Not far off, the wail of police sirens grew closer.
"I guess that's our cue," Remo told Chiun. "What about you, pal?" he asked the man in black.
"I will return to the shadows. If the governor needs me, he has only to whistle."
"I think I'm going to throw up."
"Then throw up for me too," said Chiun. "I do not think this circus clown is worth the effort."
Giving a short bow, the ninja stepped behind the screen. "Oh, give me a break," Remo said, whipping the screen aside. He found himself looking at old wallpaper. There was no place the ninja could have gone, no door or window behind the screen.
"How did he do that?" Remo asked no one in particular.
"Who cares?" said Chiun. "Ninjas always cheat. Let us be gone."
As they slipped out the back door, Governor Princippi called after them, "And don't think I'll forget this. If this is the caliber of operative Smith employs, the sooner he's shut down, the better."
"Smitty is sunk, Little Father," Remo said glumly as they got into the Lincoln.
"The governor is merely distraught," Chiun said worriedly. "He may change his mind after the election."
"Not when he finds that letter is missing," Remo retorted, starting the engine. "He's going to want our heads. And the line forms behind the Vice-President."
Chapter 17
It was on nights such as this that Dr. Harold W. Smith wished that CURE security was not so critical.
He stood looking out the big picture window. A steady rain pelted the waters of Long Island Sound. Although he was in his office, the sight of that remorseless rain made Smith shiver in sympathy and yearn for home, with a nice crackling pine log in his fireplace.
But tonight Smith had to stand by the CURE telephones waiting for word from Remo and Chiun. If CURE's very existence had not been a national-security secret, Smith could have installed a private extension in his house. He could now be waiting in the snug comfort of his Rye home, instead of dreading the drive home through the rain. A drive that he might not be able to make for many hours yet. Maude would not be waiting up for him. Smith's wife had long ago given up on waiting up for her husband. Sometimes he wondered what kept them married.
Smith dismissed his gloomy thoughts. What was keeping Remo from calling bothered him more. Obtaining a simple letter from Governor Princippi could not be so difficult. Not for people with Sinanju powers. He hoped that this last mission had gone better than the botched attempt to safeguard the Vice-President's life.
Tired of watching the rain, Smith took his seat and called up the CURE terminal. Message traffic on CIA and Secret Service levels was busy. The Service was still trying to explain the deaths of the detail that had been slaughtered while protecting the Vice-President. Newspapers screamed about Middle Eastern terrorist interference with the American election, just days away.
Smith had been in touch with the President. The President had received another call from the Vice-President.
Oddly, this time the Vice-President had called to thank the Chief Executive for sending a new bodyguard, a martial-arts expert known by the code name Adonis.
The President had not told the Vice-President the truth-that he had not sent for this Adonis. Had Smith?
"No, Mr. President," Smith had replied. "I have no idea who this person is."
"But your person was on the scene?" the President had asked.
"Yes, he was."
"The Vice-President claimed that there were two CURE operatives at Blair House," the President said slowly.
"Ah, he must have been mistaken," said Smith, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
"Yes, he must have been," said the President. "We lost our American enforcement arm last year during that fiasco with the Soviets."
"Yes," said Smith uncomfortably. A year ago, when CURE had been compromised by the Russians, it had nearly ended for all of them. Thinking that he would never see Remo or Chiun again, Smith had allowed the President to believe that Remo had been liquidated by Smith's own hand. It had been Smith's way of atoning to Remo for past injustices, now that Remo had decided to settle down in Sinanju. For the past year Smith had lived in dread that the truth would come out.
"People under stress are often confused," the President agreed slowly. "And the Vice-President has escaped two assassination attempts now."
"I have a new lead on the leak," said Smith. "There is a man named Tulip who has sent a letter detailing our operation to the Vice-President. There is reason to believe that Governor Princippi has also received an identical letter. The Master of Sinanju is trying to verify this right now."
"Who? Why? It sounds as if this person is bent on shutting you down, Smith."
"If so, his approach is inefficient. He could have easily leaked what he knows to the press. I would have no choice but to terminate operations if this broke publicly. "
"I know one thing. I did not send anyone named Adonis to protect the Vice-President. I told the Vice-President otherwise only because he was yelling for your head. He wants you placed under arrest. "
"Sir, it may be possible that a rival intelligence agency, having learned about CURE, is copying its methods in an effort to replace us."
"I doubt the KGB would detail a man to protect an American politician."
"I meant a domestic rival group. The CIA or the Defense Intelligence Agency. Or possibly someone on your National Security Council. "
"Don't start that with me, Smith. The NSC is not involved with this."
"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but I cannot ignore any possibilities. "
"Just don't stir up any unnecessary mud. As far as I'm concerned, you remain sanctioned to operate. Don't give me a reason to change my mind." And the President hung up.
That had been hours ago. Smith had pondered the situation without respite. His CURE computers showed no strange activities on any level of America's regular intelligence agencies. And Smith had many people on his payroll who worked for the CIA, the DIA, and the NSA but who actually reported to him without realizing it.
If it was not any of those agencies, who then?
By the time night fell and the rain started, Smith was still lost in the imponderability of it all.
Hours later, Remo and Chiun walked in unannounced. "Remo," Smith said in surprise. "And Master Chiun."
"Hi, Smitty," said Remo. "I've got good news and bad news. "
"He means good news and better news," corrected Chiun.
"Let me tell it, will you, Chiun?"
"Ignore him," said the Master of Sinanju, lifting the crease of his trouser legs delicately and settling into a chair. "He is tired from our long journey. And his memory may be failing him."
Remo turned to Chiun. "I tell you, Little Father, I saw him as plain as day. He had Western eyes."
"Nonsense. His eyes were Japanese. I know a Japanese when I see one. "