"Jackpot," Remo said. "I'm Remo. Remo—"
"Wang," Chiun finished.
Remo looked at him. "An appropriately common name," Chiun explained.
"Remo Wang," the secretary said. "Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Wang. I'm Darcy Devoe. It used to be Smith, but I changed it. I always say—"
"Is Mr. Donnelly in?" Chiun interrupted.
"Sure. I told him about you when you called. He can't wait to see you. His office is..." She turned in a slow circle, scanning the walls with bewildered eyes before they came to rest on the only inner door in the office. "Through there!" she said, pointing triumphantly.
"Thanks," Remo said. "That's got to be the ditziest broad in Washington," he added in Korean as they knocked on Donnelly's door.
Chiun shrugged. "She is white."
Donnelly was a broad man with heavy features and expansive gestures. "Mr. Williams?" he asked, smiling at Remo.
"Wang," Remo said.
"Wang? Oh, I beg your pardon. My secretary must have got the name wrong. She's a little disorganized at times."
"She is to be excused," Chiun said graciously. "She is—"
"And this is Chiun," Remo said loudly.
"Ah, yes." Donnelly managed an awkward bow in what he evidently believed to be an Oriental manner. "Mr. Chiun of..." He quickly pulled a note card out of his jacket. "Sinanju. Did I pronounce that right, Mr. Chiun?"
"Perfectly," Chiun said. "And 'Chiun' will suffice. As I am the Master of Sinanju, who rides in airplanes with no other passengers, no other title is necessary."
"The Master of... I see," Donnelly said. "Well, sit down, sit down. I'll get us all a drink."
Chiun folded his hands inside his sleeves. "That will not be necessary. And I prefer to stand. My associate will explain the purpose of our visit."
"Yes, of course," Donnelly said. "Are you looking for some American goods to import into Sinanju? I don't believe we've dealt with your— um— province before."
"You know what we want," Remo said. "Coffee."
"Coffee?" The look on Donnelly's face was expectant.
Remo lifted the suitcase in his hands and opened it. Inside, it was stacked with hundred-dollar bills. "A hundred thousand dollars."
"Oh, that coffee."
"We've heard that it makes people happy," Remo said.
"Very happy," Donnelly agreed.
"Well, a little happiness is just what the Master of Sinanju is looking for. He's having a morale problem with his people. You see, they've been starving and slaving for three hundred years, and their productivity is beginning to lag."
"Tut, tut," Donnelly said.
"Besides, the Master thinks he can turn a nice profit off the dirtbags."
"It'll happen every time," Donnelly said, smiling. "With this good American coffee—"
"Unh-unh. Not American. The coffee from Peruvina. That's what we've come for."
The smile vanished from Donnelly's face. "How do you know about Peruvina?" he asked cautiously.
"I've spent the evening with your son, Arnold."
Donnelly brightened again. "Oh, you know Arnold. Well, that puts a whole new light on things. Are you friends?"
"Oh, I could hardly bring myself to leave the plantation," Remo said.
"He's got a good head on his shoulders," Arnold's father said proudly.
"Um... he did, yes."
"As a matter of fact, he's coming here. Got a call this morning. To tell the truth, that's why I'm in the office so early," he added with a chuckle. "Usually I don't get in at the crack of dawn, but this way we can spend the day together, my son and I. Did you meet my wife, Esmeralda?"
"Yes," Remo said. "But she had to leave unexpectedly. She was flying."
Donnelly nodded. "I see. Well. To the business at hand. I suppose Arnold told you about our plans?"
"Some," Remo said. "He said you were planning to expand into world markets with your coffee. What Chiun would like to know is, how can you get the coffee to us all the way out in Sinanju, when it's been banned right here in the United States?"
Donnelly guffawed and slapped Remo on the back. "But that's the beauty of it! Let me explain." He removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, indicating in his bureaucrat's way that he was really getting down to work.
"You see, the American market was only a test to see if the general population of a country would drink the coffee. There are far too many regulations here to allow anything as appealing as our Peruvinian coffee to continue being sold indefinitely. But in more enlightened nations such as yours, Chiun, we don't have to bother with a lot of unnecessary restrictions. The coffee was meant for export in the first place."
"Through this office," Remo said.
Donnelly nodded. "Exactly. I am the Assistant to the Undersecretary of the Interior in charge of Regulations Concerning Importation of Agricultural Products. There won't be any red tape getting the coffee to you in Sinanju. Or anyplace else."
"But what about the Secretary of the Interior?"
Donnelly sighed patiently. "Mr. Wang, you've got to understand Washington politics. The Secretary of the Interior is a busy man. He's got whole coastlines to destroy. His time is taken up with selling wilderness areas to commercial concerns. It's not easy to obliterate the entire ecological balance of the Western Hemisphere. The Secretary's got his hands full."
"I see," Remo said. "And the Undersecretary?"
"The Undersecretary is busy doing what the Secretary would be doing if he didn't have all that noncommercial land and clean water to contend with. He's got to go to the luncheons, talk to the ladies' dubs, party at the White House.... The Undersecretary's job is never done."
"Sounds like a heavy load," Remo agreed.
"And for less than ninety thousand a year, too. But then, we are public servants. Sacrifices have to be made when you're serving your country."
"I guess so."
Donnelly grunted in satisfaction. "So you see, I have a relatively free hand in the business of exporting American goods."
"Like wheat to Russia?" Remo said.
"Oh, Darcy takes care of most of those details."
Remo recalled the stack of moldering papers on Darcy's desk and the girl's vacant expression. "Her?" he asked, pointing toward the doorway leading to Darcy's office.
"Somebody has to do those things," Donnelly said briskly.
"And what do you do?" Chiun asked.
Donnelly straightened out importantly. "Why, any good executive's main priority is to think. Keep his mind limber for big decisions. Get enough rest, eat right, that sort of thing."
"I see," Chiun said.
"And visiting coffee warehouses?" Remo said quietly.
Donnelly looked up, surprised. "My, you and Arnold did get chummy, didn't you?"
"We're talking about a lot of money, Mr. Donnelly. Or should I say Mr. Brown?"
Donnelly guffawed. "Say, you're a sharp one."
"So you are George Brown?"
"Nobody's George Brown. That's just a name sheI mean I made up. Printed up some cards. We had to get the coffee into the warehouses somehow. Darned good idea, I think. Set the business off to a good start."
"Is it your business?" Remo asked. "Your private business?"
"Well," he faltered. "I do have partners. My son, for one. He developed the coffee, you see, but he's usually in Peruvina, and... another partner—"
"Your wife's dead, Mr. Donnelly," Remo said.
Donnelly hesitated for a moment. "Dead? Are you sure?"
Remo nodded.
Slowly, Donnelly reached for the intercom on his desk. "Darcy, Esmeralda's dead," he said.
There was a short pause at the other end. "Do you want me to fix you up with somebody for the weekend?" Darcy's voice said at last.
"No, just check out the will." He released the connection. "Terrible," he said to Remo. "Poor woman."
"Arnold killed her. I saw him."
"She was lovely," Donnelly said.