"That*s better." Remo led Chiun in silence to the small corrugated metal building on the edge of the camp. He told the guard that he had been told to report to the hotbox. The guard shrugged and waved him inside.
Chiun wrinkled his nose at the scent of the sweating inmates who lined the walls. "Why, may I ask, did you volunteer us for incarceration in this pit?" he asked.
"We were setting a bad example, Chiun. Nobody likes being at boot camp, but if every recruit just wasted whoever was in charge of making a soldier
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out of him, we wouldn't have an army. We'd have what happened back at Fort Wheeler."
"I see. And by imprisoning ourselves, we will make better soldiers out of the others."
"Something like that." He turned to address one of the soldiers in the hotbox. "Say,-do you know anything about some religious group coming around here?"
"Whaddya want, jerk?" the soldier snarled. "I don't know nothing about no religious crap, so how's about shutting your face. Unless you got some smoke."
"Then again, we could break out of this stinkhole whenever we wanted," Remo said to Chiun.
"That is reassuring," Chiun said, and sent the soldier crashing through the wall, over the fence, and deep into the woods beyond. Chiun hurried the other prisoners along the same route until he and Remo were alone in the cell. "This room was badly in need of proper ventilation," Chiun said, positioning himself lotus-style near the hole, which extended the length and breadth of the entire far wall. "Tell me when you are prepared to leave."
Remo leaned against the metal wall of the chamber. "Say, Chiun," he said, "did you notice anything odd about this place?"
"Nothing. It is filled with obnoxious white men who live down to their heritage with appalling accuracy. A perfectly ordinary community of your people."
Remo stood in silence for a moment, his brow furrowed. Finally he said, "He hasn't come here yet."
"Who? Be articulate, Remo, at least in your own
language."
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"The traveling preacher. Randy Nooner mentioned him, and there was blood in the place where his tent was. The guy you just threw out of here didn't know anything about any religious fanatics, and nobody at this base looks like a zombie. This is a normal army camp. It hasn't been touched by the craziness we saw at Wheeler."
"Preachers? Tents? Zombies?"
"We're in the wrong place, Chiun. The preacher's who we want. It's the preacher. We've got to find him."
"I am reasonably certain he is not in this jail," Chiun said. "If you feel you have adequately incarcerated us both to serve your country, perhaps we should seek after him elsewhere."
Just then, the door opened, and four officers entered with a crisp stamping of feet. They formed two lines to allow a man wearing a three-piece gray suit and an expression of lemony rectitude to enter. "That's the man," Harold W. Smith said, indicating Remo.
"O mighty emperor," Chiun said, according Smith a small bow. "You have heard of our plight and are come to rescue us." He leaned close to Remo and whispered, "Do not tell Emperor Smith that we could have escaped. It would lessen the kindness of his gesture."
"How'd you know we were here?" Remo asked.
"I followed your trail," Smith said blandly. From his pocket he produced a set of handcuffs. "Just go along with it," he said in a low voice, snapping the cuffs over Remo's wrists.
"I wish you'd put that another way," Remo said.
"They think you're an escaped patient from Fol-
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croft, and that Chiun is your custodian." He cleared his throat. "Ah, the other inmates seem to have escaped, Colonel," Smith said, nodding toward the hole in the far wall.
"I see, Dr. Smith." The colonel motioned for the guard to investigate. "Is this your man's work?"
"Folcroft will pay for all damages, Colonel," Smith said. "Meanwhile, I'd better take him back. Thank you for all your help."
"Thank you, Doctor. That man would have been a serious danger here. You've wasted no time tracking him down." The colonel nodded to Smith, then to Chiun. "And your courage in trying to keep this lunatic under control is commendable."
"It is difficult, but I do what I must," Chiun said, his pride tinged with suffering. He elbowed Remo in the ribs. "Struggle," he whispered. "Act as though you are trying to free yourself from these metal bracelets." He raised his voice. "Back, beast," he shouted, slapping Remo's face. "Clear away," Chiun ordered the officers. "I will subdue the madman. Back, dogfaced one." He made a show of striking Remo again. "Go on, Remo, fight," he whispered. Reluctantly, Remo raised his hands to cover his face. In doing so, he snapped the handcuffs in two. He tried to tie the chain together, but the metal crumbled into shards. "Where'd you get these, Smitty, Toy City?" Remo asked.
Smith escorted him wordlessly out of the compound while Chiun spun around them both, flailing at Remo and shrieking, "Back, mad white lunatic!" for the benefit of passersby.
Outside the gate, Remo let the scraps of metal remaining from the handcuffs drop to the ground.
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"Submit, wildman," Chiun yelled.
"Er—thank you, Chiun," Smith said, "but we needn't continue the ruse."
The old Oriental shrugged. "The Master of Sin-anju respects his emperor's wishes," he said. He turned to Remo. "But do not forget your place, dogface. Heh, heh. Dogface."
"I'll keep it in mind," said Remo. "What are you doing here, Smitty? Aren't you going out on a limb by coming after us?"
"Yes, but we haven't got any time to lose. One of our operatives at the New York Times came through with some information you'd better investigate right away." He told Remo about the press conference scheduled for noon at Fort Vadassar. "The Times checked everything out with the Pentagon files. Apparently, Vadassar's been operating since 1979." /
Remo looked disgusted. "Thanks a lot, Smitty. You said you couldn't find a trace of Fort Vadassar on your computers. You could have saved me this, whole trip if your information was correct."
"My information is always correct," Smith said, his face expressionless.
"Is that so. Then how do you explain an army base thaf s been around since 1979?"
"Given the reliability of the Folcroft information terminals, there is only one explanation possible. Vadassar does not exist."
"What about the Pentagon files?"
"They must be wrong."
Remo looked at Smith sideways. "But Smitty," he said, trying to sound reasonable, "the army's holding the conference. They ought to know if their fort exists or not."
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Smith's calm remained unruffled. "I don't care if the man in the moon is holding the press conference, Remo. Fort Vadassar is not a base for the United States Army. Now you find out what it is."
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Nine
Artemis Thwill awoke to the taste of bitter black coffee burning his tonsils.
"Up and at 'em, Art," Randy Nooner said. "Two hours to showtime."
Thwill tried to shake himself out of his drugged stupor. "My back," he murmured, touching the sore spot where the needle had entered. "What did you do to me?"
"Only a mild sedative. It worked wonders. The troops think the government is out to kill you. Seeing you alive will give their morale a real shot in the arm."
"Samantha," he moaned.
'Tin right here, honey," Samantha called from the floor, where she was counting a stack of greenbacks. She licked her lips in appreciation. "Golly, Artemis, that fainting spell of yours pulled in almost fifty thousand dollars. And we didn't even have a service. Maybe we should make it a regular part of the routine."
"No," Artemis said, feeling the headache throb in his skull.
Randy Nooner smiled. "No," she repeated.
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"That's only for special occasions. Like when Artemis doesn't feel like reading his speeches the way they were written. You won't make that mistake again, will you, Artemis?" Her eyes grew cold ás she spoke ever more softly. "Because if you do, the next shot won't be a tranquilizer. And coffee won't wake you up. Do you understand?"