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"That is worse," said Chiun, "for if there is anything more disgusting than eating pig, it is eating
cow.
"Well, if you're not here for the food, why are you here?" the woman asked.
"We're looking for . . ." Remo paused. "What's his name, Chiun?"
"Think of it yourself," Chiun said.
"Freddy Zentz?" the woman asked Remo.
"That's it," he said. "But you didn't have to say it. I would have thought of it. Freddy Zentz. We want to sign up for the revolution."
The woman kept spearing hot dogs from the black pot and slapping them onto rolls as she spoke with Remo.
"And what police agency are you with?" she asked.
"My, my, aren't we suspicious?" Remo said. "Do we look like cops?"
"He doesn't," the woman told Remo. "You might."
"Honest," Remo said. "Not me. My friend here is one of the world's great blower-ups of automobiles. Me, I'm just a talented amateur but I learn fast."
"My name's Jessica," the woman said. She nodded to a girl, a twelve-year-old with braces and pigtails, and the girl moved into place behind the black pot to start handing out food.
"Come on inside," the woman told Remo. "Well see if Freddy's around."
The interior of the loft building was a blessed relief from the din and clamor of the children on the steps. Remo and Chiun stood with Jessica in a large room. Its walls were covered with posters.
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Remo was happy to see that clenched fists had retained their drawing power. There were also a string of posters done in the traditional Communist art style in which a man and a woman, side by side, looked bravely off into a future which resumably was going to provide them all with necks, a feature the)' did not now have.
Other posters showed large Stars of David with black X's drawn through them, and several were actually blow-ups of printed instructions on making various kinds of bombs.
"I'll find Freddy," Jessica said. She stood close to Remo and met him eye to eye. "Wait here." She padded off silently and Remo noticed that she was barefoot.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
The new note to the president came at four o'clock in the afternoon: '
Dear Bub. These people treating me just fine. No danger. I'll let you know what they want soon's they makes up they minds. Don't tell nobody I'm gone. B.J.
It had come as the first note had—inside another envelope which was addressed "personal" to the president's secretary. This time the outer envelope had been postmarked Chicago. The last had been postmarked Norfolk, Virginia. The kidnappers were moving around the country, the president thought, and that should make them more vulnerable to apprehension than if they had had Bobby Jack holed up somewhere where no one could see him.
Still, there had been no word from Smith and CURE. The president thought about it. He had better check with Smith.
Before he could move from behind his desk, the telephone rang.
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"Hello," he said. He recognized the voice immediately. He listened for a moment, then said, "So they've introduced a resolution that all NATO countries should disarm. What about it?"
He listened for a moment, then sputtered, "What do you mean, you're thinking of voting for it?"
Pause.
"No, Andy. You've got it wrong again. Now think about it this way. We're the good guys. They're the bad guys ... I know they're not all bad guys . . . but think about it that way."
Pause.
"No, no. The Communists . . . they're against us. What do you want to take their side for?"
Pause.
"No, no. Let's go slow. See, let me try to explain it to you, real simple like. There's two forces in the world, see. Us and them. We are for freedom. They are for Communism."
Pause.
"No, Andy. We don't want to attack freedom. We are for Communism."
Pause.
"I don't care if they're nice people to talk to. They're trying to destroy our country."
Pause.
"No, it wouldn't be a good thing if they destroyed our country, even if you do think we're all racists. It's not going to get any better if they conquer the world."
Pause.
"I know they say it'll be better if they conquer the world-, but do you believe them?"
Pause.
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"Oh, you do."
Pause.
"I know you never hear about people being oppressed in those countries. That's because they send people who. oppose them away to slave camps or insane asylums and nobody hears from them again."
Pause.
"Honest, Andy, that's true. No, it's not just capitalist propaganda. It's really true."
Pause.
"I know because our intelligence people tell us."
Pause.
"In this case, you really can believe them because they're telling the truth. Now, you got it right?"
Pause.
"Let's hear it."
"No, no. You got it wrong again. See, it's like a cowboy movie. The good guys and the bad guys. We wear the white hats and they wear the black hats."
Pause.
"I know you don't wear hats. It's just a figure of speech. Dammit, just vote no."
The president slammed the telephone receiver down. Again before he could leave his desk, it rang again and when he heard the voice, his eyes rolled upward in his head.
"That's right. I said, vote no. N-O. No. That's right. I don't care if it does make the Third World mad at us."
This time, he hung up, then quickly laid the
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phone on its side on the desk. Anybody calling now would get just a busy signal.
He told his secretary that he was going upstairs to lie down. The secretary welcomed the idea; the president seemed to be under a lot of strain lately. In his bedroom, the president removed the red CURE telephone from the dresser drawer. Smith answered immediately. "Yes, Mr. President."
The president outlined the newest note and Smith said, "I should have the originals of both notes." He told the president to have the messages helicoptered into Westchester County Airport in White Plains. Smith would have them picked up there. ,
"How are you doing so far?" the president asked. "Nothing to report yet, sir," Smith said. "I've decided if something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to announce that Bobby Jack's missing." "I think that would be a mistake," Smith said. "Right now, you are getting messages from him and he is presumably alive. If you upset the balance, he may wind up dead. I think it would be a mistake. Also, you may well have every lunatic in the country claiming credit for the kidnapping."
"Credit isn't exactly the word I would have used," the president said.
"Responsibility, then," Smith said. "All our resources would be strained trying to check out the false leads."
"I'll think about it," the president said. "Please keep me advised. The helicopter will be there in two hours."
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He replaced the telephone in the back of the dresser drawer and lay down upon the bed.
There were a lot of judgments to be made, judgments on which course of action would be safer for Bobby Jack's life. But there was also a political judgment. Would announcing Bobby Jack's kidnapping be politically good or bad? Maybe a grieving friend might be worth something in the popularity polls. But, on the other hand, people might say that the . president was so inept he couldn't even protect his own family from kidnappers; how was he going to protect America?
He tried to put it out of his mind and fell asleep hoping that Andy would remember to vote no.