"I wonder . . ." Reverend Sluggard said.
"Yes?"
"Who would send the devil to bodyguard me?"
"Oh, for God's sake!" Victoria Hoar said, tossing her clipboard onto the plush seats. She turned to the captain. "Would you excuse us, please?"
The captain crept away without a word.
"What are you doin'?" Reverend Eldon Sluggard asked when he realized that nimble fingers were unbuttoning his Bermuda shorts.
"Your brain is full of cobwebs," Victoria said sharply. "I'm going to blow it clean."
"What? Oh!" said Reverend Eldon Sluggard when he felt his underwear descend.
The last of the new volunteers had slipped through the gates and Remo was ordering them closed when he noticed Victoria Hoar approach.
"Hi!" she said, flashing him an open smile. "Been avoiding me?"
"Um, no," Remo said. "I've been busy."
"Well, you're going to be busier. Reverend Sluggard has decided that you're going to be his personal bodyguard from now on."
"What about Chiun? We've been switching off."
"He'll continue with grounds security. But with the volunteers coming in so fast, Reverend Sluggard feels you should be at his side at all times."
"I don't blame him. Some of these kids are pretty rowdy."
"So I noticed," Victoria Hoar said dryly.
"What kind of kids show up at a religious retreat armed and drunk?"
"Reverend Sluggard is reaching out to the troubled youth of our times. It's only natural that we'd get some of the dregs, the junkies, the petty hoodlums. But don't worry. After a few days at our Christian Campground, they'll be marching to the drumbeat of the Lord."
"Where is this campground?" Remo asked. "I noticed you've been busing them out of here every day." Victoria Hoar frowned. Why was Remo asking these questions? His face was not as open as it had been. He seemed more focused.
"It's downriver. Don't worry. You'll get to see it. Reverend Sluggard is giving a talk there tonight."
"I'll be interested in hearing it," Remo said levelly.
"Actually, you may not get the chance," Victoria said quickly. "You'll probably be guarding the building."
"A bodyguard usually guards the body, not the house that houses the body," Remo recited.
"What?"
"One of Chiun's sayings, loosely translated. It means that if I'm to do my job, I should stick close to Reverend Sluggard."
"Good point. But we're more concerned about Iranian assassins, not unruly volunteers."
"Whatever you say. I guess I'd better tell Chiun," Remo said, walking back to the gate, where the Master of Sinanju stood watching the approach road as darkness began to seep into the air like billowing ink from an octopus.
Victoria Hoar watched him go. Since that first day, only a week ago, she had subjected Remo to the daily attention of her flirting sexuality. Much to her surprise, she found herself attracted to Remo. There was something about him, some animal magnetism that was so subtle that Remo himself didn't seem aware of it. She had decided that she would sleep with him. Out of curiosity more than desire. And with luck, she would learn his true purpose, if any.
But suddenly Remo hadn't seemed as interested in her as he had been. It was puzzling. Who was playing whom? she wondered as she strode back to the docked Mary Magdalene.
"Change in plan," Remo told Chiun. "I've been assigned to guard Sluggard."
"And what will I be doing?" Chiun asked tightly.
"You stick with security control."
"That man shows ridiculous judgment, choosing an assistant Master to guard his person. Does he not know who we are?"
"No, and let's keep it that way," Remo said. "Tonight he's giving a speech at that Christian Campground we've been hearing about. I'm supposed to be there."
"It is possible that the answers Smith seeks are to be found there."
"That's what I'm thinking," Remo said seriously.
"And your feelings toward this Sluggard? Are they any clearer?"
"Whoever or whatever he is, the Iranians hate him enough to come gunning for him. That still keeps him in the good-guy column as far as I'm concerned."
"Pah! At least your attitude has improved," Chiun said unhappily. "Perhaps I can find time to accompany you to this Camp of Christians."
"Too risky. Just stick to headquarters. In case there's an attack, we want prisoners for interrogation."
"Done," said Chiun. "And how was your talk with the harlot Victoria?"
"Who?" Remo asked vaguely, his eyes on the wheelhouse of the boat, where Reverend Sluggard was snoring peacefully, his shorts down around his ankles.
The Master of Sinanju allowed himself a secret self-satisfied smile.
Chapter 19
Rashid Shiraz drove across the U.S.-Canada border without incident. In the strangely named city of Burlington, Vermont, he boarded a plane for the more strangely named Savannah, Georgia.
Lamar Booe sat quietly beside him on the flight. He spoke only once, to complain about the food. Rashid heard other passengers complain about the food. He could not understand it. Compared to the food of his native Iran, it was wonderful fare. He even asked for seconds.
By the time he landed in Savannah, Rashid Shiraz had lost his earlier fear about traveling through America. He was not harassed by the men, and the women were beautiful. But he refused to allow himself to become complacent. His was a dangerous mission. Capture would mean terrible things. Although he imagined the prison food would not be bad.
In the Savannah airport terminal, he looked around for the contact he was told would be waiting for him. He was not given a description, but was simply told that he would recognize his contact.
And he did. There was a handsome bearded Iranian in black accosting almost everyone who passed him. He showed them pages from a book of some kind. Was the man a fool? Rashid wondered. Was it possible that he was showing Rashid's picture in an effort to locate him?
Crabbing Lamar Booe by the shoulder, Rashid quickly intercepted the Iranian between accostings.
"Rahe kojast shomaal?" Rashid whispered the agreed-upon code hotly. "Which way is north?"
"Ma baradar has team. Wallahi!" came the countersign. "We are brothers. It is written."
"It is written that you are an idiot!" Rashid hissed back. "Why do you call attention to yourself so?"
"Look," said the contact, displaying his open book. Rashid saw photographs of mullahs executing Iranian citizens. There was a petition calling for the overthrow of the Grand Ayatollah. Many signatures had been collected.
"Who would suspect an antirevolutionary agitator of being a spy?" the man said, smiling. "Come, a car awaits us."
Hours later, Rashid found himself sitting in a bus filled with other Iranians. His contact man, whose name was Majid, drove. The bus had been rented at the suggestion of Lamar Booe, who sat huddled in the back, his eyes burning with hatred with every mile that took them closer to the place of Reverend Sluggard.
"Every day buses like this go to gate of Sluggard," Majid said. "They are filled with rowdy young men."
"Not like these," Rashid grinned wolfishly, waving at the passengers. Every Iranian carried a weapon. Their kaffiyehs were in their pockets.
They pulled up short of the gates. The gates were closed.
"We could ram gate," Majid suggested.
"I have a better idea," said Rashid, drifting back to where Lamar Booe sat.
"You recognize where we are, Cross-Worshipper?" he asked.
Lamar Booe nodded.
"We have come to the time when you repay the benevolent Islamic Republic of Iran for your worthless life. Can you get them to open the gate?"
"Yes," Lamar Booe whispered. He was staring at the floor, his eyes hollow.
"If you do this, you will not be harmed. We guarantee this. We only want to capture this Sluggard." Lamar Booe stood up. He looked Rashid Shiraz straight in the eye.