"Yes, Mr. Looncraft."
P. M. Looncraft leaned back in his black leather executive's chair. He was surprised. This Chiun was contacting him. Imagine. Well, let him stew in his own juices. There was no reason to speak with him, although Looncraft had a tickle of curiosity about this new Wall Street genius who could command gold ingots in return for his stock.
Looncraft attended to a few minor business details and placed all important papers in his briefcase. Before leaving his office, he went to his personal computer and logged onto the Mayflower Descendants bulletin board. It was quiescent, which surprised him. He had expected an update on the Reuters matter.
Gathering up his briefcase, he left Looncraft, Dymstar d with not so much as a good-night to his secretary or any of his employees, who would toil at their desks for another hour. He especially ignored Ronald Johnson.
Looncraft's Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud was waiting for him at the curb thirty-four stories below, his liveried chauffeur standing stiffly by the open door.
"Home, Mipps," Looncraft said. The door closed behind him and Looncraft settled back into the plush interior.
He noticed the smell first. Like a wild animal's scent.
The Rolls started from the curb, pushing Looncraft into the hairy figure seated beside him in the dim limousine interior.
Looncraft recoiled from the unexpected scratching of rough hair as if from a cactus.
"My word!" he said in horror.
"How's it going?" a rumbling voice asked conversationally.
Looncraft touched a light switch. The overhead light revealed a hulking figure swathed in brownish fur.
"Who the devil are you?" Looncraft sputtered.
"You've heard of the Waltzing Bear?"
"Vaguely. "
"Well, I'm the Wall Street Bear. We're cousins."
"Balderdash. I know Wall Street and everything there is to know about it, and I've never heard of you."
"I came by earlier today. Don't tell me you didn't get the message."
"What message?"
"That I came by."
"Are you daft?"
"Are you English?" the bear asked suddenly.
"My ancestors helped to build this country while yours no doubt were living in dripping caves. The Looncrafts were among the first to settle in Plymouth."
"Your accent doesn't sound English, but your lingo does."
"I am a proud descendant of H. P. Looncraft, who came to this country when George Washington was a mere back-alley drabtail."
"You're also the one who wants to take over Nostrum, Ink. With a K."
"There is no law against acquiring a company such as that one. And I've taken a fancy to it."
"Well, unfancy it," the bear told P. M. Looncraft in serious tones. "The CEO of Nostrum doesn't appreciate your interest. And he definitely does not take kindly to interference."
"Chiun sent you?"
"Actually, I'm the spirit of Wall Street. I guard good companies against bad ones. You're the bad one. Nostrum's the good one."
"Rubbish. In business there is no good or bad. Just profit and loss."
"Spoken like a true business pirate. So what's your interest in Nostrum?"
"If you wish to discuss this," P. M. Looncraft sniffed, "see my girl about an appointment."
"Don't need an appointment," the bear said, grabbing a fistful of Looncraft's shirtfront in a formaldehyde-scented paw. "Not while I have you."
"Unhand me, you . . . you cur."
"You've got me confused with the Hound of the Garment District. And are you sure you're not English?"
"I have told you, my forebears-" Looncraft began.
"Forget your forebears. I'm the only bear you have to worry about right now. You didn't accept Chiun's phone call. Big mistake. Now he's mad."
"I do not care. And do you mind releasing my shirt? These are custom-made by H. Huntsman & Sons."
"Sorry. I get excited when no one takes me seriously," the bear told P. M. Looncraft. He let go, his bear paws brushing imaginary dirt from Looncraft's shirtfront. One claw snagged his tie, shredding it.
"Sorry," the bear said again. "Keep forgetting to trim my nails. I just crawled out of hibernation, you know."
"You do not fool me," Looncraft said stiffly. "You are not an actual bear. You are only a man in a ratty suit."
"I guess that's how you got to be a big wheel, huh? I admit it. Under this rug is a live human being. But no one must ever see my face. That's why I had to become Bear-Man."
"Bear-Man?"
"It's a nasty job, but somebody's got to protect the small investor. So let's get down to brass claws. You're after Nostrum. I'm telling you Nostrum's off limits. It has nothing you want-unless you like investing in trouble."
