They had seen it. So had the cameras. From Europe to America, all around the world, everyone saw the tattoo emblazoned across his bald head. U.S.A. #1.
From the crowd there came a collective gasp of disbelief. It turned into a full-throated roar of rage. The America-haters of the Green Earth movement were not alone. Garbegtrov's former supporters in the media who shared their opinions screamed outrage.
Placards and cameras fell. Microphones and candles were trampled underfoot. As one, the crowd charged.
Garbegtrov tried running for the gates, but the Russians had locked them behind him.
The former dictator of the Soviet Union fell whimpering to his pudgy knees, shielding the hateful slogan across his scalp even as the enraged crowd fell upon him.
NO ONE NOTICED the thin man with the thick wrists who stood across the street bouncing pebbles in his hand.
As the crowd tore former Soviet Premier Nikolai Garbegtrov to shreds, Remo Williams let the stones slip from his hand, one by one. When he walked away he was whistling.
Chapter 34
Two days later Remo was sitting on the kitchen counter of the Connecticut duplex he and Chiun shared. There was a dictionary on the counter next to him. It was open to the Em. Remo was on the phone with Smith.
"The situation is under control," the CURE director was saying. "The authorities are investigating the matter. The good news is that all world leaders have departed Mayana safely."
"Whoopie-ding," Remo said. "After seeing those guys in action up close, I think most of the world would send us a thank-you bouquet if we'd let them get turned inside out. So does all this mean we have to go to war with Nishitsu again?"
"It does not look that way," Smith replied. "While the Nishitsu Corporation did have men in Mayana, according to the information I have uncovered, they were there as saboteurs. They wanted to protect the technology that was, after all, developed by them before it was stolen by the Russians."
"Chiun will be disappointed. I think he was psyching himself up for the annual Japanese head harvest."
"About the Vaporizer. The device is being dismantled. Teams have been dispatched to the old Jamestown site to search for any more bodies among the trash."
"I still want to know how they got their hands on the Nishitsu technology," Remo said.
"Blame Alexei Aliyev," Smith replied.
Remo frowned. "Who?"
"He is a Russian who was kept at the site in the guise of a janitor. Dr. Sears took instructions from Aliyev. He was shot sometime during the confusion. You did not know?"
"No," Remo said.
"Perhaps he offended Jack James in some way. In any event Aliyev worked on the vibration-suit project years ago. When the project was canceled, he was out of a job. He offered his technical know-how to the highest bidder, which wound up being the Mayanan government. He adapted the old technology to the Vaporizer. As I explained to you before, it is basically the same way the krahseevah could travel through phone lines, albeit on a much grander scale."
"I'll say. You should have seen the size of that dump, Smitty. They'll be cleaning it for years."
"Perhaps," Smith said. "Or perhaps they will just leave it as is and close down the area. An abandoned garbage dump would be a fitting monument to Jack James."
"I still can't get over that one," Remo said. "I'm amazed he got as far as he did."
"It is not so surprising," Smith said. "While insane, James was always a charismatic individual. That quality would not have been altered by plastic surgery. The world thought he was dead so no one would think to look for him among the living. And he emerged back in the public eye enough years after his false death that memory had faded."
"I guess," Remo said. "The harder thing for me to figure out is why the Russians let that Aloha guy get away."
"Actually that has been a serious problem ever since the collapse of the Soviet Union. Many former government scientists have decided to offer their services to the highest bidder. This is a real threat to the world as far as biological, chemical and nuclear weapons are concerned. Unfortunately Aliyev is just one of many."
"As usual you're a regular Little Mary Sunshine, Smitty. If there isn't anything else, let's end on that happy note."
Remo hung up the phone.
Hopping down from the counter, he snatched up the dictionary. Book in hand, he went out into the living room.
Chiun sat in front of the big-screen TV. The old Korean was watching the news.
"I looked that thing up," Remo announced.
Chiun didn't turn. "What are you braying about now?"
"That thing you said you want to be called. Reigning Master Emeritus. I looked it up." He read from the dictionary. "Emeritus. It means 'holding after retirement an honorary title corresponding to that held last during active service.'" Snapping the book shut, he glanced at his teacher, a look of triumphant expectation on his face.
"You move your lips when you read," Chiun said blandly.
"Honorary shmonorary, this means you're still Reigning Master, doesn't it?" Remo accused. "Even while I'm the Master of Sinanju you're the Master of Sinanju, too. And not a Master or retired Master or former Master, but the Master."
"I suppose it could be interpreted that way," said the Master of Sinanju.
"But I'm still Reigning Master, right? Or have the last three decades just been about jerking me around?"
Chiun waved an impatient hand. "Yes, you are Reigning Master. So say the histories, so you are. Free to make mistakes and embarrass me in the eyes of my ancestors in whatever stupid or depraved ways your heart desires."
"Great. I just want to know one thing," Remo said. "Will I still be able to pick whoever I want as my pupil?"
"That is your prerogative as Master."
"And you won't get on my case if you think I've picked wrong or if I don't train him exactly like you would or if I don't toe every little line like your idealized version of the perfect little Master of Sinanju?"
The old Korean gave him a baleful look. "And where exactly, Remo, did you find it written that I must scoop out my brain and cut out my tongue so that I do not notice and cannot comment on the egregious mistakes and humiliations you will inevitably commit in your vulgarized American version of Sinanju Reigning Masterhood?"
"Wishful thinking I guess," Remo said.
On the television a reporter for one of the major networks was standing at the edge of a smoking crater that seemed to go on forever behind her.
"The death toll here stands at eight so far, with a loss of property estimated at forty-seven million dollars," the reporter said in pinched, nasal tones.
At first Remo thought a bomb had gone off. He learned that a gas main had exploded. The explosion had been caused by a sinkhole that had opened up and swallowed most of a California neighborhood. The hole had created a mudslide that had wiped out another neighborhood in a canyon below. Four dozen houses were lost, three times as many people were homeless and many fire trucks and rescue vehicles had been crushed, swallowed up or washed away.
Remo learned that all the destruction and carnage had been the result of a weeklong attempt to save three kittens caught down a storm drain. The cats had apparently been pulled up to safety using nylon fishing line and a twenty-five-cent Easter basket earlier that evening.
The story of the attempted murder in Mayana of every world leader was bumped to a fifteen-second blurb at the end of the newscast after weather, sports and entertainment news. After that, images of wet kitties being toweled off were played under the closing credits.
Remo considered the events of the past few months and days. He didn't realize his silence had drawn attention until a squeaky singsong broke his private thoughts.
"Now what are you grinning at?" the Master of Sinanju asked.