In the back seat Mrs. Knight wriggled out of her loose-fitting outfit. She pulled a change of clothes from a valise she'd stashed in the car before her side trip to the store.
In the rearview mirror, Smedley watched as Mrs. Knight slipped her long legs into her tight-fitting outfit. To do so she had to slide her bare bottom to the edge of the seat.
"I have never wanted more to be a leather seat, Mrs. Knight," Smedley commented.
"Perhaps later I'll tan your hide for you, Mr. Smedley," she replied as she tucked her pert breasts inside the top of the one-piece outfit. With slender fingers she lovingly drew the zipper that ran from crotch to neck.
Mrs. Knight was fastening the button at her collar when a cell phone purred to life in Smedley's vest. He popped it open as he drove.
"Smedley," he announced. "We've just left Harrods. We'll be there momentarily." He paused to listen. "Are you certain just the young one?"
He made a face at the response. Without a goodbye, he clicked the phone shut and slipped it back in his pocket.
"Philliston says they're on the move," Smedley said, mild irritation in his voice. "Warned me that they're better than anything we've seen before."
"Do you believe it?" Mrs. Knight asked.
"Better than anything I've seen?" Smedley scoffed. "After what I just saw in my mirror? Doubtful, Mrs. Knight. Very, very doubtful."
The lemon-yellow Bentley continued up the road to Buckingham Palace.
"SO, DID YOU DO the queen of England or what?" Remo asked as they marched out of Buckingham Palace.
Chiun's brow was dark, his gaze dead ahead. "You have done it again," the Master of Sinanju said in hot reply. "I continue to hope. I pray to my ancestors that each last time will be the last time. Yet you have managed to take a moment of great importance to your House and to me-yes, forgive me, Remo, for having selfish feelings this one time-and turn it into something embarrassing."
"Not that I need to defend myself here, but she did try to jab me in the head with a poison pin."
"Yes, that was not permitted," Chiun admitted grudgingly. "What passes for royalty these days. I shudder to think what is in line to follow her."
"So did you?" Remo pressed as they walked.
"Did I what?"
"You. The queen. She had that picture of you. That was you, wasn't it?" He held up his hands, warding off the foul look his teacher shot him. "Hey, not a problem here. I'm open-minded. Maybe she was a looker back in her day. Which, if she's like most Englishwomen, was the twenty-four hours just after her eighteenth birthday and just before the Crooked Tooth Express plowed full-steam ugly into her mush."
Chiun would not be drawn in. Outside, they scaled the wall and hopped to the ground. As soon as their feet touched the sidewalk, they were walking briskly down the street.
Remo was no longer surprised by the lack of guards or palace personnel. The pedestrians in whose midst the two men suddenly appeared seemed unfazed. None was aware that the two Masters of Sidanju had come from the palace grounds.
"I expect so little from you, Remo," Chiun said as they strolled along. "Is it too much to ask you to behave yourself at least in front of royalty?"
"As soon as royalty starts behaving better, I will. It's all a joke anyway. They build places this big just to distract the people on the other side of the gate. If they keep the commoners busy oohing and ahhing, maybe they won't realize the people inside are about as fit to rule as the winner of last year's Twit of the Year Contest."
"Your powers of perception are great, O insightful one," Chiun droned. "Do you think all of the Masters of Sinanju who have come before you did not know that? Do you think I do not know that? Of course that is so. But as long as they continue to rule, we will go to them. For no matter what nobility you place in the man who collects the garbage, he will never have the means to retain our services."
Remo shook his head, uncaring that the past Masters were watching him. "Some family we are. Always mercenaries."
"Yes," Chiun replied. "And the children back in Sinanju thank us daily for that fact."
Remo had been to Sinanju. Not once had he heard so much as a single word of thanks from the inhabitants. He had heard backstabbing and sniping. He had heard slander and toadying and fear, followed by a break for lunch and an afternoon free for more sniping. But he had never once heard anything remotely approaching a sincere thank-you. He was about to bring this up when he was suddenly distracted by something up ahead.
A garish yellow car had pulled to the curb.
Remo didn't know what triggered the sense. It was experience honed in training. All he knew was that the person behind the wheel seemed interested in him.
The windshield was strangely reflective. Even his sharp eyes had a difficult time seeing through it. Sunlight gleamed from the mirrored glass. Remo thought the driver was a man. At least he assumed so, given the fact that he could make out just the faintest outline of a bowler hat.
"We've got company," Remo said as they walked. For the moment he was more curious than concerned. Chiun said nothing. His slivered eyes were fixed on the car that was still a hundred yards away.
People on the street passed by the parked Bentley with the idling engine. No one seemed terribly interested in it.
As Remo and Chiun continued up the sidewalk, a hand slowly reached out the driver's window of the Bentley. Clutched tight in the pale fingers was a cylindrical metal object the size of a small can of spray paint.
Although the eyes were hidden by the glass, Remo could sense that the driver's gaze never wavered from him.
Remo knew something was wrong. Before he could speak his words of sudden concern, the driver pressed a tiny button on the top of the canister and let the metal device slip from his fingers. It bounced to the sidewalk with a sharp clank.
The instant the canister hit, it began spinning. A cloud of purplish gas erupted from both ends, shooting up into the faces of stunned pedestrians.
Panic came at once. As the cloud grew; people screamed.
Remo had started to run when the first body fell. It was a woman with shoulder-length black hair in a skintight leather cat suit. She crumpled to the sidewalk, screaming and writhing in her death throes. As soon as the driver had dropped the canister, the car tore away from the curb. As the gas can spit and people scattered in fear, the Bentley flew across lanes of traffic. Tires squealed and horns blared angrily. Remo wheeled. "Little Father," he snapped.
"Go," Chiun commanded. "I will see to the device."
As Chiun flew up the sidewalk to the hissing gas canister, Remo bolted into traffic after the fleeing Bentley.
They had walked nearly to the Royal Mews on Buckingham Palace Road. Directly across the wide road from the Doric archway that led into the Mews was the four-star Steen Hotel.
The Bentley didn't attempt to flee very far. After cutting across rows of traffic, it bounced the sidewalk in a sideways squeal that slid it on smoking rear tires to the entrance of the hotel's subterranean parking garage. Tearing down a strip of black rubber, it flew into the darkness.
Remo raced to follow. Though cars sped along, he dodged and jumped and somehow managed to be wherever they were not. In a few great strides he was across Buckingham Palace Road. On flying feet he raced down the incline into the Steen Hotel parking garage.
It was two levels deep. When Remo didn't spy the Bentley on the upper level, he ran down the ramp to the lower. The yellow car was nowhere to be seen.
He paused, clenching and unclenching his fists. The exit was located up near the entrance. There was no way a banana-colored car could have slipped past Remo undetected. It couldn't possibly have gotten out.
At the far rear wall of the lower level were several slight indentations in the concrete. Each was about the size of a garage door. They all looked solid. But as Remo walked past the last one, he felt something not quite right. Despite the solidness of the wall, he sensed hollowness beyond.