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"Oh, brother," Remo said as they stepped off the elevator and onto the second floor.

"Who will cut the cord!" Chiun shrieked to the ceiling.

Harold Smith poked his gray head out of his halfopen office, his face drained of color.

"What was that sound?" he gasped.

"Chiun was just wondering who will cut Cheeta's cord," Remo said dryly.

"Some witless white, no doubt," Chiun muttered darkly. Then, his voice calmer, he said, "Hail, Emperor Smith."

Distaste showed on Harold Smith's lemony face. "I wish you would not call me that, Master Chiun. I am not an emperor."

"Only your lack of ambition stands between you and the Eagle Throne," Chiun whispered. "Speak the word, and this mindless charade called the right to vote will be yours to abolish by royal decree."

Harold Smith returned to his desk and his computer.

"Any progress?" Remo asked, closing the door after him.

Smith shook his gray head. "The jamming signal went down before it could be traced. I am trying to ascertain why. So far, I have discounted a power outage at the transmission site, and other obvious causes."

Remo and Chiun took positions behind Smith and looked over his shoulder at the computer screen.

Smith pressed a key, bringing up a wire frame map of Canada. "The FCC was able to plot out the latitude of the pirate signal."

"So I was right," said Remo. "It was in Canada."

"Foreign enemies are usually the most dangerous," Chiun said thinly. "No doubt they covet your northernmost provinces, Smith."

"Canada is one of our closest allies," Smith pointed out, "and we share with them the longest undefended border in human history."

"You have never been at war with these people?"

"Not since the War of 1812," Smith said, pressing another key. A red line tracked across the map of Canada. When it completed itself, Smith added, "The transmitter is situated somewhere on that line."

"Can't we find it by air?" asked Remo.

"The line runs from the Canadian Northwest to the Canadian Shield. It's desolate country. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even if the Canadians would agree to U.S. overflights."

"They won't, huh?"

"They are currently blaming us for this transmission problem."

Remo frowned. "Satellite recon?"

"It will take time to reposition a KH-12 for this task. Normally, we do not spy on Canada."

Chiun lifted his voice. "Cheeta! Why are we not looking for Cheeta?"

"One will lead to another," said Smith.

"These evil Canadians are responsible for this outrage," Chiun said sharply, raising a shaking fist. "No doubt to avenge their inglorious defeat in 1812. It is our duty as loyal Americans to seize their ruler and hold him for ransom."

"Loyal Americans?" Smith said blankly.

"Let me guess," Remo added. "The ransom is Cheeta. "

"Of course," said Chiun, his voice and face bland. "They will surrender her with great ceremony, as befits the high station of the hostages." The Master of Sinanju eyed Harold Smith. "I will be pleased to act as mediator, Emperor Smith. Perhaps certain untraceable poisons can be introduced into the Canadian ruler's food during the exchange banquet as a subtle hint that this outrage must be never repeated."

"No," Smith said flatly.

Chiun's sparse eyebrows lifted. "No?"

"Absolutely not. We do not know that the Canadians are responsible."

"The proof is in this telecast device," said Chiun, pointing to Smith's TV.

They looked. The BCN Evening News with Don Cooder was on. The sound was off. No one bothered to remedy that situation.

"Explain please," said Smith.

"It is known that the evil transmitter lies hidden in the wicked Kingdom of Canada."

"Canada is a democracy, but yes."

"You have told me that one of the abductors was a known Scot?"

"Yes. And Dieter Banning is a Canadian of Scottish ancestry," Smith corrected.

"A spy in your land," sniffed Chiun. "Whom I vanquished."

"That was unfortunate."

"Was it? Did the evil blackness not cease with his death?"

Smith blinked. He switched to ANC. Ned Doppler was reading copy, red-eyed and obviously close to tears. The screen was edged in black, no doubt the graphic department's idea of a tribute to the late Dieter Banning.

Smith made a thoughtful face. "That's right. It did. But why?"

"The answer is clear," announced Chiun. "The evil mastermind dead, his minions now cower, dreading your regal justice."

Smith shook his head. "Unlikely. Even if Banning was involved in this, his death would not result in . . ." Smith's voice trailed off.

"What is it?" Remo asked.

"I faxed news of Banning's death to every news organization, print and television. My aim was to elicit some response from Captain Audion."

"But instead Audion shut everything down," Remo muttered.

"I had been pursuing the theory that Audion was aware of our attempts to track down his signal, and cut transmission to avoid discovery," Smith said slowly. "Perhaps that was not the situation at all. Perhaps..."

Smith logged off his Canadian file and brought up a blank screen.

"We have two main suspects here," Smith said, "Jed Burner, president of KNNN and Dieter Banning, ANC's nightly anchor."

"Why are they called 'anchors'?" Chiun asked suddenly.

"Why do they always say 'nightly'?" wondered Remo.

"Not now," Smith said as he typed the names on the screen.

"Don't forget Haiphong Hannah," Remo inserted.

Nodding, Smith added Layne Fondue's name as well.

"According to your description of the events in Atlanta," Smith said absently, "Cheeta Ching was taken away by Burner, Fondue, and a disguised man wearing-"

"Don't say it," Remo said urgently.

"-a kilt."

"What is this? What is this?" Chiun squeaked, his voice shaking as his eyes went from Remo to Smith and Remo again. They stayed on Remo, cold and steely.

"I can explain," Smitty said hastily.

"It is not you who must explain your words, but Remo."

Remo swallowed.

"I tried to tell you back at the house," he said in a low voice.

Chiun's eyes narrowed to steely gleams. "Tell me now."

"Cheeta beat me to KNNN. I guess she was following the same lead Smith fed me. I got there just as they were bundling her into Burner's chopper."

"And you did not stop them?" Chiun said.

"The guy in the kilt had his gun on Cheeta the whole time."

"That would not have stopped a true Master of Sinanju, whose feet are swift as the snow leopard and whose hands are as the lightning whose thunder is not heard until the blow had been struck."

"He was holding the muzzle to Cheeta's stomach," Remo said.

Chiun's facial hair shuddered. His eyes grew heavy of lid, like a serpent. Remo felt the cold sweat return to his hands. He returned Chiun's unflinching gaze with an open unthreatening stare of his own.

"You did the correct thing," said Chiun in a remote voice, but turned his back on Remo. "But only because you have been trained by the best."

Remo let out a sigh of relief and wiped the back of his hand across his brow, leaving it more sweaty than before.

"Not that you are forgiven for not arriving early," he added coldly.

"Which I wouldn't have been if I hadn't wasted time trying to get you to come along," Remo shot back.

Chiun said nothing. Smith said, "Please describe the scene in Atlanta as you recall it."

Remo furrowed his brow. "I got past the guards, heard that Cheeta had beaten me to Burner and heard shooting. By the time I got to the roof, they were all hustling Cheeta into the chopper."