"That is for me to determine," Looncraft said acidly.
"That's the answer I expected, so I'm going to ask you straight out. Are you after Nostrum or just its Global stock?"
Looncraft's prim mouth tightened into a bloodless band.
"No comment, huh?" Bear-Man said. "I think you just answered my question."
"I do not have to speak with you. Return to your master-"
"Chief. He likes to be called 'Chief.' "
"Very well. Return to your chief and inform him that P. M. Looncraft intends to acquire as much Nostrum stock as he can lay hands on, and then he will take very personal pleasure in firing Mr. Chiun as CEO on the day he walks in the door as its new owner. Will you be good enough to deliver that message to him?"
"I will. But believe me, you don't want me to."
"I would appreciate it if you would convey the message, just the same."
"Okay," Bear-Man said. "Have your driver let me off at the next corner and I guarantee your words will be caressing his ears within a half-hour."
"Delighted," Looncraft said through a thin smile. He picked up the speaking tube. "Mipps, pull up at the next convenient intersection. I have a passenger who wishes to alight."
"Excuse me, Mr. Looncraft. You're alone back there."
"Precisely what I wish to speak to you about after we have discharged our passenger," P. M. Looncraft said in a frigid voice.
Remo Williams stepped from the Rolls-Royce and lifted a paw to hail a cab. Or attempted to. Three cabs mistook him for a costumed street mime and ignored him.
The fourth was only too happy to give the newly famous Bear-Man a ride when he jumped on his hood at a red light and climbed in through a window, saying, "Nostrum Building."
"You got pockets in that suit?" the cabby asked suspiciously.
A heavy paw settled onto the driver's shoulder. Claws dug into his flesh with relentless pressure.
"Now, that's a very, very personal question to ask a bear," Remo said.
The driver ran the light in his hurry to get Remo to his destination.
Bear-Man strolled into the Nostrum lobby and bounded into an elevator. But it was Remo Williams who stepped off at the eighth floor. He had the Bear-Man costume rolled tightly under his arm as he slipped into the men's room. He pushed it into a covered trash receptacle and forced the lid irrevocably into place with a quick slap. Unless someone physically removed the receptacle, the suit would be there when Remo next needed it, which he fervently hoped was never. He felt like he needed a shower.
The Master of Sinanju sat on his executive mat in his otherwise bare office. It was growing dark outside.
"You gave Looncraft my warning?" Chiun demanded.
"Yep. And he gave me a message in return. He says he's looking forward to tossing you out on the street when he takes over."
Chiun shot to his feet. His cheeks puffed out like an angry blowfish. "Then it is war!" he raged, shaking a tight fist.
"So what's the battle plan?"
"We will descend on him and smite him for his temerity."
"That will take care of Looncraft," Remo pointed out in a reasonable tone, "but not Looncraft, Dymstar d. Someone will just take his place as the head of that company, and the problem wil
l be the same."
"Then we will kill his successor and every successor thereafter until no one will dare take his place."
"I admire your persistence, but Smith won't like that," Remo said. "Besides, Looncraft as much as admitted that he's really after your Global stock."
Chiun's shaking fist dropped. It disappeared into his joined kimono sleeves. "He did?"
Remo nodded firmly. "He did. And you can't get him off your back without getting Smith's permission."
"I am through with Smith," Chiun announced.
"Good. Let's go to Mexico. Both of us."
"Not until I have seen to this trouble. Get Smith on the line for me."
"You know," Remo said, dropping to the floor and dialing the special number, "this isn't what Smith meant when he told you I was the corporation's secretary."
"No?" Chiun snapped. "Then why are you doing as I bid?"
"Never mind," Remo growled. "Smith? It's Remo. We had a break. Looncraft as much as admitted he's after Nostrum's Global stock."
Remo listened for a while. Then he looked up.
"Smith wants a meet."
"Inform Smith that I have pressing business matters I must first attend to," Chiun said distantly.
