Smith blinked. "If he comes back, do not alarm him. Notify the FBI at once. Ask for Special Agent Rowland."
"Gotcha. Man, I can't believe it. He's a terrorist. That's worse than a postal worker, isn't it?"
"Far worse."
The landlord opened the entrance door for Smith, who turned and asked a question he should have asked before.
"What is Ladeen's first name?"
"Allah. But everybody called him Al."
"I was never here," said Smith, hurrying down the stairs.
Chapter 8
The first thing Remo Williams did upon returning to his Quincy, Massachusetts, home was check the message machine in the downstairs kitchen.
He expected a blinking red light. There was no blinking red light.
"Maybe Smith hasn't gotten word about Osaka," he told Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju made a dismissive gesture with his jade nail protector. "Smith and his oracles see all and know all."
"Maybe the Japanese are hushing it up for now."
"Smith would know this, too."
"Well, he hasn't called," said Remo. "Could be he's not mad at us."
"Why should he be angry? We only executed his royal decrees."
"We created an international incident. Your face is probably in every post office in Japan by now."
Chiun stroked his wispy beard. "I would not mind gracing a postal stamp. Assuming my countenance was not marred by unwanted facial hair."
"I meant on Wanted posters."
Chiun's smile disintegrated. "The Japanese would doubtless fail to pay me my hard-earned royalties, knowing their ilk," sniffed Chiun.
"Might be a good idea to check the news," said Remo. "It's almost six o'clock."
"Yes. We will watch Bev Woo."
"Which one?" asked Remo.
"The substantial one, of course."
Remo frowned. "You mean the dumpy one?"
"She is substantial, not dumpy. Only obsessive Western eyes like yours would call the gracious Bev Woo that awful word."
"I like the other Bev Woo. The one on Channel 7."
"The Channel 5 Bev Woo is the only Woo worth watching."
They were mounting the staircase to the bell tower, Chiun hurrying ahead in order to be the first to the big-screen TV. There were TVs all over the house, but the one they watched together was in the bell tower.
"At least she isn't Cheeta Ching," said Remo.
"Do not mention that name in this house."
"Sorry," said Remo.
Cheeta Ching was a sore spot with the Master of Sinanju. For most of the '80s, he had been secretly enamored of the national network anchorwoman. It had not been a problem as long as Chiun worshiped her from afar. But when he attempted to pursue his feelings, it had brought Remo and Chiun in repeated contact with the voracious anchorshark.
As a result, Chiun had fallen out of love with Cheeta Ching, just as he had earlier gotten over his infatuation with Barbra Streisand. Since then, there had been no similar figure in the Master of Sinanju's life.
Beverly Woo was not the object of Chiun's affections. She had been a long-time reporter on the local Channel 5. Until recently Chiun had hardly paid any attention to her.
Then the rival Channel 7 had hired another Asian anchorwoman, coincidentally also named Bev Woo. The second Bev Woo was young, slim and Remo found her passably attractive. It wouldn't have mattered much except Remo had once remarked to Chiun that the new Bev Woo was an improvement over the old.
Chiun had retorted, "Are you mad! The new Bev Woo is scrawny and underfed!"
"The old Bev Woo is dumpy and round."
"At least you cannot count her ribs through her clothes, like the new Woo."
"The old Woo is built like a Mack truck."
"The old Woo is built to bear babies, as a woman should. This new Woo is a mere slip of a girl."
"I'll take her over the old Woo."
"You cannot have her. I forbid it!"
"For crying out loud, I don't want her, Chiun. I'm just talking."
"You are babbling. To compare this new, upstart Woo to the wise and substantial Woo of old-"
"Look, I don't want either Woo. But if I'm going to watch one on TV, I'd rather the new Woo."
"From this day forward," Chiun had proclaimed, "I forbid the face of the new Woo on my TV screen." And from that day on, Remo had made a point of tuning in to the new Bev Woo whenever possible, even though he would have much preferred the brunette on Channel 4. But this was a matter of pride. He was a grown man and a Master of Sinanju, besides. He would watch whomever he wanted to watch.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Chiun dashed into the bell tower and snatched up the remote control. He aimed it at the screen. On came Channel 5 and the old Woo in all her doughy glory.
Laying the clicker on the hardwood floor as he sat down, Chiun watched the newscast intently.
Remo took his place beside the Master of Sinanju. Chiun's attention was focused on the big screen. Surreptitiously Remo's hand took up the clicker. "If you point that device at the old Woo, I will break it," warned Chiun without looking away from the screen.
Remo thought about that a minute. They had been through all this before, but Remo wasn't about to give in so easily. It was a matter of pride. After all, it was his house, too. And his TV.
Willing his forehead to perspire, Remo waited until the sheen of his forehead was reflected in the dark parts of the TV screen.
Then he said, "I'll promise not to point the clicker at the TV if you promise not to break it or change the channel for the rest of the evening."
"Done," said Chiun.
And holding the clicker so it pointed at his own shiny reflective brow, Remo pressed the 7 button. The infrared signal hit his forehead and bounced back.
The channel flicked over to 7, and the pretty face of the new Woo appeared.
"What is this! What is this!" Chiun howled.
"Must have pressed the button by accident," Remo said, face bland.
"You changed the channel."
"I didn't point it at the screen," Remo said quickly.
"What white talk is this? Change it back this instant."
"I'd like it the way it is, and don't forget your promise."
Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed suddenly. "Why do you perspire?"
Remo shrugged. "Why not?"
Chiun's eyes squeezed almost shut. His papery lips thinned. "You tricked me!"
"I outwitted you. Maybe. Now settle down. I want to hear what she's saying."
Redirecting his attention back to the screen, Chiun made a sour face. "How can you stand that thin, pasty face?"
"It's makeup, and her face has a nice shape."
"She has the head of a turnip. And she is sunken of cheek and hollow of eye."
The graphic over the new Woo's head showed an explosion. The words Bomb Scare labeled the explosion in scary, shattered red letters.
"Hold on. This may be it," said Remo, reaching for the clicker to turn up the volume.
"Remember your promise," hissed Chiun.
"Oh, right," said Remo.
"And I will not be silent until I have the old Woo back in all her oblate glory."
"Chiun, this is important."
"So is the correct Woo."
"How about we compromise and watch Channel 4?" Remo suggested.
Chiun hesitated. "I may be willing to compromise as long as I am spared the horrid sight of the new Woo," he allowed thinly.
"Good," said Remo, lifting the clicker again.
"No. I must do it. You have made a promise."
Remo hesitated.
"I have promised," said Chiun. "And you have promised. We are prisoners of our promises."
"Okay," said Remo, handing over the remote control.
The Master of Sinanju changed the channel with a quick flourish.
Instead of the expected brunette, there was a new Asian female reporter doing a remote stand-up on Channel 4.
"Who is she?" Remo blurted.