"You're on, Mr. Vice-President. He's introducing you."
"Oh, right, of course," said the Vice-President, rising from his seat. He unbuttoned his coat on the way to the podium and carefully rebuttoned it as he said a quick thankyou into the microphone. His personal-style manager had told him that he dangled his arms like a scarecrow when he walked and that gave an image of a man with time on his hands, so ever since then he made it a point to button or unbutton his coat whenever he left or arrived someplace-even if it was merely walking from a table to a podium.
The audience applauded enthusiastically. He could hear them but he could not see them. They were an ocean of dim faces overwhelmed by the baleful eyes of the TV spotlights. He would not have known if his own wife was in the audience.
"I haven't had a welcome like this since the Iowa caucuses," said the Vice-President, who believed in working a well-received line to death.
The audience laughed and clapped boisterously. The Vice-President smiled into the exploding flashbulbs. He did not see the commotion at the door.
He heard the string of pop-pop-pops but they were not much louder than the flashbulbs.
The next thing he knew, the Secret Service men were all over him. Two agents pushed him to the floor, smothering him with their bodies. Others, placed in the audience with campaign supporters, reached for the handles of their briefcases with lightning motions. The cases fell apart, exposing stubby automatic weapons.
The firing was brief and sporadic.
Before the screaming subsided, the Vice-President was lifted to his feet and pushed out the back door like a drunk being thrown out of a motorcycle bar. They hustled him to his waiting limousine and the car left the area, its oil pan scraping sparks off the irregular pavement.
When he found his composure again, the Vice-President wanted to know just one thing.
"What the hell happened back there?"
"Assassin," clipped one of the agents. "But we got him, sir. Don't worry."
"If you got him, why'd you have to push me out of the Rotary Club like that?"
"It was a Lion's Club, sir."
"That's not the point. This is going to look terrible on the seven-o'clock news."
"Your dead body would have looked worse. Sir."
The Vice-President sat back in the leather cushions, feeling the starch go out of his legs.
He grabbed the receiver of the car phone and asked the mobile operator to connect him with the White House. "When you think we're safe, park this thing and stand outside. What I have to say to the President is for his ears only," the Vice-President said in a husky voice. Nobody shot at presidential candidates. Not without a reason. And the Vice-President thought he knew what that reason was.
Chapter 9
Dr. Harold W. Smith knew why the President was calling. He knew it before the dialless red telephone began ringing. Before the first ring, his computer terminal had beeped twice, indicating that urgent CURE-related data were being processed.
The computer had flashed on the screen a digest summary of decoded Secret Service message traffic, the gist of which was that the Vice-President had just escaped a near-assassination.
"Yes, Mr. President?" Smith said into the phone.
"Smith, I have to ask this question of you."
"Sir?"
"The Vice-President was nearly killed not fifteen minutes ago. They failed, whoever they were."
"Yes, I know. The first report just reached me. My understanding is that the situation is secure."
"Is it?" asked the President grimly.
"Sir?"
"Relative to our conversation the other day, you didn't order the Vice-President terminated, did you?"
Harold Smith came out of his chair in surprise, his lemony features gathering in horror. The red telephone fell off the desk and Smith had to catch it in his hands before the cord tore from the receiver and disconnected the line.
"Mr. President, I can assure you that terminating the Vice-President is not something this office would undertake except under the most extreme circumstance. If then."
"You have terminated people who had stumbled across your operation before."
"For the good of America. If CURE were to become known, it would be the same as admitting that the Constitution doesn't work. That America doesn't work. Yes, I have issued some distasteful orders in the past, but always within my operating parameters."
"The Vice-President's discovery of your operation isn't a threat? He has as much as given you notice that you will be shut down when he's elected."
"That's his privilege-if he is elected," Smith said stiffly. He was still on his feet.
"But if he's not, he becomes a target?"
"We've never faced that problem before," said Harold Smith slowly. "But I think, under the circumstances, we would trust him as we do the former presidents with whom we've worked before."
"Why don't you tell me about that, while we're on the subject? I'm about to become one of those former presidents, so I might as well know now what to expect. "
"Well, Mr. President, it's very simple. As long as a former chief executive keeps his own counsel, we do not interfere with him."
"Hasn't it occurred to you, Smith, that this leak might have come from a previous administration?"
"Yes, sir. But I think that possibility is a slim one."
"But you don't discount it?"
"Actually, I do."
"You sound rather sure of yourself," said the President suspiciously. "What do you do, spy on them for the rest of their lives?"
"No, Mr. President. But beyond that I cannot say. Security reasons."
"Very well, let's stay with the Vice-President for the moment. Is there any chance that your special person had anything to do with this?"
Smith started to say, "No sir," but stopped in midsyllable. He remembered his recent conversation with the Master of Sinanju.
"Just a moment, Mr. President," said Smith, and he capped his hand over the receiver because the red telephone did not have a hold button. Into his intercom he said, "Mrs. Mikulka, would you have someone check on the Alzheimer's patient in room fifty-five, Mr. Chiun. See if he is in his room or elsewhere on the premises."
When the answer came back, Smith breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Chiun was in his room. He returned to the President.