"Did you hear that, Smitty?" Remo asked into the phone. He listened some more. To Chiun he said, "Smitty said if the market crashes on Monday, Nostrum won't be worth the concrete it sits on. His exact words."
"Inform Smith that I will attempt to fit him into my busy schedule," Chiun said grudgingly.
Remo passed on the message as "We're on our way, Smitty."
Remo hung up and asked, "Shall I call a travel agency?"
"It will not be necessary," Chiun sniffed. "The Nostrum corporate jet is at our disposal."
"We have a corporate jet? Really?"
Chiun started for the door. "All important personages have corporate jets. Come, Remo."
Remo followed the Master of Sinanju through the trading room. On their way through, Chiun called out in a loud voice, "Toil harder, minions."
Their chorused "Yes, Chief" sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on a bad day.
"My corporate tribe loves me," Chiun said as the elevator door closed after them.
Dr. Harold W. Smith waited until the Folcroft lobby guard flashed the warning that Remo and Chiun had entered the building before switching from his leather chair to the wheelchair. He rolled back into place behind his desk.
Remo and Chiun entered shortly thereafter.
"Master Chiun, Remo," Smith said in his colorless voice.
Chiun's "Emperor" was distant. Remo slouched onto a sofa and folded his arms unhappily.
"I'm afraid this strategy session is necessary," Smith said, unperturbed. "In another twenty-four hours the Tokyo and Hong Kong markets begin trading. Already there are reports of nervousness in the overseas markets. It bodes ill for Monday."
"So what?" Remo said carelessly. "Everyone knows that the little guy dived out of the market in eighty-seven. It's just big companies trading now. Besides, all my money is in cash."
"And mine in gold," Chiun added.
"Please," Smith said. "Let's be adults about this."
"You've got Chiun here-who doesn't know a Rolodex from a Rolex-playing the big wheel, and me running around Wall Street dressed like a bear, and now you want us to act like adults. Sorry, Smith. That train left the station this morning ."
Smith fiddled with a pencil.
"We have made progress," he said. "Up until now we couldn't be certain if this was a general slump or if Global stock was the goal. I believe the latter now. Looncraft would appear to be our best suspect, although it is difficult to believe. Looncraft Dymstar d is one of the premier investment houses in the world. Surely a man as seasoned in high finance as Looncraft would not cause such a financial upheaval merely to obtain a company, no matter how desirable. LD ily invested across the board. They stand to lose more than they gain."
"Since the junk-bond market went belly-up last year, maybe he's gotten desperate," Remo suggested.
"Possibly. But in order to take control of that company, he would have to wrest away not only the Nostrum holdings but also those of the Lippincott Mercantile Bank and DeGoone Slickens. Slickens and Looncraft were bitter enemies all during the takeover mania of the eighties. Once Slickens learns that Looncraft is after Global Communications, he will attempt to hold him up for the moon. Hmm. This would explain why Looncraft hasn't made an overt move for Global. He may be counting on a Monday stock collapse to depress the prices enough that the other holders will be forced to sell."
"I do not understand any of this," Chiun complained.
"Neither do I," Remo admitted. "If Looncraft is willing to wait for a panic sell-off, why is he after Nostrum? He could wait Chiun out too."
"He knows I am cannier than that," Chiun insisted. "My reputation has preceded me."
"No," Smith said slowly. "Remo is exactly correct." Remo shot Chiun a Chesire-cat grin. Chiun flounced around, presenting his colorful back to Remo.
"This requires more thought," Smith muttered half to himself. "There must be more to this business. And where does Reuters fit into this? Looncraft has no connection with them, so far as I know."
"You know," Remo said, "Looncraft struck me as being very English."
"Looncraft? Nonsense. His family has been in America almost as long as my own. Looncrafts helped build this country. Wall Street lore says that when the stock market was first formed in the shade of a tree near what is now Wall Street, a Looncraft was part of the agreement. Today P. M. Looncraft is hailed as the King of the Street."
"Funny," Remo said. "He told me almost the exact same thing-except he didn't mention the part about the tree. "
"Looncraft is as American as I am," Smith said firmly. "Whatever he is up to, he is an American."
