Harold Smith's voice was dead and flat like that of a man speaking from the grave.
"Remo, please don't tell me that the Vice-President is dead."
"No, he's not dead," Remo said. "How badly is he wounded?"
"He's not."
"Then what was Chiun babbling about?" Smith wanted to know, his voice rising.
"I'll make it short," Remo said. "There was another attack. Middle Easterners again. Chiun and I got two of them, but one got past us."
"Around us," Chiun said loudly enough to be heard three blocks away. "He did not get past us."
"He got to the Vice-President before we could. Then someone else got to him. Some muscle-bound kung-fu clown. "
"As fierce a warrior as I have ever before seen," yelled Chiun. "Swift he was, and deadly of hand and eye. Also, he cheated. He climbed in through a window instead of using the front door like a civilized bodyguard."
Remo just looked at Chin blankly. Chiun subsided into silence.
"As I was saying," Remo went on, still looking at Chiun's worried face, "this guy beat us to the punch. He took out the last killer. Claimed he's the Vice-President's new bodyguard, but wouldn't say who sent him until we were out of the room."
"I see," said Smith. "I assume you're calling from Blair House to request an identity check on this new element?"
"Not exactly," said Remo. "We're out on the street. The Vice-President kicked us out."
"Kicked-"
"Yeah, he thought this kung-fu surfer was great shakes. He also thinks we took out his Secret Service protection just so the terrorists could get a clear shot at him. I think he blamed you, Smitty."
"Me?" Smith's voice was sick.
"He was yelling about an investigation, charges. Says we're all washed up."
"Think of plausibility," yelled Chiun. "It is not too late. I will be as your Colonel South. I have many neat ideas."
"What are you babbling about?" asked Remo.
"It is not of your concern, unemployed person," Chiun sniffed.
"What was he talking about, Smitty?" asked Remo. "Who's this Colonel South? The blond guy, Adonis?"
"No. Never mind," Smith sighed.
"What do we do now, Smitty? We were kicked out, but we take our orders from you. Do we go back in and mop up this guy, or what?"
"I think under the circumstances if the attackers have been eliminated, we might leave the Vice-President in the hands of this new person. You say he's competent?"
"He was fast, I'll give him that much."
"But he was fat," said Chiun. "He is not like us, Emperor, mean and lean. We are the sizzling bacon of the Constitution. "
Remo glared at Chiun again. "I wish you'd make up your mind," he said.
"I am negotiating the treacherous surf," Chiun whispered. "Try it sometime. You will get less brine in your mouth."
"Right, brine," said Remo.
"Anything else?" asked Smith.
"No," said Remo in a distant voice. Then, suddenly. "Yes. Actually, there is. We found out where the Vice-President learned about CURE. He says he got a letter from someone who knew all about the operation. And about Sinanju too."
"Any identification on this letter writer?"
"The Vice-President had no idea. Said the letter was signed 'Tulip.' "
"A letter," Smith said slowly. Through the receiver came the tapping of computer-terminal keys.
"While you're fiddling with your files," Remo said, "how about we come back? We're as useless as sponge boys in a cathouse down here."
"Speak for yourself, sponge boy," Chiun said haughtily.
"No," said Smith. "Wait, I'm calling up the current whereabouts of Michael Princippi."
"He's calling up the current whereabouts of Michael Princippi," Remo told Chiun, who was tugging on Remo's belt, demanding to know what was happening.
"Good," said Chiun firmly. In a softer voice he asked, "Who is that?"
"Chiun wants to know who Michael Princippi is," Remo said into the phone.
"I did not!" snapped Chiun. "Of course I know the famous black American singer."
"I think you're thinking of the wrong Michael. Or the wrong Prince. I'm not sure which," said Remo. "But the name sounds familiar somehow."
"Michael Princippi is the Democratic nominee for President," Smith said. "Surely you remember, Remo. You showed me an article concerning him only this afternoon."
"Oh, yeah," said Remo. "I forgot. Why should we care where that guy is?"
"If the Vice-President's source for his information on CURE is this Tulip, it follows that Princippi may have also received a letter from this man. Princippi has returned to his office in his home state. Fly there immediately. Identify yourself as CURE personnel and politely but firmly ask about any letters he might have received from Tulip. Find out all you can, Remo. If there is a letter, confiscate it. Maybe it will tell us something."
"Gotcha," Remo said. "Anything else, Smitty?"
"Good luck. As of now, CURE is hanging by a thread." Remo hung up.
"What did he say?" Chiun asked plaintively.
"He said CURE is hanging by a thread."