It was very subtle, except that it did not fool Holly Broon who knew, as soon as she heard Corbish, that Remo was the man who had killed her father.
"Yup, I read about it," Remo said. "Sorry, Miss Broon."
"Kindly omit flowers," she said.
"Uh, yes," said Corbish. "Come outside, Remo, I have to talk to you a moment."
He took Remo's elbow and led him into a small room off Smith's main office. The room was decorated with a plastic-topped desk and two metal folding chairs. Corbish closed the door tightly behind them.
"You've got to take care of Smith. Now," he said.
"Why?"
"He killed a man today."
"Oh? Who?"
Corbish cleared his throat. "Somebody tracked him down outside Pittsburgh. Smith ran him over with a car."
"Who was this somebody?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes," Remo said.
"He was, I guess, you'd call him a hoodlum."
"And why was a hoodlum going after Smith?" Remo's tone was indignant.
"Well, if you have to know, although I can't see why any of this concerns you, I put some people on his trail."
"That's swell," Remo said in disgust. "That's just swell. I really need that, right? I really need people cluttering things up? I'll tell you, Corbish. Smith would never have done it this way."
"What would he have done?" Corbish seemed really interested.
"He would have told me who the target was. If he knew, he would tell me where he was. And then he would get the hell out of the way and let me do my job."
"That's what I'm doing now," Corbish said. "Remo, go do your job."
"Arf, arf," said Remo. "Do you know where Smith is?"
"No."
"Corbish, let me tell you something. You're not going to last here."
Corbish smiled a thin-lipped smile. "I may outlive you."
"Maybe. But just maybe," Remo said. "But you're definitely going to outlive anybody who gets in my way. I don't want a gang of goons trailing Smith all around the country."
"I just thought they might be able to find him faster than you could."
"You leave that to me. No interference," Remo said.
"Whatever you want," Corbish agreed. "Can you do the job? No emotional attachments?"
"I do what I have to do," Remo said.
"Good. You're my kind of man," Corbish said. Remo shuddered. Corbish opened a side door from the small office. "This leads to the outside corridor. If you're shy about seeing the office staff, you can go through here. Do you have your badge for the gate?"
"Got it right here," said Remo, patting his empty shirt pocket.
"Good fella. Put it on and the guards won't bother you."
"That's nice. I'd hate for the guards to bother me."
Remo started toward the door. Corbish bent down to pick up a piece of newspaper from the floor. He tossed it to Remo. "There's a trash can outside. Dump this in it, will you?"
Remo took the paper. "Sure thing, bwana. Can this boy go now?"
"Keep in touch."
He closed the door behind Remo who began to shred the old newspaper into confetti. Chiun was right. This dizzo would have him emptying wastepaper baskets before long. Remo's hands moved like high-speed knives across the surface of the newspapers. Chips and strips of paper fluttered through the air until the last shred was gone from Remo's hands. The hall looked as if it had been the scene of a confetti convention. So much for recycling.
Remo went down the stairs, out into the bright sunlight and headed straight for the wall. The hell with the gate, the guards and Corbish. The hell with everything.
Corbish returned to his desk.
"Sorry for the interruption, Holly. Now what was it?"
"Who is he?" Holly Broon asked.
"Just a hired hand. He goes with the place," said Corbish, trying a smile on for size.
"Does he always come through a window?"
"He's rather eccentric. We're not going to have him around for too long."
No, Holly thought, just until he finishes any more killings you have lying around. All she said was, "I think that's a good idea. He looks unstable to me and he acts unbalanced. What'd you say his name was?"
"Remo. But I'm sure you didn't come here to talk about him."
"No, I didn't, as a matter of fact. I came to talk about the board of directors meeting. I think it should be postponed."
Corbish's face dropped open. "Postponed? Why?"
"Well, my father's being buried tomorrow. I've given it some thought and it would seem like rushing it a little to elect a new president the next day. I think we ought to wait a little while."
"But…"
"Oh, I don't mean for long. Just two weeks or so," she said.
Corbish picked up the old straight pen on his desk. He began to twirl it between the fingertips of both hands, as if it were a piece of clay he was trying to soften.
He looked at Holly, who was smiling at him, blandly and openly.
"Well, if you think it's best," he said. "What do the board members say?"
"I haven't spoken to them about this," she said. "But they'll follow my lead in the matter. You know them. A pack of jellyfish."
Corbish nodded. "Well, as you say. Let's fix a date, though, for the meeting."
"No hurry," Holly Broon said. She stood up abruptly. "We'll do it after the funeral."
"Bye now," she added brightly, turned and walked away from the almost president of IDC, whose gloom hung like a heavy drape over his face.
"Well, that's it, Chiun," said Remo. "I've been told to get Smith."
"What will you do?" Chiun asked.
"What would Smith do if he had the assignment?"
"If he were sane, he would go after you."
"Well?"
Chiun broke into a burst of Korean expletives, then hissed at Remo in English: "But he is only an emperor and they have never been honored for their sense or wisdom. However, you are a student of Sinanju and should know better. You are even more than that. You are almost a member of the House. Turning on your emperor is unthinkable."
"Chiun, you just don't understand. Smith isn't my emperor. My emperor is the government, and right now, Corbish is giving orders for the government."
"Then let us all pity this government of yours. Go! Go kill Smith."
"I didn't say that."
"Tell me whenever it is you say what you are going to say." Chiun turned away in disgust.
"All right. This is what I want to say. I've been given an assignment. Eliminate Smith. So I'm going to eliminate Smith. That's it. Case closed."
"Where will you find him?"
"I don't know."
"Do not worry about it."
"No?"
"No," insisted Chiun. "Smith will let you know where he is."
"How do you know that?"
"Because he is only a madman, but you are a fool. And I am the Master of Sinanju."
And then Chiun would say no more, but returned to writing on his heavy parchment with the goose quill pen.
At the moment, Smith was the problem furthest from Blake Corbish's mind.
Holly Broon's announcement that she would not call the executive board meeting had shocked him. And he wondered if she had learned or guessed that he had somehow been involved in her father's death. If she had, she might be trying to block his appointment for good, and if that were the case, he had problems. He needed her name and support to get the presidency of IDC.
Unless…
Corbish fiddled with the pen on his desk for a while, then grabbed a pencil and began to work out a computer program. For the first time since Remo had left, he thought of Smith and he hoped that Smith and his CURE computer system were as thorough as he believed they were.
They were.
An hour later, rolling out in printouts under the glass panel on Corbish's desk were reports on the nine old men who made up IDG's executive board.
He smiled when he saw the first one. He broke into a grin on the second, and on the third he was hissing under his breath to himself. By the ninth he was laughing aloud, almost uncontrollably.