The head of the armored-car company was interviewed. Various law-enforcement officials and entomologists were on hand to offer their perspectives. Even the governor of Florida was questioned about the spider at a statehouse press conference.
One cable station even hauled out a pair of Hollywood producers who a few years before had made a film about a giant mutated lizard that destroyed New York City.
Everyone seemed to be interviewing everyone else and, from what Remo could see as day bled into the dark hours of night, no one knew anything.
He hit the mute button.
Remo didn't need to hear what they were saying. The footage-what there was of it-spoke for itself. For the twentieth time Remo watched as the massive spider scampered along the side of the SecureCo truck. As it worked to tear open the back door, its long legs were shielded by its body.
The results of its efforts were evident soon enough. The door wrenched apart, and the huge arachnid scurried into the back through the wide opening.
After this, the now out-of-focus camera bounced rapidly, following the path of the abandoned van. The van bounced off the jersey barrier and rolled out into the oncoming lanes of traffic. Just as the first speeding car crashed into it, the image cut out.
Quietly, Remo clicked off the TV.
Seated on the floor next to him, the Master of Sinanju had been studying the screen carefully. He seemed to be absorbing every movement of the creature as it crawled around the outside of the armored car.
"It moves funny," Chiun pronounced as the picture faded to black.
"Nothing funny about that," Remo said grimly. His expression was dark as he shook his head. "And did you happen to notice how that van looked like the one the Rocket Revengers blew up? They must be tied in somehow."
A leathery hand waved away any interest in the crashed vehicle. "The men are irrelevant," Chiun said. "It is the beast that is troublesome."
"Gotta go with you on that one," Remo agreed. "I have to admit I'm not thrilled at the idea of having to tussle with a bug that big. What do we do, have one of us pin it down while the other one squashes it?"
Chiun's brow was furrowed. "Whatever else this creature might be, it is new to Sinanju," he intoned seriously. "Without the wisdom of the past to guide us, we should learn all we can about it before we race off to engage it. Perhaps even leave it to a later Master to exterminate."
Remo was surprised by his teacher's reluctance. It was an attitude he did not share.
"Nah," he dismissed. "We've gone up against worse. As long as we don't wind up snagged in its web like Vincent Price, we'll be golden."
"Did you see a web?" Chiun challenged.
Remo was surprised at his scolding tone. Impatience sparked the depths of the old Korean's eyes. "I was just kidding, Chiun," Remo said.
The Master of Sinanju closed his eyes patiently. An intense world-weariness descended on the dry skin around his creased lids. "Please, Remo, make an effort to involve your brain, as well as your mouth, when you are thinking. I will not be here forever to guide you."
The fatherly care with which his words were spoken made Remo feel suddenly very small. And concerned.
"Are you all right, Little Father?" he asked, worry tripping his voice. He thought of the week's worth of near silence he'd been subjected to by the old man.
Chiun's eyes opened. Though the skin around them crinkled like old parchment, they remained youthful. "Of course I am all right," he retorted. "But I will not always be so. Anyone can see that my days have long grown short."
Remo fidgeted uncomfortably. "There's nothing wrong with you," he dismissed.
"Now," Chiun said, shaking his head. "But not forever." An awkward silence momentarily descended. "Have you forgotten your visitations from your brother?" the old Korean asked quietly.
Remo felt a chill in the hotel room that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning.
The old Asian was referring to Remo's ghostly visitor from the previous year. The small Korean child had foretold that the coming years would be difficult for Remo Williams.
The little boy had appeared a half-dozen times to Remo, and it was only after he was long gone the last time that Remo found out who he was. The boy who had haunted his days was Chiun's natural son, Song, who had died in a training accident before Remo was even born. Since Remo was Chiun's spiritually adopted son, the old Korean considered him brother to the biological son he had lost years ago.
"Of course I haven't forgotten," Remo said softly. "I just don't like to think about it that much."
A fleeting sternness touched the Master of Sinanju's wrinkled visage. "Is that so?" he asked. "Can I assume you were not thinking about it when you slew the homicidal ballfooter but a stone's throw from Fortress Folcroft, knowing that it would upset Emperor Smith? Have you not been thinking about it when you've used every opportunity to antagonize the Prince Regent? Was it far from your thoughts when you watched our home burn to the ground?"
Remo's shoulders sagged. "Okay, so it's passed through my mind from time to time." He raised a warning finger. "But I'm bugging Howard on my own time," he stressed.
"So you say," Chiun replied thinly. "In any case you were warned that these times preceded your ascension to Reigning Masterhood. You must understand that when that time comes, your responsibilities will be far different than they are now." The old man's tone was serious.
Remo was now reasonably certain why Chiun had been so quiet after their talk in the Folcroft hallway. He, more than even Remo, understood the truth behind Remo's hastily spoken words.
Remo knew that there was nothing more sacred to his teacher than his duties as Reigning Master of the House of Sinanju. And even though it pained him to even consider a time when Chiun would not be Master, Remo understood that one of the most weighty tasks as Master was to choose a successor who understood all the great burdens his station entailed. Burying the sadness he dared not reveal, the younger man nodded. "I understand, Little Father," Remo said softly.
At his pupil's gentle tone, the harder lines of the old man's face softened. "You are a good pupil, Remo, as well as a good son," he said. "And despite what I and others have told you over the years, you have a good brain, too. It merely lacks focus."
Remo's smile bloomed with childlike pride. "You really think so?" he asked.
Chiun rolled his eyes. "Of course not," he droned. "When I first met you I considered wadding up cotton in your ears at night to keep the mice out. I was merely saying so to boost your self-esteem."
A cloud formed on Remo's brow. "Mission accomplished," he grumbled, folding his arms.
Chiun turned his attention back to the blank TV screen. "I saw no web from this spider-that-is-not-a-true-spider that moves funny," the old man said. "And if it is different in this one way, it could be different in others."
"Like being as big as a Buick, for one," Remo suggested thinly.
"Yes," Chiun replied without irony. "If we are to meet this creature about which you know nothing, do not let its resemblance to a thing you know confuse your reactions to it."
Remo understood the Master of Sinanju's concerns.
Yet they seemed unwarranted. "Not a problem," he said.
As he spoke, the room phone jangled to life. Floating to his feet, Remo scooped up the receiver from the nightstand next to the bed.
"Yello," he said.
"Remo, Smith," announced the CURE director's breathless voice. "The creature has been spotted again."
Remo was instantly alert. "Where?"
Smith couldn't keep the troubled anxiety from his voice. "Ten miles from your location," he said. "A bar called the Roadkill Tavern. Local authorities were just alerted. As far as anyone knows, it's still there."
The older man quickly spit out directions. With a final caution to be careful, the CURE director broke the connection.
Remo slammed down the receiver. When he spun toward the Master of Sinanju, Chiun was already rising to his feet, a serious expression on his aged face. "You heard," Remo said quickly.