Plum shifted his walking stick to his other hand and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He used it to give his hands a brisk rub, his stick tucked under his arm. Remo noticed a drop of blood spatter from the knob. Another drop joined the first on the immaculate floor.
"Your stick appears to be bleeding, sport," Remo said.
"Ah, so it is," Plum said. "Thank you for pointing it out to me. I shall have to give it a thorough cleaning."
"He must think we're both idiots," Remo told Chiun.
"He is half-right," Chiun said.
"I don't quite follow," Plum said looking about his person for a place to put his bloodied handkerchief.
"Follow this," Remo said. "You killed Ian."
"Preposterous!" Plum sputtered. He took the other end of his stick in hand, twisting it anxiously. Remo could tell by that, that his guess had struck home. So he was prepared for what happened next.
Plum was twisting the walking stick nervously. Suddenly the stick slid apart, revealing a rapierlike blade. It was red for a third of its gleaming length.
"Watch it, Chiun!" Remo warned. "He's got a sword."
The blade came up in Remo's face. He didn't flinch as Plum slashed the air menacingly. The fine blade made the distinctive flutter and swish sound only the best swords produce.
"Give it up, Plum," Remo warned. "Or I'll get rough."
"Stay back. I am a master swordsman, I will have you know. Sandhurst and all that."
"Hey," Remo said, lifting both hands as if to surrender. "I'm unarmed."
"Capital. Then I shall run you through."
Plum lunged. Remo let the blade slide between his arm and rib cage. He clamped the blade with his armpit and twisted at the waist.
The tempered steel snapped. Plum withdrew, staring at his maimed blade.
"I say," he said stupidly. "This is quite unsporting. This sword cane has been in my family for generations."
"Sorry," Remo said in a mock-contrite voice.
"I demand satisfaction."
"Demand all you want," Remo said, plucking the tip of the sword from under his arm and breaking it into bite-size shards with quick finger movements, "but you're going to volunteer answers."
"I think not," Plum said stiffly, his eyes darting all around the room. He started to retreat, his broken sword still raised defensively.
"Shut the door, Chiun," Remo said. The Master of Sinanju closed the computer-room door. He stood there, his hands disappearing into his sleeves.
Remo advanced on Plum, who edged back toward a bank of windows.
"You killed him to cover up something, didn't you?" Remo said evenly. "Whatever it is, you're part of it. Wince if I'm getting uncomfortably close."
"I have only one thing to say to you, rebel!"
"Rebel?" Remo asked.
"Rule Britannia!" Plum shrieked, and threw himself into the window glass.
"Damn!" Remo said, leaping for the man. He had been prepared for another attack, not suicide. Plum went through the window headfirst. His polished shoes were going over the windowsill when Remo grabbed one. The shoe came off in Remo's hand. He recovered and got the silk-stockinged ankle.
"Give me a hand, Chiun," Remo barked. "He's fighting me."
The Master of Sinanju was already sweeping across the room at full sail.
Remo stuck his head out of the shattered panel. Below, the ant-farm congestion of Hong Kong traffic blared and hummed.
"Come on, Plum," Remo said. "You don't want to go this way."
"Let go of me, you blighter!" Clive Plum was kicking at Remo's free hand. Remo transferred his grip to Plum's other ankle.
Plum started kicking with the other foot, his face turning red as the blood rushed to it. A vein on his forehead was swelling as if about to burst.
Chiun took hold of the other ankle.
"Okay, let's reel him in," Remo said.
Plum abruptly stopped struggling. He hung limp as Remo and Chiun pulled him up over the sill.
"Watch the broken glass," Remo cautioned. "Don't want to cut him."
They pulled Plum's shoulders to the casement, and then he started to fight again. He held on to the casement, heedless of the glass slicing his fingers.
"Grab his hands!" Remo said. "He's cutting them to ribbons. "
A spurt of blood went past Chiun's wrinkled face. It came from Plum's punctured wrists.
"He is doing this deliberately," Chiun said, reaching for a flailing wrist.
