"I have heard Western tongues mangle the worthy name 'Al Ladeen' into the corrupted 'Aladdin,'" Chiun offered.
"Al Ladeen-Aladdin?" Smith blurted.
"Yes."
"Obviously a false name," Smith said.
"No," Chiun said. "'Aladdin' is the false name. 'Al Ladeen' is correct."
A new screen appeared.
"What is this?" asked Smith.
Chiun read the screen. "Verses from the Koran. The prayer Muslims call the Fatiha-or the Opening."
"Is it 'Muslims' or 'Moslems'?" Remo asked. "'Muslim' means 'believer,'" said Chiun. "'Moslem' means 'cruel.' Muslims are very sensitive about being called Moslems."
"I'm going to have to remember that next time someone tries to blow up the Holland Tunnel," Remo said dryly.
That screen lasted nearly a minute, then a third screen came on. It was a thick forest of Arabic. "What is this?" asked Smith.
Chiun frowned like a mummy drying. "It is not words,"
"What do you mean?"
"The script has no meaning. It is only gibberish."
"It must mean something,"
Remo looked at it, then pulled back. "You know, from this angle it looks like someone's made a pattern."
"I see no pattern," said Smith.
"Nor do I," said Chiun.
"Well, I do," said Remo.
"What is it?"
"A bird's head."
"I see no bird," sniffed Chiun. "You are imagining things."
"Sure, see the beak? Looks like an eagle."
Smith said, "I see nothing like a beak."
"That's because you have the imagination of a toothpick. See-this is the beak. This is the eye. And this dark area here is a kind of frame for the eagle's head."
"I see no eagle," said Smith, adjusting his rimless glasses.
"Take it from me," said Remo. "That's an eagle."
"It is a hawk," said Chiun. "I see a hawk."
"Eagle. It's the national bird."
"And it is composed of Arabic symbols. Therefore, it is a hawk."
"I see an eagle, and nothing you can say will make me change my mind."
"Let me see if I can convert this to English," Smith said thoughtfully.
"Don't waste your time, Smitty. It's a graphic." Smith ran the program. The script soon converted into a meaningless nest of English letters with no meaning.
"Do either of you see a pattern now?" asked Smith.
"Well, it's fuzzier than it was, but I still see an eagle's head inside of a rectangle," said Remo.
"It is possibly a falcon," said Chiun. "Falcons were employed by sheikhs of old for sport and hunting."
"If that's a falcon, I'm a toad," Remo said firmly.
"You are a toad who peeps nonsense," scoffed Chiun.
Smith squinted at the screen thoughtfully. "A hitherto-unknown terrorist group called the Eagles of Allah claimed responsibility for today's bombings."
"According to the news, they're discounting the Arab-terrorist theory," Remo argued.
"They have good reason to," said Smith. "The bombs appear to have been planted by an employee of the US. Postal Service."
"Yeah? Now, that makes sense to me. Muslim terrorists can't bomb their way out of a soiled diaper, but I wouldn't put anything past a disgruntled postman."
"The man who owned this system was a postal worker," said Smith.
"Well, he's gotta be one thing or the other but not both, right?"
Harold Smith ignored Remo's question. "This system appears to be hung up on this screen," he muttered.
"Try the secret word again," suggested Chiun. Nodding, Smith began inputting the command.
"What is this secret word anyway?" Remo asked Chiun as Smith worked.
Chiun fluttered a casual sleeve. "That is for me to know and you to find out. When you are Reigning Master, I may share this important information with you, which makes the Master of Sinanju more intelligent than the mightiest oracle."
"It sounds like simsim salabim, but that can't be it."
"I do not know that phrase," said Chiun, face puckering.
"You grew up before cartoons," said Remo. "Hey, Smith, don't look now, but I think something's happening."
The eagle graphic suddenly exploded, clearing the screen. In its place were columns of filenames. They were in English.
"What's this stuff?" Remo asked.
Smith scanned the columns. "Standard-data processing and Net-access programs. I do not recognize these columns."
"These are the names of the books of the Koran," said Chiun.
Smith pulled up a file at random.
"Yes, the Koran," Chiun said. "These are verses. And this portion is a list of the ninety-nine names of God."
"'God the Avenger'?" said Remo, reading one aloud.
Smith closed down the file. He tried others. They were books of the Koran, as well.
Frowning, Smith leaned back in his chair. "It appears to be empty of useful information."
"What I want to know is what's the secret word?" asked Remo.
Smith appeared to be intrigued by the same question. Inputting the word in a fresh file, he accessed his conversion program.
"'Open sesame,'" said Smith. "Very clever, Master Chiun."
Chiun beamed at Remo as if to say I am smarter than you.
"You wish," Remo whispered back.
Abruptly Smith said, "Perhaps there are files stored on Ladeen's e-mail server."
Smith brought up the Net-connection program and waited for the system to dial in. It took only forty-five seconds, and the speedy right-to-left cursor traced a skyline out of The Arabian Nights, complete with lofty minarets.
A flowing legend read Welcome To The Gates Of Paradise.
Once again Smith was confronted by a password prompt.
"'Iftah ya simsim' has worked so far," suggested Remo.
Smith input the phrase, hitting Enter. He got a "login incorrect" message.
"We are stymied," he said.
"That's your cue, Chiun," Remo suggested. The Master of Sinanju made a face.
"Try 'Aladdin,'" said Remo suddenly.
"That will never work."
"It can't hurt," said Smith, who typed the name "Aladdin" and hit Enter.
The system hesitated, the screen went blank and they held their breaths in unison.
Then an e-mail menu appeared.
"It worked," Smith said in surprise.
Behind his back, Remo stuck his tongue out at the Master of Sinanju, who looked away from the rude display in disgust.
Smith keyed his way through the corridors of the e-mail files, finally reaching a list of folders that included Saved Mail, Sent Mail and Messages. He placed the cursor on Messages and opened the electronic file folder.
The incoming messages were logged in numerical order by date, sender, user name and subject heading.
"Jihad Jones?" said Remo, reading a name at random.
"Obviously a pseudonym."
"No kidding," Remo commented. "Are you sure?" Other names were equally unlikely. There was an Ibrahim Lincoln, a Yassir Nossair, a Mohamet Ali, a Sid el-Cid, a Patrick O'Shaughnessy O'Mecca and others just as odd. Only one name seemed plausible at first glance. Remo pointed to it. "Try that guy. Yusef Gamal. He looks like he might be real."
"Pah!" said Chiun. "It is obviously false."
"What's phony about the name 'Yusef Gamal'?" asked Remo.
"That is for me to know and you to ponder, wild guesser."
"'Yusef' is the Arabic equivalent to the Christian 'Joseph,'" Smith explained. "The last name I confess strikes me as familiar, as if I have heard it before."
"The only thing it reminds me of is 'camel,'" said Remo.
Chiun became very still.
Remo and Smith hit it at the same time. Their eyes met and they said, "Joseph Camel?"
"Argh," said Chiun.
"Well, we know one thing," said Remo. "No terrorist with all his marbles is walking around the U.S. of A. calling himself Joe Camel."
"That would seem to be inescapable," Smith said unhappily.
"Yes, for once Remo is correct," Chiun chimed in. "There is no such person as Yusef Gamal."