Smith considered that. "You may have a point," he admitted. "Still, you overreacted. You put an investigator in the hospital."
"We could have put him in the morgue," Remo countered. "On the other hand, we could have left when they said, 'Sorry guys, no Feds allowed at our crime scene.' For future reference, which choice should we make next time, Smitty?"
While Smith hemmed and hawed, Remo watched two Mexican actresses with flawless makeup have a conversation in Spanish, one on either side of the small silhouetted skull of the Korean Master of Sinanju. As the poorly acted discussion became more dramatic, the woman with the artificial mole began extruding tears. The camera moved in for a close-up of the perfect glycerin drop just as the drama faded to commercials. Then came a news break with a video clip from some political dinner, where the guest of honor looked about twelve.
"So what now?" Remo prodded. "You want us to go run some prints through the crime lab, maybe? How about we round up some usual suspects? Maybe we could do something really useful like look through the mug books."
"I hope we'll have some direction for you by morning," Smith said.
"Which means right now you've got nothing."
Smith made a weary sound. "That's right. Nothing."
"You feeling okay, Smitty?" Remo asked.
"I feel fine," Smith snapped back.
"You oughta take a nap."
"I don't need a nap, and it's a luxury I can't afford regardless."
Remo hung up slowly, but his thoughts were interrupted by a seething hiss.
"What's the matter?"
"You did not notice this? This?" Chiun spun on him and jabbed a bony hand at the television screen.
"The television? The news anchor? Give me a hint."
"Fah!" Chiun uttered in disgust. "This news break is now in its second minute, coming after two one-minute commercials. This dramatic series is edited for breaks of three minutes each."
"Since when do you know all this kind of programming junk?"
"Since I watch the program and happen to pay attention to the world around me. You do not. How you notice the door is closed before you walk into it is a mystery of the ages. The point is, they are butchering the drama with irrelevant anecdotes that pass for substantive journalism."
Another video clip now showed the same youthful looking honoree in an expensive suit. "What is he, the world's oldest Boy Scout or something?"
"Less important still-the idiot president of an island that is vying for independence," Chiun said with disgust. "He is some sort of hero to the Puerto Ricans who watch this television channel."
Remo sneered. "That kid's too young to be president of the chess club." Then a thought occurred to him. "You mean vying for independence from us? America?"
"Cretins!" Chiun spit as the news break ended and returned to some Mexican soap opera sobbing, already in progress. "They defile art to show us their foolish news footage of feasting imbeciles!"
"Art?"
"Hush! I know your taste in drama and it is as valid as your negligent appreciation of literature."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Silence. I have missed too much of the story already. If I had not already watched the episode this afternoon, I would be forced to have the programmers of this station coerced into replaying it at once."
Remo didn't argue the point. The last thing he needed was to be browbeaten into paying an unsocial call on the poor engineer running the boards at the local Latino TV station.
It was just the kind of busywork he'd have a hard time squirming out of if Chiun got the idea in his head.
Chapter 11
The phone buzzed softly. The couple on the veranda tried to ignore it.
She was gazing over the tops of the palm trees, watching the golden blazing ball of the sun descend on the glimmering mirror image of itself on the surface of the Caribbean Sea. The moment they touched was like a melding of fate-linked lovers.
"Exquisite," murmured her companion, his hand creeping atop hers on the stone rail. The phone, thankfully, went silent.
"You're not even watching it," she chided gently.
"It's not the sunset I'm talking about, Minister." Union Island Minister of Tourism Dawn Snmmens felt something special in the unique golden rays of the sun during those precious moments as it was swallowed by the sea. It felt different from the first light of the morning, and somehow she felt it infused her with a special radiance. This notion had come to her when she was just a teenager but stuck with her ever since.
When she joined the government of Union Island she appropriated this office for its unparalleled sunset views. When the former occupant protested, Summens saw the demand as a challenge to her new authority. The former occupant now had a cubicle on the ground floor. "I don't think you appreciate my view, Senator."
"But I appreciate mine," Sam Switzer, Republican senator from Utah, said glibly.
Summens all but rolled her eyes, but her words were complimentary. "Very witty, Senator. But I was talking about my view on the Free Union Island movement."
"What?" The senator looked confused.
"You have not looked at this issue from my point of view."
His mouth hung open and the sagging flesh of his cheeks hung just below his jawline. "You're right. I've never even stopped to consider your perspective. How stupid of me."
"Now, there, not stupid," she assured him. "You're just a little too narrow in your thinking."
The senator was suddenly stricken. "Oh, mother of mercy, you're right. I've got to open my eyes to the world! I've been wearing blinders all my life!"
"No, it's not as bad as all that," she said reassuringly, and at that moment the phone began to buzz again, annoying as a mosquito. "I'll be right back."
Summens strode through the custom French doors she had ordered from a Michigan woodworker and snatched at the phone on the desk. "Yes?"
"Good evening, Minister Summens. This is President-"
"I can't talk now."
"Come on, Dawn, I gotta talk to you about something. I'm getting worried."
"Call later. One hour. Make it two."
"Aw, come on!"
Dawn hung up and practically sprinted onto the veranda, but the damage was done. The senator had run with her suggestion and was by now way, way out in left field.
"How can I vote against abortion rights when I've never had an abortion?" he demanded, tears of shame in his eyes. "Why did I fight for tax cuts when I never even listened to my opponents' reasons for wanting tax increases? And will you please tell me what gives me the right to introduce antigay bills when I've never even gone to the trouble of experiencing sex with another man?"
Summens thought furiously. What was it she'd said exactly? Had she suggested he needed to see all sides of the story? It had been something like that. Christ, this was the only dose she had been entrusted with in a month and she was on the verge of blowing it, big time. "Senator, listen to me," she said in a clear, loud voice. He stopped talking, his attention riveted on her.
"The freedom of Union Island is the most important issue before the Senate right now. You must make it well known that you now support the Union Island Freedom Bill, and you need to put resources into corralling support for the bill. It must pass."
"Of course. it must."
"With enough votes to override a veto," Summens added. ''And there can be no amendments to the aid package."
"I won't let them trim so much as a single dollar," the senior senator agreed emphatically. "Union Island needs U.S. dollars just as fervently as it needs independence from the U.S." His old, wrinkled eyes drew together. "Now, why is that again?"