"I got him," Remo said. He captured Plum around the waist in a bear hug. Plum went limp. His head still hung out the window. Remo pulled, and felt a stubborn resistance.
"I thought you had his hands," Remo complained.
"I do," Chiun insisted.
"Then what's he holding on with-his teeth?"
"I will look."
Chiun leaned his head out to see Plum's face.
He came back solemn-faced.
"You may let go."
"Why?"
"Because this man is dead," Chiun explained quietly. "He has impaled his throat on a glass tooth."
"Damn," Remo said, letting go. He put his head out the window.
Clive Plum was staring out at the Hong Kong skyline. He had the same glassy-eyed stare that Ian had had on his face. The main difference was that Ian was tight-upped in death. Plum's mouth was open. That was because the glass shard that had punctured his throat had also impaled his tongue and forced itself all the way to the roof of his mouth.
Blood was filling his mouth, reddening his teeth-a thick blood-and-saliva river that started to overflow at the corners of Plum's mouth.
Remo came back into the room.
"Great. Now they're both dead."
"You are not doing well today."
"Me? You're not exactly Johnny-on-the-spot with help." "I am only the interpreter," Chiun sniffed.
"Let's see what we can salvage out of this debacle," Remo said. Off in one corner, two computer technicians cowered. Remo crooked a finger in their direction. They looked at one another.
"Both of you," Remo called.
Obediently they approached, trembling like beaten dogs. "I take it all the Reuters bulletins go through this room," Remo said.
"That is correct, sir."
"Who was in charge of it?"
"Ian."
"Is he the dead guy?"
"That is correct."
"Know anything about the rumor that rocked the market earlier today?"
"Yesterday. It was yesterday, our time."
"Just answer the question."
"No. Neither of us does. That was Ian's province."
"Who does he take his orders from?"
"Mr. Plum, sir.
"Who's Plum's boss?
"The home office."
"Where's that?"
"London, sir. "
"The London stock market took a big beating too, didn't it?"
"The entire global market is in a sorry condition. As you know. "
Remo turned to Chiun. "What do you think?"
"I think we have accomplished little enough here," Chiun said. "We must go elsewhere for our answers."
"Sure, but where?"
"Smith will tell us."
"Just as long as you handle Smith," Remo said in disgust. "I'm sick of him, invalid or not."
Chapter 7
Dr. Harold W. Smith didn't consciously hear his intercom buzz. His face frowned when the buzz came again, but it still didn't intrude upon his concentration as he watched the lines of green data scroll up on his computer terminal.
The third time did.
"What is it?" Smith snapped into the intercom.
"They're here to see you, Dr. Smith," Mrs. Mikulka said imperturbably.
"Who is?" Smith asked, not taking his eyes from the screen.
His secretary's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "You know. Those two."
"Show them in," Smith said curtly. He knew exactly whom his secretary meant, and so he was not surprised when the
Master of Sinanju breezed into the room. Remo followed him, lugging a red-and-gold-lacquered trunk. Smith recognized it as one of Chiun's traveling trunks and for a moment feared that he was about to lose the Master of Sinanju.
"Greetings, Emperor Smith!" Chiun proclaimed. "I come bearing the solution to all your worries."
"You found something in Hong Kong?" Smith said hopefully.
"That's the bad news," Remo said sourly, dropping the trunk onto the bare floor. "No."
"What happened?" Smith asked anxiously.
"A minor setback," Chiun said, casting a sharp glance in Remo's direction.
"The guy in charge of Reuters' computers was skewered by his boss. Obviously a cover-up."
"My God. Then it is a plot. What happened to the murderer?"
"He committed suicide."
Smith's eyes went sick. "This is bigger than I thought. They have plants in Reuters."
"How do you know this isn't a Reuters plot?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Remo. Reuters is a renowned and respected international news service."
"And Wall Street is an American institution," Remo said acidly. "And it almost went belly-up because of a wild rumor. "
Chiun clapped his hands sharply. "Enough of this trivia. It is time to speak of important things."
