Copra Inisfree saw the blood and screamed. Then she fainted. Three people were hospitalized after being pinned under her massive body for nearly an hour. That's how long it took LAX airport officials to summon a forklift to raise her off their moaning bodies.
Chapter 5
Remo walked the dusty streets of Brownsville until he got tired of walking. He found a phone booth and called his employer, Dr. Harold W. Smith.
He reached Dr. Smith by dialing an evangelical hotline and promising to donate exactly $4,647.88 for the purpose of smuggling Bibles into East Germany.
"Could you repeat that amount, please?" a woman's cool voice asked.
Remo did, and there came a procession of clicks and suddenly he got a ringing line.
"Yes?" said the dry voice of Dr. Harold W. Smith, head of CURE, the super-secret government agency which operated outside of constitutional restrictions. "Smitty? Mission accomplished."
"That was well-timed," Smith said. "I have something new for you."
"How about a 'Well done' before I grab the next bus?"
"Actually, you'll be flying to New York City. There has been a strange incident at Los Angeles International Airport. I want you to look into it."
"I get it," Remo said brightly. "For security reasons, I'm to fly to New York and do my investigating by phone. That way no one will know it's us."
"No," said Smith. "The people involved are now in New York. Have you ever heard of a television personality known as Copra Inisfree?
"Yeah. She's Chiun's latest passion. I'm not sure 'person' exactly describes her, though. My personal theory is that she's a Macy's Parade balloon and that midgets operate her from inside."
"Highly unlikely," said the humorless voice of Dr. Harold W. Smith.
Remo sighed. He wished he could somehow get a rise out of his employer. "Just give me the broad outlines," he said resignedly.
"Ms. Inisfree has just returned from looking into Asian refugees in Thailand. She has brought back with her a Vietnamese refugee named Phong, whom she claims was attacked upon arrival in this country. Several persons were seriously injured in the attack, so it seems like something more portentous than a publicity stunt. The assailant escaped, and Ms. Inisfree has given a press conference where she promised to reveal dramatic proof of American servicemen still being held prisoner in Southeast Asia on her next show."
"That's an old story," Remo said sourly. "I don't buy it. Vietnam was a long time ago. "
"We have nothing on the calendar for you and Chiun. It wouldn't hurt if the two of you were in the studio audience when the supposed evidence is revealed."
"What's the point? Can't you just tape it?"
"You were in Vietnam, Remo. You know those people. Maybe you can tell if this Phong is telling the truth, and while you're at it, evaluate the supposed evidence."
"Waste of time," Remo repeated.
"Your other task will be to protect this man in case he is attacked again."
"I don't do bodyguard work. Ask Chiun. It's beneath Sinanju Masters. We're assassins. Strictly cash-and-carry."
"Your flight leaves in ninety minutes. When you reach New York, call the local dial-a-horoscope and tell the machine you're a Virgo with the sun in Taurus. Further instructions will be given at that time." Smith hung up.
The first thing Chiun asked when Remo returned to the hotel was the exact question Remo knew he would ask.
"Did you speak with Emperor Smith?"
"Yeah," said Remo. He looked around for something to sit on. Finding nothing, he took up a position near the sliding glass doors.
"Did you ask the permission that I requested?"
"No."
Chiun turned, shocked. "No! A little request such as that? And you forgot. Tell me you forgot. I could forgive you if you forgot. Forgiveness is possible when one is not willfully at fault."
"I made a point of not asking," Remo said, annoyed.
"Then forgiveness is not possible here. I am sorry. Our friendship is over. You may pack your bags and leave now."
"Cut it out, Chiun. I didn't bother asking Smith if you could stay on for The Copra Inisfree Show, because he's sending us to see it live."
"Live!" Chiun's facial hair trembled with delight. He brought his long-nailed fingers together in a gentle clap. "We are going to see Copra Inisfree live? In person?"
"It was Smith's idea. I didn't even bring it up."
"No? You do not want credit for this happy gift? You did not suggest it to him?"
"I don't want to go, Chiun."
"Then stay. I will go. You may pack my things as long as you do not have to pack things of your own."
But Remo didn't move a muscle. He was staring out the sliding glass doors. His dark eyes had that inward light of a man who looks into himself and sees something unwelcome.
"What troubles you, my son?"
"This stupid assignment. Smith has his back up because this yo-yo talk-show woman claims she has proof that missing American servicemen are still being held prisoner in Vietnam."
"So?"
"There are no Americans back there. They all got out or were killed in action."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I was there, I know. It's a wild-goose chase. It's crap."
"If it is, as you say, crap, why are you angry?"
"It's a stupid idea. There are no Americans alive over there. Can't be."
And Chiun, looking at the dark profile of his pupil, said an odd thing.
"I will pack for both of us."
Remo said nothing. Half an hour later, when the sun set on his impassive face, he hadn't moved from the doors. He might have been staring at his own reflection. If so, his expression said that he did not like what he saw.
Chapter 6
Their tickets were waiting at the studio door, just as Dr. Smith had promised Remo during his check-in call. Chiun snatched them out of Remo's hand, examined them critically, and returned one to Remo.
"That one is yours," he said firmly.
"How do you know? They don't have our names on them. "
"It has a lower number than my ticket."
An usher led them into the studio, which was nearly full.
"So?" Remo asked.
"It means I will have a better seat."
"Doesn't work that way," Remo said flatly.
The usher stopped at a row near the back and gestured to a pair of vacant seats.
"See?" Remo said, letting Chiun go ahead of him. "We're both in a back row. Smith's idea, I'm sure."
"One sees more from a distance," Chiun said loftily as he pointedly stepped on the toes of several members of the audience who declined to rise as he passed them. He settled into the seat like a bedspread descending over a mattress.
"Right," said Remo. He dropped into the seat beside Chiun. Almost at once, canned music blared an introduction and a scarlet curtain parted to reveal a stage. A camera dollied forward, blocking Remo's view.
"I can't see," Remo complained.
"I can see perfectly," Chiun said smugly.
"I don't care," Remo said as Copra Inisfree stomped onto the stage. "I don't understand what you see in her."
"She's loud, rude, and obnoxious."
"That's what you see in her?"
Chiun shrugged. "Doesn't everybody?"
"I'm not sure," Remo said, looking around the audience. He noticed an unusual number of Asians. Vietnamese. Their faces made shards of old memories dance in his head.
"She reminds me of the Korean jugglers at home," Chiun went on. "Every spring they paint their faces funny colors, throw on rags, and perform tricks for the villagers. Sometimes they pretend to be happy, and other times they weep like faucets."
"Like clowns?"
"Yes. That is the word. I couldn't think of it before. Thank you, Remo."
"I'm starting to get the picture," Remo said.
Up on stage, Copra Inisfree grabbed a microphone and boomed out a greeting. "Today we have a very important show for you, people. I know I promised pets of Vietnam POW's for today, but I have something even better. Our guest is a very brave Vietnamese gentleman who walked barefoot across the war zones of two countries to share his remarkable story with us. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Cung Co Phong."