In his Folcroft office Harold W. Smith changed channels the old-fashioned way. By hand.
It was total chaos down in Atlanta. The media had jumped on the least important part of the story-the disabling of KNNN's broadcast ability. The abduction of Cheeta Ching, ostensibly by Jed Burner, Layne Fondue, and an unknown confederate, had yet to break.
With luck, the news would not air until Remo had broken the bad news to the Master of Sinanju.
As for the mysterious Captain Audion, Harold Smith knew that whatever his carefully laid plans had been, Remo had thrown a monkey wrench into them by disabling KNNN.
He turned down the sound and went back to his computer, from which he was monitoring the land, sea, and air search for the missing KNNN Superpuma helicopter, initiated in utter secrecy by the President of the United States himself. The new chief executive was only too happy to pitch in and do his part.
He had been watching KNNN when it went down-and Harold Smith was the first person he called.
Chapter 15
Remo Williams didn't know what to do.
After he had eluded the Atlanta police, he had checked into a Decatur motel, showered, and walked the floor with the TV on.
Like a pack of sharks smelling blood in the water, the networks were providing continuous coverage of "The KNNN Knockdown," as BCN was calling it. Anchors interviewed anchors, who returned the favor. It was a feeding frenzy of interviews, and nowhere was the opinion of an ordinary citizen heard.
A Martian would have thought a religious temple had been desecrated.
There were standups, two-shots, and endlessly repeated film clips of the downed satellite dishes, frightened KNNN staffers, not to mention assorted fistfights. Interspersed with commercials that were three times more interesting than the coverage itself.
Remo had enjoyed none of it. Except the footage of Don Cooder and a nameless KNNN anchor wrestling for possession of a live mike.
The spectacle of Don Cooder under great stress reminded Remo of the time two years back when Cooder had talked a dippy physics student into building a live neutron bomb for a segment of 24 Hours, ostensibly on the easy availability of nuclear technology, but actually as a gigantic ratings ploy. Someone had stolen the bomb and detonated it. Chiun had been on ground zero when it happened, with Remo a helpless witness.
Chiun had survived. A miracle. The Master of Sinanju had burrowed underground to safety, but no one knew it. Not even Remo, who had mourned his Master for many long months, until Harold Smith had located the comatose old Korean under a California desert and resuscitated him.
In the aftermath of the incident, Remo had begged Smith to let him take down Don Cooder. Smith had refused. Remo had never been satisfied with his reasoning. So the sight of Cooder making a fool of himself on live television gave Remo a little solace. But not much.
As he paced, switching channels in the hope of getting some word of Cheeta Ching's whereabouts, Remo wrestled with what he would tell Chiun if the worst came to pass.
For nine months, the impending birth of the baby had haunted Remo. Chiun's insistence that Cheeta and the baby come to live with them threatened their long association. Now this.
There was no way Remo could tell Chiun the truth without destroying their relationship.
In the blackest part of the night Remo had called Harold Smith.
"Smitty. Any news on Cheeta?"
"A full-scale search has turned up nothing."
"What are they doing," Remo said heatedly, "playing with themselves? Tell them to get on it."
"Remo, it is the middle of the night, Georgia is very big and the helicopter is very small. It could have set down anywhere."
"Or crashed," Remo said dully.
"Or crashed," Smith agreed.
"I never thought I'd see the day I cared whether Cheeta Ching would live or die. This is a mess."
"Perhaps."
"What do you mean, perhaps?"
"You have knocked KNNN off the air. Jed Burner has fled for parts unknown. It may be the end of the crisis."
"Not my crisis. I'm holed up in a motel room and I'm thinking of staying here until this blows over."
"You might as well go home, Remo. There is nothing more to be done in Atlanta."
"So what do I tell Chiun?"
"The truth."
"He'll kill me."
"I rather doubt that," Smith said dryly. "The bond between the two of you is very strong."
"Yeah, well I definitely noticed it getting looser and looser the closer Cheeta got to her due date."
"Remo, your face was seen by unknown numbers of KNNN staffers. I would prefer you out of Atlanta and where I can reach you."
"I'll think about it," Remo said, hanging up.
A lot Smith knew. For twenty years, Remo had worked for the old skinflint. There were times when Remo thought he understood Smith, and there were times he despised the man. These days, their relationship was neutral. But Smith didn't appreciate the elemental moods of the Master of Sinanju, how he could turn on Remo over matters of honor or pride.
Remo Williams, the second greatest assassin on the face of the earth, was normally without fear. As he checked out of his motel, he was afraid for his future and desperately trying to come up with a convincing lie that would salvage it.
And as he inserted the key into his front door lock, two and a half hours later in Massachusetts, he was still wracking his brain.
Maybe, he thought, I'll tell him Smitty wants us to fly to Peru and dismember Maoists. Chiun would like that.
The Master of Sinanju was in the kitchen when Remo stepped in. He was making tea. He was humming. This was going to be rough, Remo knew.
Remo stepped in, and Chiun looked up.
The Trinitron stood on its island, black and mute.
Momentary relief washed over Remo. Chiun couldn't have gotten the news.
Remo opened his mouth, trusting to the first lie that emerged.
Instead, he found himself speaking the truth.
"I blew it, Little Father," he said contritely. "I'm sorry."
"This is understandable," Chiun said, setting out a celadon cup.
"It is?"
"You did not have your teacher to guide you to success. "
Remo blinked. "That's right, I didn't, did I?" It hadn't occurred to him. But there it was. An escape hatch.
"Have you broken the news to Smith?" Chiun asked, taking a second cup from the cupboard.
"Yeah."
"He is angered?"
"Actually, he thinks I solved the TV problem even if the bad guys got away."
"A partial success whispers of completeness in a coming hour," said Chiun, pouring the tea into both cups.
"Smith has practically the entire Air Force, Coast Guard and Navy looking for the guy now."
Chiun frowned. "He swam from you?"
Remo shook his head no. "Helicopter."
"Ah. Then you have an acceptable excuse, for we do not fly after helicopters. It is not in our job description."
"Yeah, yeah. Right. Maybe we should turn on the TV now," he added, thinking maybe it would sound better coming from someone Chiun couldn't reach out and strangle.
Chiun frowned. "The squawking of rude readers of the alleged news of this province would spoil such a morning as this."
"There might be news of Cheeta, you know?"
Chiun's wrinkled features quirked. "Is it not too early for the heads that talk?"
"When I left Atlanta, they were all over every channel. They think KNNN going down is big news."
"Then by all means, Remo. Turn on the television device. I have poured you a cup of tea."
"Thanks," said Remo, hitting the on button. The set warmed up, and Remo felt his heart climb into his throat. The last time he had left Chiun, he felt angry and hurt. Now all he wanted was not to be the one to break the bad news-whatever it was.
The set winked into life. And almost immediately winked out again.