"He talked like a Brit," Remo insisted. "Except for his accent. That's the part that threw me. He sounded kinda like a Hollywood actor trying to pass for English. He had the slang down pat, but not the sound."
"His family predates the Revolution. Perhaps he is proud of his lineage."
"Yeah, he did seem pretty smug about the whole thing," Remo admitted.
Chiun spoke up. "A Korean is a Korean," he said sagely.
"What's that?" Smith asked, his brow furrowing.
"I have lived in this country for many years," Chiun explained, "but I have not lost my Koreanness. I have had ancestors who dwelt in Egypt and Siam and Tibet, standing guard at thrones for most of their adult lives. Yet when they returned to Sinanju, to retire or to die or to be buried, no one questioned their Koreanness simply because they had dwelt apart for a span of time."
"What are you trying to say, Master of Sinanju?" Smith asked, interested.
"I am saying that where one dwells does not change what one is," Chiun said. "I have noticed in this country that if one is white, one is considered an American after but one generation. But a Korean or a Chinese or a Turk is considered a Korean or a Chinese or a Turk in his heart, regardless of the number of years he had spent here."
"I still do not get your drift," Smith said, mystified.
"If Remo felt that this Looncraft person was English, perhaps he is," Chiun answered. "In his heart."
"Looncraft is no more English than I."
"You know," Remo put in, "that was the other thing about him. Now that I think of it, he kinda reminded me of you, Smith."
"Hush, Remo," Chiun admonished. To Smith he said, "You hail from the province called New England, Smith?"
"I grew up in Vermont and New Hampshire," Smith admitted. "But New England is just a name now. It has no political meaning. If you mean to suggest that this matter may have British origins, I'm afraid you have a great deal to learn about American culture."
"And you have much to learn about human nature," Chiun retorted.
"I will accept that," Smith said thoughtfully. "Now, this is what I think we should do. If Looncraft's goal is Global Communicat
ions, there is no reason, now that we know he's in back of this problem, not to sell him Nostrum's shares. He should back away from Nostrum. Perhaps that will take the pressure off the stock market as well. If Looncraft can consummate a successful takeover of Global, by whatever public means, the market might be encouraged by that transaction."
"Are you sure?" Remo asked. "We could be playing into his hands."
"Above everything else, we must avoid a Monday-morning crash. If Looncraft is our stock manipulator, there will be time enough to deal with him. The stock market comes first. Are you agreeable, Master of Sinanju?"
"Why ask me?" Chiun said in a dry voice. "I do not own Nostrum alone. There is Remo, my secretary, who keeps secrets even from me."
"I told you," Remo said wearily. " I had no idea I had stock in Nostrum."
"And the bored directors," Chiun added, "who are aptly named, for I have never seen any of them."
"Board of directors," Smith said. "And I will obtain their proxy votes. They are just straw men."
"Did you hear that, Remo?" Chiun growled. "I am co-owner of an important corporation with a bear and scarecrows. "
"Hey, I warned you this was a snow job all along," Remo shot back. "Don't complain to me. Complain to Smith."
"I will do as you suggest, Smith," Chiun said at last. "But only to protect my corporation from this duplicitous raider. "
"It is for the best," Smith said. "And I suggest you make the arrangements tonight. The sooner the better."
Remo stood up as Chiun turned on his heel and padded from Smith's office.
"One moment, Remo," Smith called after him.
"Forget it, Smith," Remo called over his shoulder. "I don't work for you. I'm officially on Chiun's payroll now. I pull down a cool two sixty-nine an hour."
"Actually, Remo, I was hoping you might push me to my car," Smith said, rolling out from behind his desk.
Remo stopped. "Oh, I forgot about the chair. Well, why not? It's on the way." Remo got behind Smith's wheelchair and started pushing. He joined Chiun in the elevator and guided Smith out to the parking lot.
"Open the car door, will you, Chiun?" Remo asked.
As the Master of Sinanju opened the driver's door, Remo carefully picked Smith up in both arms-Smith felt surprisingly light-and deposited him behind the wheel.
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