"Nor did he," insisted Chiun. "He was much shorter than that. He was short even for a Japanese, who walk with their legs bent like monkeys."
Smith interrupted wearily. "What are you two arguing about now?"
"Nothing important," said Chiun.
"The bad news," said Remo.
"Give me the good news," sighed Smith, grateful that this was his final operation involving Remo and Chiun. Remo scaled a letter across the room. It landed between fingers of Smith's upraised hand. An observer would have sworn Smith had plucked it from his sleeve like a magician. "I wish you wouldn't do things like that," Smith said, looking at the envelope. It was addressed to Governor Michael Princippi. The letter bore Korean stamps and a Seoul cancellation mark.
"The letter?" Smith asked, plucking the contents out and unfolding them. There were three sheets of paper covered with small spidery handwriting. Smith scanned the contents all the way to the end, where it was signed "Tulip."
"Whoever this Tulip is, he knows everything about us," said Smith, his face sagging like candlewax reaching its melting point.
"Hey, that was supposed to be the good news," said Remo. "You wanted the letter. We got it for you. Don't break the furniture in your rush to thank us."
Smith let the letter fall from unfeeling fingers. He ran his hands through his thinning hair once and buried his face in them. He felt numb.
"What is the bad news?" he asked hollowly.
"Someone tried to kill Governor Princippi when we were at his house."
"When you were-"
"I personally dispatched three of the vermin," said Chiun, leaping to his feet. "You should have been there, Emperor Smith. You would have been proud of your servant. Though alone and outnumbered, bullets flying all about my aged head, I dispatched them one, two, three."
"Alone? Where were you, Remo?"
"I was in the governor's bedroom stealing the letter."
"The governor did not know you were there, of course."
"He didn't see me steal the letter," Remo said quickly.
Smith relaxed. "Excellent. You recovered the letter and prevented an attempt on the governor's life without anyone being the wiser."
"Not exactly," said Remo.
"Not exactly? Please don't tell me that-"
"Smitty, something strange is going on," Remo said. "When the shooting started, the governor came downstairs to see what was happening. Chiun had killed most of the killers, but there was still one running loose."
"And you got him?"
"No, some screwball in a ninja suit beat me to it. I would have had him easy but I lost a few seconds when the guy drew aim on the governor. I had to step in front to protect the governor's body. Otherwise I would have been all over the ninja. Honest."
"The governor saw you." It was not a question, but a sick statement of fact.
"Sorry, Smitty. When he discovers the letter's gone, he's going to know it was us. We tried asking for it earlier in the day, but it was no go."
"Oh, my God," said Smitty.
"Smitty, there was another thing. This ninja popped out of nowhere. He said he was from the President. It was just like the situation with the Vice-President, only instead of a kung-fu beach boy, it was some white guy in a ninja suit."
"He was Japanese!" shouted Chiun. "His eyes were Japanese."
"I stood closer to him than you and I say he was white," insisted Remo.
"Are you saying that my eyes are fading?" bristled the Master of Sinanju.
"I saw what I saw. Something's fishy here, Smitty. The President doesn't employ ninjas."
"I had a call from the President," said Smith dully. His eyes were focused in on themselves, like those of a man who had been told he was terminal. "According to him, your Adonis had represented himself to the Vice-President as an official presidential bodyguard. The President denied it, but now I don't know. Anything is possible. Anything."
"I am glad to hear that anything is possible," said the Master of Sinanju, floating out of his chair. He stepped up to Smith's desk and set a plastic card on it. "If anything is possible, then it will be possible for the Master of Sinanju to obtain a card such as this one."
"I told you," said Smith, picking up the card idly. "American Express won't do business with you anymore. But perhaps I can work out something with one of the other credit-card companies." He stopped speaking and stared intently at the card.
"Hah!" said Remo triumphantly. "It's a phony, isn't it? I can tell by your face. I knew that fake ninja was spinning a story."
"This card is blank," said Smith, turning it over several times.
"Give it here," demanded Chiun, taking it back. He looked at the card. Remo leaned over his shoulder to look at it too.
The Master of Sinanju held a black plastic card. Both sides were blank, without writing of any kind.
"But this was the card," Chiun exclaimed.
"Yeah, it was," said Remo, recognizing the shape and texture. "Smitty, the ninja flashed this thing at all of us. It was covered with gold letters saying that it belonged to an agent of a secret government agency. And it was signed by the President. At least, it was the President's name. I don't know if it was his handwriting."
"This card?" asked Smith.
"Yes!" said Remo.
"That's rubbish!" said Smith. "No secret agency with any sense would issue such a ridiculous piece of identification. "
"That's what I tried to tell the governor, but would he listen? No. He swallowed the ninja's story whole. He wasn't even a real ninja. He was white."
"Japanese," muttered Chiun, looking at the card with puzzlement.
"There's no lettering on either side," Smith said, holding it up to the fluorescent ceiling lights.
"Maybe he used invisible ink that works on plastic," said Smith slowly.
"Does this mean I cannot obtain a card like it?" Chiun asked unhappily.
"How can I duplicate it if I don't know what was written on it?" Smith asked in a reasonable voice.