There was an angry pounding on the door and a sudden barrage of shouting. Ed Kriidelfisk shoved the door open and squirmed around Cleo, which was no small achievement.
"Flicker, you fucker!"
"Mr. Kriidelfisk!" Cleo snapped. "You will not use such language in this home."
"Go to hell," Kriidelfisk said. "You fucked up, Flicker."
"Mr. Kriidelfisk, this is your last warning!" Cleo Reubens exhorted, drawing back her heavy shoulder and making sledgehammers out of her meaty fists.
"Tell the linebacker to get the fuck out," Kriidelfisk growled.
"You're showing your ugly side, Mr. Kriidelfisk," Flicker said, mustering his cool.
"Tell the ugly old broad to get out now, or I press 7."
He held up his cell phone. The color display showed little tropical fishes swimming around in an aquarium.
Flicker felt his pores open up and his body temperature skyrocketed, but he showed only calm composure when he asked. "All right, Mr. Kriidelfisk, I'll bite. Who will you reach if you press seven?"
Kriidelfisk's lower lip curled over his chin. "CNN."
Orville Flicker stifled his hiss of indignation, and he had to force himself to nod.
"Mrs. Reubens," Flicker said finally, "please leave us."
Cleo Reubens left the office, closing the door behind her, hard.
The Flicker house was a large, contemporary home in a clubhouse development in Dallas. The home was huge, and most of Flicker's neighbors were large families with a well-planned social agenda. Flicker had turned most of the house into the headquarters for MAEBE, before MAEBE had its name. Mrs. Reubens had been his housekeeper and had begun handling bodyguard and secretarial duties when the need arose—like now, when Noah Kohd was out arranging the press conference. She was a good soul, and not to be underestimated. She didn't like poor behavior, and she had never known her employer, the good Mr. Flicker, to tolerate profanity in his household. Why he would do so now was beyond her understanding.
Orville Flicker dredged up a stall tactic from his early days and strolled to the wall, adjusting the air-conditioning to its lowest setting. The chill might make Kriidelfisk less comfortable and ease some of Flicker's unbecoming perspiration.
Kriidelfisk wasn't going to allow him the dignity of a thoughtful silence.
"What the fuck happened, Flicker?"
"I'm trying to find out myself."
"You fucked me over! I'm out!"
"Not necessarily, Ed."
"Not necessarily? Serval gives this speech this morning that makes him look like a hero and a victim all at the same time! He feels so sorry for Ms. Jomarca, and he'll sponsor a gambling addiction support bill in her name when he's reelected! No mention of the cheerleader, says the gunman were all hired by Jomarca. His popularity ratings have gone up ten points since the morning news, and the worst part is they aren't even mentioning my name! I don't even exist! I thought you were supposed to be some sort of a political whiz kid, Orville. You mean to tell me you're so out of touch you can't tell I'm fucked?"
Flicker nodded, trying to come up with an angle to spin this on. He had not expected Kriidelfisk to show up at his house, and now he knew why he had not been able to reach the MAEBE candidate at home all morning. Flicker's prepared appeasement deal was clearly inadequate now, but what was the right way to go? What was the right message to give a mutineer? Should he reward the man for his insubordination and threats of extortion? Or should he...?
"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Flicker, you idiot?"
Orville Flicker smiled. It was the confident smile again. He had just decided the perfect way to handle this backstabbing, foulmouthed Benedict Arnold.
"Mr. Edward Kriidelfisk, you are a man of deep convictions."
"I don't need your crap, Flicker."
"But you do need a job, Mr. Kriidelfisk, and in fifty minutes I'm beginning my campaign for the presidency."
Kriidelfisk waited to see where this was headed.
"I need a vice president, Mr. Kriidelfisk."
The independent politician from Kansas chewed on that. He said cautiously, "Are you saying you want me to be your running mate?"
"We had planned to hold off on declaring a vice presidential nominee. We didn't want it to look as if we planned it. But the series of events of the past twenty- four hours were pure happenstance in the eyes of the public. You're the right man who came along at the right time, through the quirks of fate."
Kriidelfisk nodded, a new light gleaming in his eyes. "Yeah. It's perfect."
"Will you take the job?"
"Yes, certainly, Mr. Flicker!" Kriidelfisk said, re- learning his manners in an instant. "I'll be honored to stand at your side."
"There is no better man for this role, Mr. Kriidelfisk," Flicker said, standing up smoothly. They shook hands formally.
"Thank you, sir."
Flicker checked his watch. "We're short on time. Let's get you to wardrobe."
25
The Air Force officer couldn't wait for his passengers to leave. They gave him the heebie-jeebies.
They were killers. He knew it from looking at them. Especially the younger one. He could swear that guy had pupils shaped like skulls.
The small man was Korean. He had told the steward that much during their conversation, which was nothing short of an interrogation.
"I'm sorry, sir, I just don't know," the steward had said. "You would need to ask the Air Force. They're the ones who maintain this aircraft."
"This is not like most Air Force jets," the Korean had said accusingly.
"We use it to transport visiting dignitaries. Heads of state, foreign diplomats, those kinds of people," the steward explained for the fourth or fifth time.
"If one were to choose to dwell in such a craft, would there be a large staff required?"
"I don't really know, sir."
"There would be a pilot needed."
"Yes. And a copilot."
"I would need no copilot," the Korean man said disdainfully. "One pilot is sufficient."
"I think there are FAA regulations about that," the steward suggested.
The Korean was extremely suspicious. "And the FAA, they are likely to come about often, demanding compliance?"
The Air Force officer said, "Uh, well, probably."
"Bah!" the Korean exploded. "This is a nation of nuisances! Permits and officials and pencil-pushing fools! It is no wonder some men of wisdom see the need to disembowel the bureaucracy!"
This was an alarming and vaguely threatening display of temper and the Air Force officer wished he hadn't heard it, since it was probably something he wasn't supposed to know anyway. He tried to look noncommittal.
The Korean finally stopped staring at him and said, "Fine. I will acquiesce to this demand for a copilot, but only if he will handle janitorial services, as well."
"I do not know what the FAA would have to say about that, sir."
"Let them say whatever they like. I will never pay for a pilot who does not pilot unless he serves some useful function."
The steward wished his copilot would announce the beginning of their descent or that a sudden thunderstorm would break out or that the rudder would sheer off—anything to save him from the terrible old man.
While he was thinking it, his wish came true. The Korean was gone.
He poked his head out of the galley and saw that the Korean had somehow, in under a second, made his way to the far end of the cabin and snatched the phone out of the hands of the white man, who was some sort of servant or indentured assistant, from what the Korean had said.
"Emperor Smith, I crave a moment of your time," Chiun announced into the phone.
"I'm sorry Master Chiun, but not right now. We may have a new investigative trail and we must have it thoroughly explored before you and Remo land in San Francisco."