"What could be more important than the threat to the world's economy?" Smith asked, blank-faced.
"Nostrum, Inc.," Chiun said loftily. "I wish to take possession of it." Chiun drifted up to Smith's desk, one hand held palm-up. "The keys, please."
"Keys?"
"You do have the keys?"
"You don't need keys to enter the building."
"What! You have left my precious corporation unguarded!" "No, of course not. Trusted employees take care of security matters."
"We will see how trustworthy they are after I have met them," Chiun said harshly.
"The door to Nostrum is open to you at any time," Smith assured the Master of Sinanju. "You have only to walk in the front door."
Chiun frowned.
"In fact, I would like you to take possession of Nostrum immediately."
"You would?" Chiun said suspiciously.
"Sounds too easy, Chiun," Remo called out mischievously. "I'd be careful if I were you. Could be a trap."
"Nonsense," Chiun said. "Do not listen to him, Emperor. He does not speak for me."
"And never has," Remo muttered, sitting on the trunk.
"While you were in Hong Kong," Smith said, " I have been monitoring the fallout from the meltdown. As you know, it began with rumors regarding Global Communications Conglomerate, the largest multimedia group in the world."
"Don't they own that cable network?" Remo asked. "The one that's all-news?"
Smith nodded. "The Global News Network, as well as a movie arm and several newsmagazines. They own some newspapers involved in an FCC effort to force divestiture."
"I do not understand any of this," Chiun sniffed.
"It does not matter," Smith told him. "What does matter is the redistribution of Global stock. It has been concentrated into the hands of a small group of corporations and investment houses, including our own company, Nostrum."
"My own company," Chiun corrected.
"Ahem. Yes," Smith went on. "Putting aside the small amounts of stock that appear to have been snapped up by bottom-fishers, five investors now own large blocks of Global. Aside from Nostrum, there are P. M. Looncraft's brokerage firm, his financial adviser, the Lippincott Mercantile Bank, DeGoone Slickens, the corporate raider, and an offshore company I have never before heard of, Crown Acquisitions, Limited. Each one of these investors has been heavily involved in the troubling hostile-takeover and junkbond mania of the last decade. It's probable that one of these people, at the very least, is after Global, and the others are simply grabbing up stock because they have inside information that Global is a takeover target. Clearly something is in the wind, because Looncraft and Slickens are bitter business enemies."
Chiun looked to Remo in perplexity. Remo just shrugged, as if to say: It's Greek to me too.
"It stands to reason that since Global was the primary target of this rumor, and of the market-meltdown accidental fallout from the maneuver, then one of these companies is responsible for the plot."
"Then Remo will descend upon them and shake the truth from these devious curs," Chiun shouted.
Remo jumped up. "Me?" he asked hotly.
"I would do it myself, but I will be overseeing my vast financial empire," Chiun said importantly.
"No way," Remo said.
"I would like to go along with your idea," Smith said sincerely, "but Remo's intransigence aside, we still have the problem of his face. CURE security demands that we keep him out of the public eye."
"Which brings me to the solution I spoke of earlier," Chiun said brightly. He turned to Remo, who was still seated on the lacquered trunk. "It lies in the trunk you see before you."
"Really?" Smith asked. His eyes went to Remo.
"Search me," Remo admitted. "I don't know what's in it either. But I wouldn't get your hopes up. It smells like a taxidermist's footlocker."
"Silence," Chiun said. "You will open the trunk, Remo."
Reluctantly Remo got up and undid the brass latches. He lifted the lid.
Smith leaned forward, then, remembering that he was in a wheelchair, sent it rolling out from behind his desk.
With a flourish, the Master of Sinanju dipped both hands into the trunk and raised a shaggy brown patch of hide.
"Behold," he cried, beaming.
"It looks like a bearskin," Smith said, puzzled.
"Smells like one too," Remo put in.
"This is not ordinary bearskin," Chiun said. "For it was the hide of the terrible brown bear slain by my ancestor Master Ik."
"Named, no doubt, by the smell his kimono gave off after he returned from the hunt," Remo said smugly.
