Remo was momentarily speechless. “What? You sent me to freaking Jamaica!”
“I did.”
“Without bothering to tell me about freaking New Jersey.”
“You’re correct.”
“You omitted the most important facts, on purpose. That’s wrong.”
Harold Smith sat back in his chair, but was as stiff as a plank. “You mean to say that in addition to prioritizing your missions, you want to evaluate the urgency of the missions? I am obligated to give you a list of all possible crises?”
“Yes. How else can I figure out what’s the most important?”
Smith nodded tersely. “So what would you have had me do, Remo? Read off a list of all pending crises, then detail each of them so you can choose the mission you feel is in the best interests of this country?”
“All you’d have had to say is, ‘The British are coming to New Jersey’ and I would have been on it,” Remo said. “Come to think of it, New Jersey is in our country and Jamaica ain’t. I don’t see how anybody could say that us going to Jamaica was the best thing to do.”
“So,” Smith said, “regardless of the lack of potential damage to U.S. stability, you would have put that theater of the crisis above all the others? People would have been dying in droves in the streets of Jamaica. Just a few were killed in New Jersey, but New Jersey was still more important?”
“You’re twisting the truth and you’re dodging the point. You broke our contract by failing to give me all the facts.”
“I don’t agree. I know I did the right thing, however, if my actions led you to keep Sir Mutha from perpetrating genocide in Jamaica.”
Remo folded his arms on his chest and glowered. Mark Howard tried not to look at him. Remo Williams, sometimes goof, could also be the human embodiment of death. He was the most skilled assassin on Earth, and sometimes you could read it in his eyes. Sometimes he was the manifestation of something terrifying.
Harold W. Smith could ignore it, somehow. He looked at Remo and waited.
“So? What do we do about New Jersey?”
“We do nothing.”
“What you mean to say is…?”
“What I mean is, we do nothing. Right now we’re in a holding pattern. This is a politically delicate situation.”
“Bulldookey.”
“Consider the complications, Remo,” Smith said. “First of all, there’s the legality of the actions by the British.”
“There’s no legality to it at all,” Remo said. “We declared our independence. We showed them the door. This was a while back, but they’ve got no claim over New Jersey.”
“Of course not. Still, the President is waiting for the British parliament to officially denounce the Proclamation of the Continuation of the British Empire. They’ve been slow in doing so, in part because of a groundswell of support for the movement. It’s a politically dicey situation for parliament—and here.”
“You can’t go offing British knights, Remo,” said Mark Howard.
“If the knights have done bad things, why not?”
“Because it is a slap in the face of the queen of England,” said Chiun evenly.
“She shouldn’t have knighted these no-goodniks in the first place,” Remo said. “Just because they’re a part of the Royal Order of The Green Hankie they can’t have immunity. It doesn’t work that way.”
“But the United Kingdom is our closest ally,” Smith pointed out. “We can spare a day or two for England to figure out its response to the crisis before we start taking up arms against the British.”
“There is also the problem of support within New Jersey,” Howard added. “Colonial Governor Dowzall seems to have the backing of most senior state officials. They’re working for him.”
“Under threat of death,” Remo reminded him. “Probably. Even the manner in which he made the transition public helped garner support for the recolonization. Even if the concert-goers didn’t know what they were agreeing to, they all did take an oath of loyalty to the new governor and the queen.”
“Stupid games,” Remo responded. “Cheap tricks. That’s no way to pick leaders.”
“But more sensible than how this nation normally chooses leaders,” Chiun pointed out.
“Some of the support for this movement is genuine,” Mark added.
“In Ayounde, maybe they want to be colonized,” Remo said. “Not in New Jersey.”
“Yes, in New Jersey,” Smith said. “There’s a fairly vocal movement backing colonial rule.”
“Truly?” Chiun asked.
“Former anarchists, mostly. They want the U.S. to keep its hands off the new governor. They want to give colonial rule a try.”
“You don’t mean to tell me the President is going to listen to a few nuts?” Remo demanded
“Of course not. The President is also not going to send any sort of armed forces against Americans. And he’s not going to send in Special Forces to remove the colonial government until our closest international ally, the United Kingdom, has come to terms with this crisis internally. We’re staying out of New Jersey for the same reason.”
“You’re all mad as hatters,” Remo stated. “And you’re on my shit-list, Smitty. You violated our contract.”
“I’ve already explained that I didn’t. As far as I’m concerned, that settles it. I’m not going to discuss it further.”
Remo stood and held up his fingers. “One, it is not settled. Two, you will discuss it further. Three, when it is settled, I will make sure it is of the utmost concern to you.”
“Remo, you are far too loose with your tongue,” Chiun snapped.
“Emperor Smith-for-Brains is far too loose with the truth.”
“You will not accuse the Emperor of telling lies!”
Remo shook his head. “I did and I do. Smith, you lied to me. Understand?”
“I did not.”
“I believe you did. Do you understand that much?”
Smith’s thin lips came together in a craggy line. “Yes.”
“Call me when you’re ready to own up.”
Chapter 17
Sir James Wylings was exhausted—and never happier.
For years he used his influence and power to accumulate trust, to collect favors and to stockpile influence among the politically powerful in the United Kingdom. He played a little, enough to keep himself sharp, but he knew not to extend himself too far.
One time only had he enacted a great scheme. That was in the 1990s, when he deemed it was necessary to procure a knighthood for himself. Already he had his long-term strategy mapped out. Already he had begun assembling pieces of old British law that would become his Proclamation of the Continuation of the British Empire. Only a British knight could be a credible leader of the Knights of the Proclamation—and a knight with some seniority, too. Not that it made any difference in reality. All was perception and politics.
But Wylings knew, even as a relatively young man, that he would need well-established knighthood to come across as a legitimate commander of the Knights of the Proclamation. So he got himself knighted.
It had to be accomplished through an act of bravery and selflessness. It had to be an act that sold well. It had to be, of all things, an admirable act that earned him enrollment in the honorary orders.
It took him a long while to figure out what would be the right thing to do, and then he came up with the idea of saving a bunch of starving refugees. Wylings owned shipping companies. He could just ship in some food to some starving refugees, right, and save them from miserable death.
But that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. It turned out there were already various organizations busying themselves with just such an endeavor. They didn’t even want Wylings’s gifts of food, because they already had their own food-shipping systems in place. “What we could really use is cash donations,” they told him.