"So? Once he arrived, we would only have had to wait until he left his vehicle, leaving us with the briefcase."
"But, Little Father, don't you think that when he reached into the back seat he would have noticed us huddling on the floorboards?"
"Of course not. We are Sinanju. We are trained not to be seen. We are the fog that steals through the woods, the shadow that is cast by no body. Of course he would not have seen us."
"He would have seen us, Little Father. He would have to be blind not to."
"He probably is. Only a blind man would own a decrepit vehicle such as that man drives."
"Maybe."
"And you are only arguing with me to cover up your ruining of my brilliantly complicated plan."
"I am not arguing," said Remo. The light changed. Remo pulled behind the governor's station wagon as they left the city and found themselves wending through tree-lined residential streets. "And how was I to know he drove a junkbox?"
"You should have known. You were born American. I am still new to these shores."
"Two decades in America is not new," Remo pointed out.
"Another decade and I will not be new. Why are we stopping here?"
"I think the governor is home," said Remo.
The Master of Sinanju looked up and down the street. Clapboard triple-decker houses crowded tiny lawns covered by riotous autumn leaves.
"Where is his castle?" demanded Chiun.
Remo watched the governor step from his car and up a flagstone walk. He disappeared into a gabled Victorian home.
"That must be it."
"The governor of a whole province," squeaked Chiun. "And he lives there? No, Remo, that cannot be. This man wields the power of life and death over his subjects. He would not live among them like a commoner. No, this must be the dwelling of one of his many concubines. Yes, it is a concubine's house. I am certain of this."
"Well, whatever it is, Little Father," Remo said slowly, "he's inside with the briefcase and we're out here. What are we going to do?"
"We must have that letter," Chiun decided. "We will wait. When the lights go out, we will steal within, cat-footed as ghosts, and-"
"Don't you mean cat-footed as cats?"
"No, ghosts. Cats make noises. We will make none. We are Sinanju."
"Yeah, right," said Remo, who didn't like the idea of waiting for another couple of hours or whatever for the governor to drop off. "We are the wind in the trees."
"The unseen wind," corrected Chiun.
"Yeah, unseen. Wake me up when the lights go out." Remo dozed off instantly. Chiun's tapping finger seemed to touch his shoulder only seconds later. Remo came awake, every sense alert.
"How long was I out?" he asked, looking around.
"I am not certain. Six, possibly seven minutes."
"Minutes!"
"The governor is obviously a tired man," said Chiun, pointing. Remo saw that the house had gone dark. "Okay, let's go."
They got out of the car, closed the doors quietly, and approached the house. Remo found a back door that looked like an old servants' entrance and probably led into the kitchen.
Remo set himself against the door and placed one palm over the outside of the lock. He pressed, and kept on pressing. Remo could have shattered the lock with a sharp blow, but he needed to avoid the sound of snapping metal or splintering wood. So he simply exerted a quiet, relentless pressure.
The lock surrendered like a rotted tooth pulled from its socket.
Remo stepped in, his eyes adjusting to the webby darkness of a kitchen that had last been tiled when Eisenhower was in office.
"Let's hope the governor doesn't sleep with his briefcase under his pillow," Remo whispered.
Chiun followed Remo into a frumpy parlor decorated in Danish Modern. Yellowing dollies decorated every flat surface.
"Nothing," said Chiun, looking around. "Fie upon it." Remo searched the other rooms without success.
"It's gotta be upstairs," he decided. "I don't like this."
"We will be the wind," said Chiun encouragingly.
"We will be in trouble if the governor catches us. He'll howl all the way up to the White House."
"So?" said Chiun. "The President will receive his complaint with thanks and protestations of innocence and then he will order Smith to terminate this troublemaking governor. "
"No way," said Remo. "There'll be a scandal. Heads will roll. The President's, Smith's, and probably ours."
"Be extra cautious, Remo," Chiun said. "We do not wish to awaken this important personage."
"Right," said Remo, starting to climb a curving staircase.
The governor's bedroom door was closed. Inside, Remo heard the quiet breathing of two persons deep in sleep, the governor and his wife. Remo and Chiun exchanged knowing glances in the darkness. They split up and checked the other rooms.
When they rendezvoused outside the governor's bedroom, Remo shook his head and Chiun showed empty hands. Remo shrugged, and signaled Chiun to wait outside. Chiun mouthed two words silently: the wind.
Remo rolled his eyes after he turned his back on the Master of Sinanju and eased the bedroom door ajar. He slipped in. The briefcase was a blob in the darkness. It stood on a nightstand beside the governor's sleeping head.
Remo took it in his hand. He paused in mid-step, wondering if he should take it downstairs and open it there, or take a chance and open it here. He decided that opening it downstairs was just as risky as opening it here. It was important that Governor Princippi not suspect that his briefcase had been rifled, although when he later found the letter was missing, he was certain to suspect the truth because Remo had shown interest in it earlier in the day.
Remo set the briefcase down on the floor. It was one of the combination-lock types, requiring that three sets of numbers line up.
Remo was about to start on the combination when he realized that the governor probably didn't bother to lock his briefcase in the privacy of his own home. Which could mean that the combination was already set to the correct number sequence.
Remo tried the unlocking latch. It flipped up.