"I gave it up a few years ago," said Van Riker. "Go on."
Van Riker felt weak, even sitting down. Smith offered him water, and he took it, then listened as Smith explained.
More than a decade before, it had become obvious to the president in power that America was headed toward becoming a police state. The cause was chaos—not just mobs taking over the streets but corporations acting like self-governments with no respect for law, transportation virtually owned by racketeers, corruption emerging in every facet of American life.
"It is a law of history that chaos brings dictatorship," Smith said. "But the president thought that America was too good to give up, that maybe there was another way, and he decided that all the Constitution needed was a little assist. Unbribe a judge here, protect a witness there, that sort of thing."
"What you're saying is that the Constitution couldn't work without its being violated," said Van Riker. "To get away with that, you'd have to keep your system entirely clean of informers. Exposure is the one thing you couldn't stand."
"Exactly," said Smith. "You're really quite brilliant. To guard against exposure, we had to have a killer arm."
Van Riker took a notebook from his pocket and began doodling, "I'd figure eight hundred men."
"That would be impossible, and you know it," said Smith. "You're an expert on security. You know five people cannot keep a secret. So we have only three who know. Myself, Remo, whom you met, and each president…"
"Is there a control on the president?" asked Van Riker.
"Of course. He can only disband us. He cannot order us," Smith said.
"I imagine you've done extensive work in job-separation function."
"Of course," Smith said. "It's basically an isolation function worked off a simple computer program. Only way you can employ people without letting them know the nature of the operation. Large numbers, of course. In addition…"
At the entrance to the hangar, extrasensitive ears picked up the mounting excitement tinged with joy in the voices of Van Riker and Smith.
"I told you, Little Father," Remo said, "that those two whackos would get along fine. Sounds like two kids with their model boats. 'Job-separation function.' What the hell are they talking about?"
"It has been a thought in the House of Sinanju for hundreds of years," said Chiun, the master of Sinanju, "that royalty marries royalty not so much because it is a powerful alliance but because only royalty can comprehend royalty. Or tolerate it, for that matter."
"I don't understand, Little Father," said Remo. Since his training had begun, more than a decade before, he had come to understand occasionally, without explanation, some of the wisdom of the House of Sinanju, an ages-old house of Korean assassins, of which Chiun was the master.
"Whom do you like to talk to most of all?" asked Chiun.
"Why, I guess, you, because we do the same work."
Chiun nodded.
"And I guess that you like, most of all, talking to me," said Remo, smiling.
Chiun shook his head. "What I like most of all is me. See? I am royalty… the master."
"I know that. I meant after that," said Remo, kicking a piece of the wood flooring out the hangar entrance. "Ding dong dink," he muttered.
Back at the table Van Riker was watching an organization unfold before his eyes.
"The bottom line," said Smith, "is that we don't think the military is capable of handling this situation properly—especially since it's worse than you might think."
"I don't see how it could be."
"When you built Cassandra, in 1961, we had nuclear superiority over the Russians. We don't anymore. We didn't really need Cassandra then. It was just extra insurance. But we do need it now. With its strategic advantage, Russia would attack in a moment if it thought it could eliminate the Cassandra. And as you well know, if the joint chiefs attempt to protect it, they'll do it with a division, and the whole world will know where it is. The Cassandra is much like my agency, CURE. If we're known, we fail."
"What can you give me?" asked Van Riker.
"The finest killers in the world."
"How many?"
"Both of them," said Smith nodding to the hangar entrance.
"The Oriental looks barely ambulatory."
"He's number one," said Smith.
"I guess they're your enforcement arm. Your eight hundred men rolled into two."
"Rolled into one," said Smith. "Remo is the enforcement arm. Chiun is his trainer and seems to go along to protect his investment of training, as far as I can gather. One does not press the master of Sinanju for what he regards as petty details."
"A one-man killer arm," mused Van Riker. "Probably had a lot of assignments. Friends and acquaintances… even family around the country. Fingerprints. Let me guess… Are you using a dead man?"
"Remo Williams, a Newark policeman, was executed more than a decade ago. The fingerprints of this orphan are no longer on file anywhere," said Smith.
"A man who doesn't exist for an organization that doesn't exist," said Van Riker, nodding with respect.
Smith smiled. "If I ever have a successor, I hope he is just like you. You're correct one hundred percent."
"And now I am the fourth man to know," said Van Riker. "Because you want…"
"Because we need to trust each other," said Smith. "Because…"
"Because there won't be a country to defend unless we secretly safeguard the Cassandra," said Van Riker.
He stood up and offered his hand. Smith rose and accepted it.
"Done," they said in unison, and Smith walked Van Riker to the hanger entrance, an arm about the general's shoulder.
"Good luck," said Smith. "If you have to reach me, call the Folcroft Sanitarium, in Rye, New York."
"That's your cover?"
"Right. I'm director of the sanitarium. The sanitarium line is an open line. The closed lines are a variation code off a multiple of five, based on the day of the week, Greenwich mean time."
"Convenient," said Van Riker.
"Gibberish," said Remo.
"You put up with that?" asked Van Riker.
"Have to. He's the best in the business."
Chiun whispered to Remo. "How would he know?"
"He counts the bodies, Little Father."
"That's so white of him," said Chiun.
Van Riker had one more question. How did Smith find out about the Cassandra?
"That, sir," said Smith, "you know if you think about it." Remo thought he saw the first beam of joy ever to emanate from Smith's face.
"Of course," said Van Riker. "I was singular-oriented, and you, by your very nature, are multiple."
"What does that mean?" Remo asked.
"It means, basically," said Van Riker, "that Cassandra was set up against Russian detection, and even our own military detection, but not against an organization that had perceptors out in every government agency and could reduce data in a simple job-program function. It was inevitable that you would know about it by what you didn't get in feedback."
"A negative positive," said Smith.
"Of course," said Van Riker.
"Of course," said Chiun.
Remo looked at him quizzically.
"Let me handle this one, my son. He might prove some trouble," said Chiun in basic Korean.
"I still don't understand," Remo told Van Riker.
There was a new jet waiting with a new pilot. Over Arkansas, Van Riker explained to Remo how CURE had discovered Cassandra. What it sounded like he said was that many people reporting on materials and people movement could be simplified in computers to show what they were doing just by what they pretended not to be doing.
"I still don't understand," said Remo.
"You don't have to," said Van Riker.
"Pay attention," said Chiun to Remo. "You might learn something." And behind Van Riker's back he gave Remo a big wink, then rolled his eyes back in his head, indicating that he thought the white-haired man was a lunatic.