"Why bother?" said Remo. "Let's go in a window."
"Do you have any special window in mind?" whispered Chiun. "I do not want to find myself in a lady's bedroom by mistake."
Remo grinned. "I'll see what I can do." And like a spider in its web, Remo slipped down the building's side until he found an unlit window. Clinging to the casement, he ran one fingernail around the edge of the pane. The glass squeaked like a nail being pulled from a tree.
Chiun joined him, hanging gingerly so that his fingernails were not chipped by the brick.
"If you would grow your nails to the proper length," he said, "you would not get that mouse-squeak sound."
"I can live with a little noise," said Remo, pressing his palm against the glass to test its resistance.
"No," admonished Chiun. "You could die from a little noise. "
"Right," said Remo. "Watch this." And he popped the glass in with a smack of his palm. The hand followed the glass in with eye-blurring speed. When Remo withdrew the hand, he held the glass pane between two fingers, intact.
"After you," said Remo, executing as much of a bow as he could, considering that he clung to the side of a building with one hand and both feet.
The Master of Sinanju slipped into the open frame like colored smoke drawn into an exhaust vent. Remo went in after him.
The room was dark. Remo set the pane on a long table and made for the illuminated outline of a door.
In the hall, the light was mellow. It came from brass wall lamps. The wallpaper was expensive and tasteful-but it was almost as thick as the rug. There was a still air about the hall usually found in museums.
Remo went first. He had no idea where the Vice-President would be quartered and said so.
"Pah!" said Chiun. "It is simple. Look for the largest concentration of guards. Then look for the nearest locked door. Behind it we will find the one we seek."
"What happens if they see us first?"
"A good assassin is never seen first," Chiun said, leading the way.
The entire floor was deserted. "Up or down?" asked Remo. "Most rulers equate height with safety," said Chiun.
"Then it's up," said Remo, starting for the stairs.
"But when one's life is in danger, the closer one is to the ground, the quicker one can escape an attack. "
Remo stopped in his tracks. "Down?"
"Do not be in a rush. I am trying to think like an American," said Chiun, tugging at his wispy beard. "Now, if I were an American, what would I do in a situation like this?"
"Send out for pizza?"
"Do not jest, Remo. This is serious. I am trying to acclimate myself to this country."
"What's the point? This is our last assignment. After this, we're free and clear."
"That, no doubt, is the reason for your high spirits tonight."
"I feel like the world is my oyster," Remo said.
"Oyster, beware the crab," intoned Chiun, listening.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means we go up. I hear the buzz of voices above. We will find the American President of Vice there."
"Vice-President," Remo corrected.
"Possibly him too."
The Vice-President had fallen asleep in an overstuffed chair beside a four-poster bed, the latest poll results in his lap.
He awoke to a gentle tapping on his shoulder. "Huh? What?" he said mushily.
"Sorry to wake you up," a cool voice said.
Standing before him were two men-a white man and a little Oriental guy in a red suit and green tie that made him resemble one of Santa's helpers at a prom.
"Who? What?"
"He is not very articulate for a leader," said the Oriental. "Possibly we have the wrong person."
"Smith sent us," the white guy said. "You know who we mean when we say Smith?"
"You're here to kill me," said the Vice-President in horror.
"He knows, all right," the Caucasian muttered.
"No, O possible future ruler," said the Oriental. "We are here to see that no harm comes to you."
"Where are my bodyguards?"
"Sleeping," said the white man. "I didn't want them interrupting. By the way, I'm Remo and this is Chiun. We work for Smith, although that won't be the case if or when you're elected."
"That is still subject to discussion," Chiun interjected hastily.
"No, it's not," Remo said.
"Do not listen to him. He is lovesick for a woman he barely knows."
"I've known Mah-Li for a year now," Remo said. And the two of them leapt into an argument in some singsong language.
The Vice-President started to ease himself out of the chair. The white man, Remo, seeing him move, reached out a hand and touched him on the side of the neck. Open-mouthed, the Vice-President froze in position, half in and half out of the chair, while the two argued on, oblivious of his discomfort.
"And that's final," said Remo in English when the argument finally ran its course.