160
"I've got it."
"Okay. Now don't screw things up. In a few days we are going to embarrass the entire government as it's never been embarrassed before. Your participation is vital. Goodbye."
Harley recoiled at the sharp click of the phone in his ear. Then he slammed the telephone onto the hook, snarled "jerkoff," and walked out of the booth to go to a wine shop on his way back to his apartment.
161
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"I don't have anything," Remo said for the second time.
"That just won't do." Smith's tone of voice made his usual lemony snarl seem like undiluted saccharin paste.
"Oh, it won't, will it? Well, try this on for size. I don't, have anything and I don't think I'm going to get anything."
"Try this one on for size too," Smith said. "You're all, God help us, that we've got. We don't have much time now. "I . . ."
"Smitty," Remo interrupted, "what's the price for a futures contract on hog bellies?"
"Three thousand four hundred and twelve dollars," Smith said, "but..."
"What's the exchange rate of Dutch guilders for American dollars?"
"Three point two-seven guilders per dollar. Stop it, will you? We are charged with our biggest single mission and we . .."
"What's gold selling for?"
"One hundred thirty seven dollars twenty-two cents an ounce." Smith paused. "I presume all this has a point."
162
"Yeah, it has a point," Remo said, "The point is you've got sixty-three million frigging people on your frigging payroll and you know the market for caterpillar crap in Afghanistan and you know how many pounds of chicken bones the Zulus buy each year to wear in their noses and what they pay for them and you can find out anything and everything and now when it gets sticky, you give the find-out to me. Well, I don't have your damned resources. I'm not good at finding out. I don't know who's going to try to kill the President. I don't know how they're going to try to do it. I don't know how to stop them. And I think they're going to be successful. And I think if you want to stop them you ought to take your far-flung organization and use it and if you can't use it, stuff it, that's what I think."
"All right," Smith said evenly. "Your objections are noted and filed. You've been to the Capitol?"
"Yes. And I didn't find out a thing except that three congressmen are fat and Neil used to work at Colgate's."
"You have no idea how they could attempt an assassination?"
"None at all," said Remo.
"Chiun? What does he think?"
"He thinks it's unusual that there are no roaches in the Capitol."
"That's wonderful," said Smith. His voice would have sounded sarcastic if it hadn't always sounded sarcastic. "That is the best word you have for me?"
"Yeah. If you want anything more, read the Warren Commission report. Maybe they'll tell you something," Remo said.
163
"Maybe they will at that," Smith said. "I trust you'll keep working?"
"Trust all you want," Remo said.
He hung up and looked angrily at Chiun who was sitting in a lotus position on a red straw mat on the floor. His golden daytime robe was spread gently about him. His eyes were closed and his face serene. He looked so peaceful it seemed as if he might vanish any moment into a mist of wysteria scent.
Chiun raised his hand in Remo's general direction, a silent soft stop sign.
"I am not interested in your problems," he said.
"You're a big help."
"I have told you. You have to find The Hole. That is how this murder attempt . . ."
"Assassination," Remo corrected.
"Wrong," said Chiun. "Assassination is carried out by an assassin. An act of skill, talent, and training. Until I know otherwise it's crude murder. And please stop interrupting. It's rude. Your manners have become unbearable."
"I'm sorry I'm rude. I'm really sorry. Smitty's yelling at me and the President's going to be killed and you're worried that I'm rude."
"A human being should not stop acting like a human being just because some petty annoyances enter his daily life," Chiun said. "At any rate, you must find The Hole. That is how they will try to kill this man of many teeth."
"And where do I find this hole?"
Chiun's eyes widened like those of a jockey who had just found an unexpected opening on the rail. They showed joy at the chance to stick it to Remo.
164
Remo raised his hand. "Never mind," he said. "I know. I can find The Hole in my head. In my fat stomach. In something or other. Can the insults, Chiun. I've got problems."
Chiun sniffed. "Then find The Hole."
"Leave me alone. I don't need any Eastern philosophy right now."
"Wisdom is always useful. If he paid attention to the coming and going of the sun, the worm wouldn't be eaten by the bird."
"Aaaaah," said Remo in disgust and ran at the wall behind Chiun. His feet hit it, four feet up, and he moved his legs up in a running step, while bringing his head down and around. When his feet were almost at the ceiling and his head almost touching the floor, he did a slow almost lazy flip to land back on his feet.
"Work the corners," Chiun said. He closed his eyes again and gently touched the five fingertips of his left hand to the five fingertips of his right.
"Aaaaah," Remo said again. But he worked the corners, moving up onto a wall as he ran to a corner, running around the corner on the wall, coming down off the wall onto the floor, moving across the room, cutting the room into four triangles, his feet touching the floor only four times for each resetted circuit of the room.
He was still at it when the knock came on the door.
Remo stopped. Chiun's eyes were closed. Remo did not know how long he had been exercising, whether it was ten minutes or an hour. His heart beat was the same fifty-two it always was at rest, his respiration still twelve breaths a minute. His body was without sweat; he had not perspired for over a year.
165
A bellboy stood outside the door. He had a white envelope in his hand, a large padded envelope. "This was just delivered for you, sir."
Remo looked at the envelope. It was addressed in felt-tipped printing to his hotel registry name: Remo McArgle. No return address. He felt the envelope. It felt like a book.
He gave it back to the bellhop. "I don't want it," he said.
"There's no charges due on it," the bellhop said.
"Why'd you say that?" Remo asked. "You think I'm poor?"
"No sir. Not in this room. It's just if you don't take it, what'll I do with it? There's no return address."
"Oh, all right. I'll take it." Remo took the envelope back. "Here. For you." He reached into his pocket and fished out a roll of bills and handed them to the bellhop without looking.
The bellhop looked. "Oh, no, sir." He fanned the bills and saw tens, twenties, even a fifty. "You've made a mistake."
"No mistake. You take that. Buy your own hotel. I was poor once and I don't ever want you to think I'm poor. Here. Take my change too." Remo turned his pocket inside out and gave the bellhop several dollars in dimes and quarters, Remo having long ago solved the problem of carrying other kinds of change by simply throwing it all in the street before it had a chance to accumulate.
The bellhop raised his eyebrows. "You sure, sir?"
"I'm sure. Get out of here. I'm working the corners and then I'm going to look for The Hole and sixty-three million people can't find out one little
166
thing- and I'm supposed to. Wouldn't it make you mad ?"
"It sure would, sir."
"Goodbye," Remo said. Before slamming the door, he yelled out into the hall, "And I'm not poor either."
When the door closed, Chiun said. "You are poor. You are a poor substitute for rational man. If the race had depended on you, it would still be sleeping in the forks of trees."