Smith leaned forward eagerly. "Yes?"
Chiun raised a wise finger. "They are terrible shots."
Smith blinked rapidly. His dryish face wrinkling in disappointment, he settled back in his chair.
"We cannot count on these KKV's continuing to miss their targets," he said seriously.
"No. They will first run out of big rocks. Then little stones. Then they will be reduced to pebble flinging. Then they will go away."
"So what are we supposed to do in Washington, Smitty? Stand around with our hands in our pockets? Or maybe we raise our arms to catch the next one when it falls? I think we should be looking for the people behind this instead."
"That should not be difficult," Chiun said with assurance. They looked at him again.
"Go on," Smith said, hope dawning again on his face.
"Whom has your government annoyed recently?"
"What do you mean?"
"Nations do not lay siege to achieve conquest or to make war. They lay siege to punish, as I have said. Look for a jealous prince who believes that he has reason to vent his wrath upon your President."
"That's a long list," Remo said. "Every third country in the world hates us-with or without good reason."
"Such anger as is evidenced in these two attacks is motivated by passion. Look for a man with passion."
"And no sense. He's obviously forgetting that he's lobbing rocks at the only nation in history ever to nuke another in anger."
"Without any way to trace the origin of these KKV's, the perpetrator is relatively safe," Smith admitted. "I think you are correct, Remo. Your job should be to seek out and eliminate this threat at the source. But until we have a fix on that source, I want you both in Washington. Perhaps you and Chiun could examine the impact sites. Maybe you can learn something of value."
"Not me," Remo said firmly. "One rock looks like another to me."
"Including the one that sits on your shoulders," Chiun said with disdain.
Chapter 15
Over the objections of his top advisers, the President of the United States went on the air to reassure the nation. "The situation is under control," the President said from the podium in the East Room of the White House. Representatives from all the major networks were seated in front of him. The room was packed. The glare of television cameras was intense. The very air smelled hot. It was the first news conference of the new administration. For that reason alone, it would have been covered with intense scrutiny. But the fact that the President had been absent from the Oval Office the previous day, his first in office, had sparked a wave of rumors.
"What situation?" asked a reporter.
The President was aghast. He had spoken only the first sentence of what was to have been a ten-minute prepared text, and already they were flinging questions at him. He wondered if he should hush the man or just keep reading. "Yes, what situation?" seconded another reporter.
The President decided to dispense with the prepared text.
"The current situation," he said. The press looked at him blankly.
"Mr. President," a woman reporter asked, "would you care to comment on your alleged drinking problem?" Horror rode the President's face.
"What drinking problem?" he demanded.
The lady journalist did not reply. She was too busy writing his answer.
"What drinking problem?" the President repeated.
No one answered him. They were too busy writing that down too.
"Can we get back to the crisis?" a reporter piped up.
"I did not say there was a crisis," the President said.
"Then you are denying the existence of a crisis?"
"Well, no. But I cannot categorize the current situation as a crisis."
"Then what would you call it? After all, you go to your inaugural ball, retire for the evening, and disappear for an entire day. Everyone saw you drink that second glass of champagne."
"Second-"
"Does the First Lady know where you were last night?" another reporter wanted to know.
"Of course. She was with me," the President said indignantly.
The press corps busily wrote the President's words down as if they were very important. Pencils scratched loudly, against notepads. Numerous hand-held tape recorders hummed. The heat of the glaring lights made the President feel light-headed. All he had intended to do was tell the nation that a sudden emergency had occupied the first day of this term. For national security reasons, he could not comment on the emergency, but he believed it was on its way to being under control. Instead, they were fishing into his private life. Having been happily married for most of his adult life, and having been a professional politician even longer, the President was of the opinion that he didn't have a private life. As such.
"Mr. President, we have a report that the Strategic Air Command has moved every B-52 bomber wing to combat-readiness status. Are we preparing for an invasion?"
"No," the President said flatly. "Nonsense."
"Then can you explain that movement of SAC aircraft on your first day?"
"A routine training exercise," the President said. He hated to lie like that, but he had come on television to reassure the nation, not to panic it.
"Then it is not related to this alleged emergency?"
"The emergency is not alleged. It is quite real. It is very serious."
"If it is that serious, then why won't you specifically describe it for the people? Don't you feel you owe it to those who voted you into office to level with them?"
"I am leveling with them," the President said hotly.
"Mr. President, can we get back to your drinking problem?"
"What drinking problem?" the President roared.
"That is the third time you've said that," suggested another reporter. "Does that mean you are categorically denying that you have a drinking problem as a result of overindulging during the inaugural ball?"
"I do so deny it."
The Washington press corps began busily to scribble onto their notepads again and the President thought with sick horror of the evening headlines: "PRESIDENT DENIES DRINKING PROBLEM."
"Now, listen," the President said quickly. "I just want to assure the nation that the situation is under control. There is no need to be alarmed. Right at this moment one of the finest military minds in the Pentagon is dealing with the problem."
"Military? Are we expecting an attack?"
The President hesitated. He did not want to lie. And this would be an awfully big lie. Especially if another attack were to come.
A reporter jumped into the gap. "What about the fire in Lafayette Park? And the golf-course explosion in Bethesda? Are these in any way connected?"
The question gave the President no choice. He would have to fib.
"I'm told Bethesda was a meteor fall. The fire in the park was just a fire."
No one challenged that, to the President's surprised relief.
"I can tell you this," he added. "A certain foreign nation has been rattling its sabers at us. We know who this nation is and what they are up to. And I want to assure the people of America that we have the matter well in hand, and furthermore, I want to put this foreign nation on notice that the next move on their part will result in severe sanctions."
"Military sanctions, Mr. President?"
"I. . . No comment," the President said quickly. Damn, he thought. They mouse-trapped me.
The President's press secretary quickly moved in.
"That will be all gentlemen," he said, pulling the President away from the podium.
"But I'm not finished!" the President hissed.
"Yes you are, Mr. President. They're eating you alive. Please come with me. We'll have your damage-control people handle this."
Reluctantly the President of the United States shot the press corps a stiff farewell wave. He would much rather have shot them the bird. But it would have gone over the airwaves, followed by a twenty-minute critical analysis of the meaning of the President's gesture and its far-reaching political implications.