"Ik is a proud Korean name," Chiun said huffily. Smith rolled up to the skin. He fingered the hide carefully. It felt rough and scratchy. In places the fur was matted. The head was attached by a tube of skin. It lolled over the hide drunkenly, its eye sockets empty. Feet and paws hung from the main portion by furry flaps.
"What is this?" Smith asked, pointing to a beaten gold oval to which a string of bear teeth was attached in joined arcs.
"That is the symbol that will soon make the evildoers quake in their boots," Chiun said proudly. "I made it myself. "
Remo came around to the front, curious.
"That looks kinda like-" he started to say.
"Correct! The dreaded emblem of Bear-Man."
"Bear-Man?" Smith whispered. Remo started edging for the door.
"Yes!" Chiun cried. "Soon to be a registered trademark of Nostrum, Inc."
"I fail to comprehend," Smith said blankly.
Remo called back from the half-open door, "You two sort this out."
"Hold, Remo," Chiun shouted. "For this concerns you."
"No, it doesn't," Remo said quickly. "And there's no way you're getting me to put on that rug."
Sudden comprehension broke over the craggy features of Harold W. Smith.
"Ah," he said.
"You understand?" Chiun asked Smith hopefully.
"Yes, and I'm afraid I must agree with Remo. The problem with his doing investigations has to do with his conspicuousness. His face could be recognized by anyone."
"That's settled," Remo said, coming back from the door.
"Exactly," Chiun continued. "This mighty costume will convert that from a problem into a solution. And incidentally, make us all billionaires. Think of it, Smith. If Americans can believe in the fearsomeness of the lowly bat, what will they think of the awesome Bear-Man, scourge of Wall Street?"
"They will think the circus is in town," Remo said quickly. "Right, Smitty?" Smith didn't answer. His brow was furrowing in thought. Remo started to edge back toward the door again.
"It could work," Smith said slowly. It was almost
inaudible, but the words reached Remo clear across the room.
Chiun turned his head. "Remo. Put this on. Show Smith how formidable a figure you cut as the mighty Bear-Man."
"I am not-repeat, not putting on that flea-bitten thing,"
Remo insisted. "It looks ridiculous."
"In my homeland," Chiun explained, "the bear is the most formidable animal. Unlike the bat, which flutters like a mere rag in the wind."
Smith looked up from his thoughts.
"It's absurd," he said, "but it could get us through the weekend. Until the stock market opens again."
"No," Remo said firmly.
"Remo, listen to me," Smith said fervently. "We have only the weekend in which to work. It may be all over by then if the stock market tumbles once more. I've a three-pronged attack in mind. I will conduct an investigation of this Crown Acquisitions, Limited by computer. Chiun will manage Nostrum, which I believe may be the target of a hostile takeover because it owns significant Global stock, without which Global cannot be merged or absorbed."
"Have no fear, Smith," Chiun said sternly. "There is no threat that I cannot fight."
"This one may be different. You've never gone up against a hostile takeover."
"I spit upon those who dare try."
"The third line of attack is to investigate those who bought up large blocks of Global stock. Remo is the perfect person to do this."
"Not me. I don't know anything about stock."
"But you do know about persuasion."
"So does Chiun. He can persuade paint off a fence."
"I must be at my desk to fend off those who would assault my office building," Chiun inserted.
"And I am bound to my desk as well," Smith said. " I would go into the field myself, but as I am now in a wheelchair, I'm afraid my effectiveness is limited. And I am still subject to weak spells. I really shouldn't be under this strain."
Chiun turned on Remo.
"Remo!" he shouted loudly. "How dare you imperil your emperor's health by your stubbornness."
"He's not my emperor," Remo said flatly. "Never was."
"Yet he needs you," Chiun said.
"Your country needs you," Smith added. "And the world. For that is what lies in the balance."
Remo's unhappy expression wavered. He looked from Chiun to the bear suit to Smith and back to the suit again. Chiun held the suit higher so that its dangling-bear-tooth emblem rattled like an Indian talisman.
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