"It's their city," Remo said nonchalantly.
"It was the Romans who made it great. The British are merely squatters."
"They squat pretty well," Remo said, looking about with a hint of admiration at the variety of architecture.
Chiun stopped in his tracks suddenly. "No!" he squeaked, leaping ahead.
"What is it?" Remo asked, racing to catch up to him.
The Master of Sinanju came to a halt before a pockmarked granite obelisk covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics set on the embankment.
"The idiots!" Chiun cried. "The base cretins!"
Recognizing the beginning of one of Chiun's tantrums, Remo folded his arms. The Master of Sinanju stamped his sandaled feet. He accosted a British businessman in a mackintosh.
"Do you know nothing?" he raged. "Are you people that ignorant?
"Release me, you yobbo!" the man demanded.
"Pah, you are not worth speaking to," Chiun said, sending the man spinning away with a casual flick of his wrist. "You people are uneducable." His voice rose with righteous indignation as the man rushed off. "Do you hear? Uneducable!"
"So what's the problem?" Remo asked after Chiun had settled down to merely tearing at the puffs of hair over his tiny ears.
"Not you too!" Chiun screeched.
"Okay, okay. Give me a second to figure it out."
Remo approached the monument, which was flanked by two basalt sphinxes, which, like sentinels, faced the obelisk in feline repose. They reminded Remo of the lions at Trafalgar Square.
There were plaques on all four sides of the obelisk, which Remo quickly learned was called Cleopatra's Needle. It was an authentic Egyptian monument, discovered buried in the ruins of Alexandria, Egypt, and shipped to London by boat in 1878. En route, it was lost in a gale, and later salvaged. One plaque explained that the needle was struck by bomb fragments during the first air raid on London during World War I, resulting in the many pits in the stone. Remo found the story fascinating. He hadn't known London had been bombed during the First World War.
"Okay, I give up," he told Chiun. "What's the problem?"
" I do not know which is the most insulting," Chiun said, his hands on his hips. "That they had the temerity to appropriate this magnificent monument or that they put it up wrong."
Remo looked back. "Don't tell me it's upside down."
"No."
"The sides are facing the wrong way, right?"
Chiun stamped one foot impatiently. "No!"
"I give up," Remo admitted.
"The sphinxes!" Chiun cried shaking a finger at them. "Look at them."
"Yeah . . ." Remo said slowly.
"They are facing inward! Everyone knows that sphinxes face outward, to protect their charge."
"Oh, is that all?"
"All! You would not say that if you knew the Egyptians as I do. They would laugh at this foolishness-those who did not cry at the desecration."
"Well," Remo said casually, "nothing we can do about it now. It's been like that for over a hundred years."
"A hundred years," Chiun grumbled. "A mere instant in time." He regarded the sphinxes at length. One was scarred along its black flank from the same attack that had injured the granite spire.
"I said," Remo repeated, "nothing we can do about it now. "
Chiun considered. Then he said, "You are right, Remo. There is nothing we can do about it now."
Chiun started off again, Remo at his side.
"For a minute there," Remo said in a relieved voice, "I thought you were going to have me turn the sphinxes around."
"We have no time."
"Good. "
"Perhaps on the way back," Chiun added.
"Not on your life." And because he wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible, Remo added, "Where are we headed, if it's not too much to ask?"
"The Tower of Londinium."
Remo made a face. "I've been there. And I have no desire to repeat the experience-and shouldn't we be doing something more constructive than taking in the tourist sights?"
"Bear with me."
Remo winced. "Speaking of which, that's another good thing about London."
Chiun cocked his head inquisitively. "Yes?"
"They don't get the National Enquirer here. And I don't have to wear the bear suit."
Chiun frowned. "I wonder how Faith is doing?"
"Search me. Why?"
"I put her in charge of Bear-Man marketing."
"You what?" Remo burst out.
"I would not be surprised if by now every person in America is wearing a Bear-Man hat or T-shirt."
"Just as long as my name isn't connected to any of this."
Chiun looked up. "Do I take it to mean you waive all rights to Bear-Man royalties?"
"Now and forever," Remo said solemnly. Chiun beamed.
"And no personal appearances either," Remo added.
Chiun's face fell. "We will discuss this another time," he sniffed.
Victoria Embankment came to a stop at Blackfriars Bridge, so they crossed the busy street, wending their way to the Tower of London. Remo recognized it from afar, thanks to the nearby castlelike blue Tower Bridge, which reminded him of a Coney Island ride.
They came to the Tower of London, which is not a single tower but a grouping of crumbling battlements enclosed by the ancient walls of a keep originally built on the Thames by William the Conqueror. Chiun led Remo around its age-discolored stone walls to the long line that whipsawed from the streets down to a walkway beside a dry moat containing a tennis court.
Chiun stopped at the end of the line.
"You've gotta be kidding," Remo said. "You're actually going to wait in line with the peasants?"
"Shh," Chiun admonished. "We do not want to attract undue attention."
"A little late now. Half the constabulary must be memorizing our descriptions right now."
