiun and I are in San Francisco," Remo explained.
"No names, please," the CURE director pleaded.
"Yeah. Right. Anyway, Earthpeace is behind the kidnapping. Assuming it's all right to say 'kidnapping.'"
Smith didn't respond to the sarcasm. His lemony tone took on a hopeful edge. "You're certain of their involvement?"
"Sure as shootin'," Remo replied.
"Where is the, er, package they collected?" Remo knew he was referring to the former President.
"Now this is where it gets a little tricky," he said. At the pay phone, Remo glanced around for the Master of Sinanju.
Chiun was standing several yards away down a gravel path. The old Asian had a handful of pebbles that he was tossing-one at a time-into the air. A flock of eagerly circling seagulls, which assumed the old man was throwing pieces of bread, dove for each stone. Each time at the last minute the birds would discover they'd been had. As the pebbles dropped back to earth, the seagulls would break away, flying back up to join the swirling flock.
It was a cruel trick, Remo knew, but it could have been a lot worse. So far, none of the birds had bought the farm.
"We tracked them to their headquarters," Remo said, turning his attention back to the phone. "I barely started to question them before one of their own members gave them all 9mm enemas."
Behind him, the seagulls began to squawk in greater agitation. He did his best to ignore them. On the phone, hope had drained to hollowness. "Then this is the end." Smith's voice was perfectly level. "I will make the necessary arrangements. Remo, you and Chiun are relieved of your contractual obligations. Good luck and Godspeed." Remo's eyes shot open. He pressed the phone more tightly to the side of his head. "Are you out of your mind?" he whispered. "If Chiun hears you, I'll be picking melons in Persia by next week. And what happened to all that 'no names' garbage?"
"It no longer matters," Smith explained. "This will be our last phone conversation. I will initiate the shutdown procedures that will make tracing impossible."
"Keep it down, will you?" Remo said.
He shot a glance at the Master of Sinanju. Fortunately, Chiun hadn't heard Smith. He was still taunting the flock of seagulls.
"Smitty, there's got to be something we can do," Remo insisted. "From what I saw on the security tapes, they pumped him full of knockout juice before they carted him away. He's in no position to talk."
"But how long will he remain unconscious?" Smith asked reasonably. "This is a security risk like none we have ever faced. There is someone out there who knows of much more than our existence. He knows specifics of our operation, as well as details of events to which we are tied. That information could topple our form of government."
"No one listens to ex-Presidents, Smitty," Remo insisted. "Hell, half the people in the country probably couldn't name the current President. Not that I'd blame them for pleading the Fifth."
"They would listen to this. Even you must see that," Smith said patiently. The older man was infuriatingly calm.
"Okay, okay," Remo said. "It's big and it's bad. Possibly. But before we take down the tents and move on, why don't we wait until we've exhausted all our options? One of the Earthpeace freaks told me they've got the former President aboard the Radiant Grappler."
"The Radiant Grappler?" Smith interrupted sharply.
"Yeah," Remo said. "It's the boat they use whenever they want to nudzh out on the high seas. Guess they're not content to just pester people on dry land. "
"Why didn't you mention this before?" Smith asked, annoyed. "Wait a moment."
In the background, Remo could hear the dull, persistent drumming of Smith's fingers as he typed. When he returned to the phone a minute later, his voice was tight.
"Remo, the Radiant Grappler passed through the Panama Canal several hours ago. It made it into the Atlantic without incident. If the President was on board, he was not discovered."
"Can you say 'big fat bribe'?" Remo asked thinly.
"That is possible." Smith's voice was distant, as if he were having difficulty digesting this new information.
Across the country, the CURE director gripped the edge of his desk with one hand, knuckles white. He felt light-headed. His acid-churned stomach clenched in knots of growing fear as a wave of concern swelled within him.
"You still with me, Smitty?" Remo asked after a moment of silence.
Smith was trying to will himself calm. The air he drew into his abdomen was ragged and searing; his breath was labored.
"The President is no longer in the country," Smith said at long last.
"Yeah..." Remo said leadingly. "I think we determined that."
"Since the outset, I had assumed this was either an old enemy seeking vengeance or a simple kidnapping for ransom that had taken place at an unfortunate time for us. It is likely it is much more than either now. I doubt they would take him out of the country if they desired only ransom."
Smith was trying to force his reeling mind back into focus. Since learning of the President's abduction, he had been preoccupied with both the risk to CURE and the search for the former chief executive. He had been so busy that he had not contemplated a more sinister reason to the abduction than those he had initially assumed. Now it seemed as if it could be for a larger purpose.
"Remo, the Radiant Grappler is en route to South Africa," Smith said. "According to my information, it will be in Cape Town in three days."
Remo nodded. "Okay. Great," he said. "Chiun and I can head them off, no sweat." He was relieved when Smith didn't argue.
"I am curious as to what possible motive Earthpeace could have. Why kidnap a former United States President and take him to South Africa?"
"Don't put too much hope in finding a why with these nudnicks. They said something about having him around for the outbreak of peace. I figured it was another dog-and-pony show for sixties rejects to plant daisies on Siberian missile silos."
"Outbreak of peace?" Smith sounded puzzled.
"Don't read too much into it, Smitty. Everyone in that place was probably looped on something. My guess'd be a contact buzz from whiffing the lobby seats."
There was a sudden loud squawk behind Remo. Phone in hand, he spun.
The Master of Sinanju stood below the flock of seagulls, no longer tossing pebbles. The wizened Korean's bony hands were tucked inside the wide sleeves of his kimono.
Remo frowned. Did the flock seem thinner? "Okay," he said into the phone, still eyeing Chiun. "So what's the story? We still in business, or what?"
"For now," Smith replied. "But we must act quickly. I want you in South Africa before their arrival. You must be there to greet that ship. If they manage to sneak their cargo off before you arrive, the risk of exposure multiplies to unacceptable limits. So far, we can only hope that their passenger has remained unconscious."