Chapter 18
Remo Williams found a pay phone, put a quarter in the slot, and promptly lost his coin.
The next three NYNEX pay phones also ate his quarters. It finally cost him a dollar twenty-five to reach the long distance operator, who promptly asked him for an additional two dollars and sixty-five cents for the first five minutes of his long distance call to Folcroft Sanitarium in Rye, New York.
When Harold Smith's lemony voice came over the telephone, Remo said, "Bad news, Smitty. The Rumpp Tower is still an intangible asset of the Rumpp Organization. "
"You can uncover nothing?"
"It's there, but it's not there. We went in, fell into the subbasement, and had to dig out again."
"Did anyone see you?"
"Only Cheeta Ching."
Smith's voice went stiff as a graham cracker. "Miss Ching is there?"
"Yeah, and she and Chiun have picked up where they left off."
Smith groaned. "Oh, no. Has security been compromised?"
"It's worse than that," Remo said cheerfully, enjoying getting a rise out of the colorless Harold Smith. "She has Chiun convinced that they are expecting their first child."
"My God! Chiun is the father. Do you know what this means?"
Remo rolled his dark eyes. "Do I ever. The rest of my life is going to be ruined by that lemon-faced shark. "
"Remo," Smith said urgently, "I want you to get Chiun away from that woman. Away from the Rumpp Tower. Regroup. We will look into this from other angles. "
"You calling us back to Folcroft?"
"No. Find a hotel. Contact me after you register."
"I'll give it a try, but Chiun's got Cheeta calling him 'grandfather.' This could be long-term problem."
"Is there anything else?"
"Did I tell you about the witch?"
"Witch?"
"Delpha Rohmer. Name excite a memory chip?"
Remo heard Harold Smith's fingers making hollow clicking sounds on his ever-present computer keyboard.
"I have her as the official witch of Salem, Massachusetts."
"You have her right."
"What is her role in this?" Smith asked sharply.
"As far as I can see, professional glory-hound. She ripped off one of Cheeta's precious videotapes."
"Is there anything on it that should concern the organization?"
"Not unless the thought of white night-gaunts running loose freaks you out."
"Excuse me?"
"Just witch talk," Remo said. "If I read Delpha right, it won't be long before she and that tape are on Horrendo Riviera or Nancy Jessica Repunsel."
Smith said, "Find a quiet out-of-the-way hotel and contact me directly, Remo."
"Gotcha," Remo said, hanging up. The phone immediately rang, and on impulse, he picked it up.
"This is the operator. Please deposit an additional seventy-five cents."
"Only if you refund the buck-twenty I lost to all your non-working pay phones."
"I cannot do that," the operator said primly.
"Then I cannot deposit additional funds."
"Then I must charge the receiving caller."
"His name is Smith, and he loves paying my bills," Remo said, hanging up.
The Master of Sinanju was not pleased at the instructions he was given.
"I will not abandon Cheeta in her hour of torment," he said tightly.
"Her hour of torment began the day she was born, and has poisoned everyone she ever came into contact with, not the least of whom is us," Remo said hotly. "Smith says we lie low. So do we lie low, or do we kiss off our current contract negotiation?"
"We lie low," Chiun said bitterly. "But if Cheeta refuses to speak with me after this incident, I will hold it against Harold the Smith forever."
"Gee, I was just talking to him, and he has his heart set on being the godfather."
Chiun's wispy facial hair trembled with surprise.
"Really, Remo?"
Chapter 19
When Delpha Rohmer, Official Witch of Salem, Massachusetts, President of the Sisterhood for Witch Awareness, swept into the lobby of the Multinational Broadcast Company's New York headquarters, the Purolator guard looked up, frowned, and sighed.
"Aren't you a little old for trick-or-treat, lady?"
"I offer no tricks," she said haughtily.
The guard dug out a handful of butterscotch candies he kept behind the desk for his own use. "Okay," he said grudgingly, "put out your bag."
"You fail to understand, man-mortal. I have come bearing a prize that your news director will covet greatly."
"Covet?"
"Be good enough to inform him that Delpha Rohmer has footage of the haunting of the Rumpp Tower."
"Haunting?"
"Baphomet has declared it his domain on earth. And I have proof that Randal Rumpp is in league with the Great Horned One." From out of Delpha's cleavage came the black videocassette.
The guard looked at it. He recognized that it was no home VCR cassette, but a half-inch-tape cartridge. He picked up the lobby desk phone and said, "Mr. Graff. I have a . . . witch here to see you. Says it's about the Rumpp Tower thing. She says it's haunted and she has tape to prove it."
The guard listened a moment, then said, "Let me just say that she sounds serious."
Knute Graff thought Delpha Rohmer looked serious, too. He accepted her business card, winced, and swallowed his impulse to laugh. He said, "Come with me," and turned swiftly so he could relieve the stress of the moment with a half-repressed smile.
In the MBC viewing room, he ran the tape through.
"Who shot this?" he asked.
Delpha said, "Does it matter? I am offering it to you."
The news director watched as Cheeta Ching came on.
"Wait a minute!" he exploded. "I can't run this! That Korean Shark would eat me alive!"
"The most dramatic footage has nothing to do with her," Delpha pointed out, in a toneless voice that made the man think of sucked-dry flies in an old spider's web. Dead.
Graff watched the footage of Randal Rumpp claiming credit for the dematerialization of Rumpp Tower incident, and his eyes went wide. Then he came to footage that he could not explain.
"What is that thing?" he blurted.
"It is a negative night-gaunt," he was told.
"Looks more like a positive one."
"A positive night-gaunt would be black," Delpha explained. "This unholy creature is white."
"I can see that. But where the heck is its face?"
"It has none. This is how I know it to be a night-gaunt. "
Eyes still wide, Knute Graff swiveled his chair around and looked at Delpha Rohmer.
"You know, if I use this tape, it might be called a gross breach of journalistic ethics."
"Yes?"
"On the other hand, that Korean Shark once shafted me good. How much do you want?"
"Ten thousand dollars. And as much exposure for myself and my religion as you can deliver."
"Religion?"
"Wicca was recognized as such long before the Burning Times," Delpha said in her sonorous voice.
"Exactly how long ago was that?"
"Before Christ was a corporal," she said flatly.
"You were an eyewitness to what's going on uptown?" Graff asked, switching the subject as fast as he could.
"I was."
"Deal." Knute Graff picked up the phone and made a quick series of calls.
"Payroll? Draw a check for ten grand. Payee: Delpha Rohmer."
"Editing? I have some tape you won't believe. I want it to lead our seven o'clock report."
"Security? Triple the guard. And if you see any sign of Cheeta Ching, fire a warning shot into the air. If she doesn't back off, shoot to wound. And don't miss."
Graff hung up and turned to Delpha Rohmer. "Lady, you're about to become the most famous witch since Elizabeth Montgomery."
Delpha Rohmer's smile was like moonlight falling across a row of tombstones.
"Fame is precisely what I want," she said hollowly.
Chapter 20
The Rumpp Tower footage went out over the air at exactly seven o'clock Daylight Savings Time. It was repeated on the seven-thirty New York satellite feed to local affiliates in the western time zones.