"All the more reason to blend in with the other tourists."
"Suit yourself," Remo said, leaning against the fence. The line moved slowly. It took twenty minutes to reach the walkway below. By the time they got to the ticket offices, in a stone courtyard patrolled by outlandishly garbed Yeoman Warders-popularly known as Beefeaters-Remo was thoroughly bored and had said so several times, without drawing a response from the Master of Sinanju.
They walked through the Tower green. The Tower ravens were, if anything, bigger and more menacing than Remo had remembered. They seemed as large as vultures.
Chiun led Remo on a quick tour of the various towers, taking delight in pointing out the Bloody Tower and the cruelties it concealed. At one point he stopped beside a Roman wall that had been worn down to the ground like old teeth, and proclaimed, "This is the true Londinium!"
By the Waterloo Barracks, Chiun pulled him into the Torture Chamber exhibit, which displayed medieval devices like thumbscrews, the rack, and the iron maiden.
"Grisly stuff," Remo said, examining a recreation of the gibbet an iron birdcage in which the bodies of executed criminals were suspended at crossroads as a warning to potential lawbreakers. "I had no idea the English were once so barbaric."
"It was only after they became powerful enough to vent their baser passions against other peoples that they ceased to inflict cruelties on their own," Chiun told him.
"Tell that to the Irish," Remo grunted.
As they left the hole-in-the wall exhibit room, Remo remarked, "You know, I was always taught that the English were the fountainhead of civilization and democracy."
"Whoever taught you obviously never heard of the Greeks or the Romans," Chiun retorted. "Or the Persians, for that matter. "
"Where are we going now?" Remo wanted to know.
Chiun drifted up to the end of a line of tourists next to a low building.
"Here," Chiun said.
"Not another line."
"This is the last line we will stand in, I promise you."
The line folded in on itself several times between low uprights. Overhead signs
warned in several languages that taking pictures of the Crown jewels was expressly prohibited.
"Why are we bothering with the Crown Jewels?" Remo wanted to know as the line moved along with sluggish irregularity.
"Because the English value them," Chiun said flatly.
Remo folded his arms. It seemed to take forever, but eventually they came to the entrance.
"Step lively," a Yeoman Warder called out in a boisterous voice. "Step right in. Keep it moving, now."
"Great," Remo said, noticing several rolls of confiscated film suspended in tiny plastic net bags. "Now they want us to rush."
"What happened to your admiration of the fine British people?" Chiun inquired pointedly.
"I left it back with the thumbscrews," Remo snapped. "And it's been a long day, so don't rag me, okay?"
They followed the line as it moved between museumstyle display cases. Remo absorbed the displays of royal gilt salt cellars and historical costumes without interest.
Finally they descended a flight of steps into a cool basement area and into a literal vault. The open door was a massive thing of stainless steel. It looked exactly like a bank-vault door.
The Crown jewels were arranged in a huge circular display. A curved, railed walkway ran around its circumference, and below it an area where one could step up to the glass case fronts as long as one did not hold up the line.
"Keep moving," the guards said. These were ordinary blue-uniformed bobbies. "Don't dawdle, now."
"I don't feel like I'm getting my money's worth," Remo grumbled as they were jostled along by other tourists.
"Do not worry," Chiun whispered ominously. "You will."
"I don't like the way you said that," Remo whispered back.
Chiun stopped before the case that held the jewel-encrusted Royal Sceptre. A plate informed Remo that the large faceted jewel held in a heart-shaped mounting was the world's largest diamond, known as the Star of Africa.
"Distract the guard," Chiun said quietly.
"What?" Remo said.
"Do as I bid," Chiun hissed. "And do not ask questions."
Remo glanced around, fixing the three guards, each equally spaced around the circular walkway, in his mind. He wandered back so he was near two of them, with the third in his field of vision.
He decided the best way to capture their interest was to strip off his T-shirt.
He was right. No sooner had he exposed his bare chest than outraged expressions appeared on the bobbies' faces.
"Here, now," one called to him. "You can't disrobe in the presence of the Crown Jewels." He bore down on Remo like a blue tornado.
"Relax," Remo said unconcernedly. "I'm hot. And it's stuffy down here."
"It is delightfully cool, and I am afraid I shall have to escort you from these premises."
Remo smiled broadly. "It's going to take two of you," he taunted.
"Right," the bobby said, signaling to his nearer colleague.
Actually, it took three constables. The first two took Remo by the biceps. Remo let them do that much. But that was all. They pushed. Remo did not budge. They stepped around and tried pulling. Remo folded his arms, and no matter what limbs the bobbies took hold of, Remo stayed in place, as if he had taken root.
The third bobby strode up at that point, his hands on his hips like a flustered schoolmaster.
"Here, now," he said. "Take hold of him properly, chaps. "
"The bounder won't budge, sir."
After some low-voiced conversation, they decided to lift Remo bodily. One took him around the waist and the others grabbed his forearms.
"Right we go now, lads," the head bobby said. The sound of three men grunting in exertion came at once. Remo stayed in place.
