They looked at each other. This was a waste of effort since Secret Service agents never, ever showed emotion and, if they accidentally one day showed a twinge of emotion in the call of duty, the sunglasses were there to mask it.
Then Spacey and Nor looked around the interior of the ambulance. It was a big ambulance, but still crowded with the senator, the EMT and the two agents. The President had said there was someone else there. Well, he was the President, but it seemed unlikely that there would be a fifth person present without their knowing.
"Here I am," said the fifth man, who now stood at Spacey's elbow.
Spacey and Nor were so surprised that their expressions betrayed it. Spacey's eyebrow twitched. Nor blinked three times very fast.
"Whoa, guys, don't get all freaked out on me now," said the fifth man. "I don't think the commander in chief is done commanding."
Spacey and Nor put the phones back to their ears and, exercising their extensive training, managed to regain their emotionless demeanor.
"Yes, sir. Sir? Yes, sir."
The senator opened his eyes when the agent tapped his shoulder. "For you, Senator Whiteslaw," Spacey explained. "It's the President."
Whiteslaw took Spacey's cell phone. Nor handed his to the fifth man, whom the senator was surprised to see, and was more surprised to recognize.
"Yes, Mr. President," he answered, distracted by the dark-eyed, dark-haired man.
"Wait a moment, Senator," the President said.
"Here," Spacey called to the driver, and the ambulance pulled to the curb. Spacey and Nor opened the rear doors, which finally alerted the EMT to the strange goings-on and dragged his attention away from the electronic displays that were constantly taking the senator's vitals. The EMT saw sunlight streaming in.
"What in blazes are you doing?"
"Going to get drunk and forget the whole thing," Spacey reported in a monotone.
"As ordered," Nor tacked on
"You're coming with us," Spacey added.
"You were ordered to get drunk?" the EMT demanded.
"As were you."
"Bye," said Remo Williams as the EMT was manhandled out of the ambulance.
"Bennigans? This is where you Secrets go when you wanna get schnockered?" the EMT cried. "That explains a lot!"
The doors slammed and the ambulance started moving again. Senator Whiteslaw got on the mobile phone.
"Yes, Mr. President?"
Remo was supposed to be in on the call, but he and mobile phones were sworn enemies. This phone had a little TV screen that showed an animated scene of autumn leaves—he wouldn't begin to know how to make the thing work. He gingerly put the phone through the slot in the wall-mounted container labeled Danger Of Biological Contamination.
The senator was getting flustered. "You must be joking, Mr. President."
Remo had his opinions about the current man in the White House, but he didn't think of the guy as a joker. When he thought of joking presidents he thought of that Democrat two-termer from the 1990s. Now that guy came up with some real knee-slappers.
"Of course, Mr. President," the senator said. "Yes. Of course."
The senator hung up, and his gaze turned to the dark- eyed man. "Your name is Remo, and I guess you saved my life only to put it in jeopardy again."
"Nothing personal, Senator."
"Think you can keep me from dying twice in one day?"
"I'll do my best."
"How good is that?"
Remo shrugged.
But Whiteslaw already knew, because he had seen Remo in action, and it was something he would never, ever forget. Another interesting factoid, a guess but almost a certainty, was that saving lives was not what Remo was trained for. Quite the contrary.
Which made the man whose name was Remo a very interesting person indeed.
33
The blue phone rang, and Smith put it on speaker for Mark's benefit. The two executive-level employees of CURE had been discussing strategy, and getting nowhere.
"Remo?"
"Good afternoon, Emperor Smith," sang the lilting voice from the speaker. It was a voice like a cherry blossom floating on the breeze. Smith instinctively distracted it.
"Yes, Master Chiun, is there a problem?"
"Of course not, Emperor. This undertaking is well in hand."
Smith knew Chiun was likely uninformed as to what the undertaking actually was, and likely didn't care outside his own duties in the matter. How he could therefore assure them that it was "well in hand"...?
"I have a matter to discuss with you. I hear the young Prince Regent with you—it is good for you both to listen to my proposal."
Mark smirked. He hadn't said a word. Could Chiun hear him breathing over the phone? Or had he simply assumed from the sound of the speakerphone that Smith had company?
"Master Chiun, you are en route to the senator's office, are you not?" Smith asked. "You must be about to arrive. I don't know if this is the best time to discuss unrelated matters."
"One moment, Emperor," Chiun said pleasantly. They heard the phone become muffled, and Chiun was speaking to someone else. "Driver! How soon do we arrive at the bureaucrat's lair?"
A woman's voice said, "I have a name, you—" There was a yelp. Smith closed his eyes. The woman said, "ETA six minutes, sir."
"The hospital chauffeur reports we are still twelve minutes from our destination, Emperor," Chiun said into the phone, the embodiment of graciousness. "There is time for this, and you must agree we have delayed it long enough."
Smith frowned, and realized that Chiun had been attempting to draw him into this conversation in the past few days. Not exactly a long time. "Proceed, Master Chiun," Dr. Smith said reluctantly, hoping this wasn't going to be a ploy to renegotiate their contract.
"It is in regards to the current assignment."
"It is?" Smith asked. "How?"
"Pertaining to this upstart alliance of politicians and their hired killers—it is my belief that they pose a unique threat to CURE."
Smith didn't know what to make of this. Why hadn't Chiun made this clear to him from the outset? What did Chiun know? "Please explain, Master Chiun."
"It is possible that this mob of MAEBEs could lead ultimately to the demise of our organization," Chiun restated.
"How?"
"Through superior marketing, good Emperor."
Smith said, "Marketing?"
"But I have devised a scheme to halt the hemorrhaging."
"What hemorrhaging and marketing are you referring to?"
"I have retained the services of a wonderful public- relations agent from the Windbag City."
"You did what?" Smith asked, aghast.
"She was the artisan who promoted the campaign by the late Governor Bryant to empty the jails for his own profit," Chiun explained with delight, while Smith's gray face became as pale as corpse flesh. Mark Howard hoped the old doctor wasn't about to have a heart attack. "She's a drunkard, of course, but obviously a genius. Look at the fairy tale that was connived in the state of Chicago—and this young genius convinced the people to believe it all. When her role in perpetrating this magnificent he becomes known, her services will be in great demand—you must hire her at once or she will be snatched up by the tobacco makers."
Mark saw a slight tinge of healthy gray return to Dr.
Smith's flesh and he said cautiously, "So you have not hired her, Master Chiun?"
"I wired her funds to hold the option on her services. The option does expire soon, however."
Smith typed as he said, almost gently, "And what does she know at this point about the public-relations campaign you have devised?"
"Nothing. I will not put my trust in her until she is contracted to us—what if our competitor were to hire her and learn our intentions?"