"His feet appear to be stuck," one ventured, wiping his brow of sweat.
"Perhaps he has glued himself to the floor," one offered.
"No, I haven't," Remo said politely, lifting first one foot, then the other as proof.
The bobbies grabbed at his ankles and tried to repeat the maneuver. But Remo's feet stayed where they were.
By now a crowd had gathered, more interested in the hapless bobbies and the half-naked Yank than in the Crown jewels.
Remo looked around. There was no sign of Chiun. He took that as a sign that it was time to wrap this up.
"Tell you what," Remo suggested. "How about I just put on my shirt and walk out under my own steam?"
The bobbies consulted among themselves.
"So long as you do it now," the head bobby said with face-saving authority.
Obligingly Remo donned his T-shirt and started for the half-open vault door.
A high squeaky voice brought him whirling around.
"Remo! Catch!"
Instinctively Remo's hands came up. The Royal Sceptre plopped into them. Remo looked at it uncomprehendingly.
"Do not just stand there, run!" Chiun called.
Remo hesitated. He looked to the bobbies, their attention shifting back and forth between Chiun and himself, as if uncertain whom they were more angry with. One bobby ran toward Chiun. The other two came after Remo.
Remo jumped into the corridor, clearing the vault door. He gave the massive door a tap with one toe. The vault rolled shut. Remo grabbed at the control wheels and tried dogging them. There were too many of them, so he gave it up. The size of the vault was enough to hold the bobbies back, he figured.
Rushing up the stairs, Remo looked for an exit. He spotted a sign that said "Way Out."
"Close enough," Remo muttered, ducking through it.
Out in the cobbled walk, Remo wrapped his T-shirt around the Royal Sceptre. He attracted disapproving stares from about three-quarters of the passersby. It was an instant litmus test of who was British and who was not.
Remo hugged the inner walls until he came to a break near the so-called Bloody Tower. He slipped through it, finding himself on the cobbled walk in front of the Traitor's Gate. He ducked down into the cool overhang of St. Thomas' Tower, where tourists were not allowed. The wooden gate was in three sections-an arched top and a double lower section. To Remo's surprise, the lower gates opened outward at a touch. Traitor's Gate gave way. And Remo went out.
He found himself on a stone wharf overlooking the Thames.
The unsavory color of the river was enough to discourage Remo from swimming, so he ran, hugging the tower walls.
He stopped when he came upon a sign that said
"SUBWAY."
"Great," Remo said, ducking down the steps. He ran along the foot tunnel and up a set of steps at the opposite end.
Remo's I-did-it expression evaporated when he found himself on the other side of a busy street, standing beside another sign that said "SUBWAY."
"Must have missed it," he muttered, running back down the stone steps.
But the only other set of steps he found was the first one. Remo paused uncertainly. A young man came along and Remo accosted him.
"Excuse me, pal, but I'm looking for the subway."
"In that case," the man said, "I fancy you should be jolly well pleased. For you are standing in it."
"I am? Where are the trains?"
"Trains?" The Londoner's eyes went to Remo's upraised hand. His T-shirt had slid from the Royal Sceptre, exposing an ornamental golden cross.
"I say, that rather resembles the-"
"It's okay," Remo said. " I have permission to carry it. I'm in training for the next Olympics. I'm entered in the scepter toss."
"Never heard of the ripping thing."
"Just point me to the trains."
"You mean the underground."
"In America it's called the subway."
"And in England it is the underground. Pop back the way I came and look for the sign. You can't miss it."
"Thanks," Remo said, sprinting away.
"Luck with the Olympics, Yank," the Englishman called after him.
Remo found the Tower Hill underground station on the other side of the street, recognizing it fro
m afar by the red-and-white sign that looked like a No Smoking sign with the red slash tipped to the horizontal.
Remo caught the first train, having no idea where it was going, and for the moment, caring not at all. He took the train as far as Barking, getting off for no other reason than that Remo almost burst out laughing at the name.
He looked around for a pay phone. He found one near an old church.
It was a red wood-and-glass kiosk.
Remo started feeding coins into the slot, having no idea if it was enough. He got an overseas operator and gave her Smith's code phone number.
" I can scarcely believe that there is such a number as 111-111-1111," the operator said reprovingly.
"Look," Remo said, "it's a special number. Okay?"
"There is no such American area code as 111. Without a correct area code, I cannot put through the call."
"It's a special number," Remo repeated. "Just do it."
"There's no need for rudeness, luv," the operator said. "I will attempt to ring."
"Thank you," Remo said. He got the sound of a ringing phone, then Smith's voice saying hello.
Then the line disconnected.
"Dammit!" Remo said, putting in more coins. He got the same operator again. He recognized her voice.
"I got disconnected," he complained.
"You failed to insert the proper payment."
"So you disconnect me!"
"That is how the system operates," the operator said. "It is automated. We will require twenty pence inserted at thirty-second intervals."
"Okay, okay, I'm putting in coins. Is that enough?"
"I will attempt the call again. Was the number 111-111-1111?"
"Yeah," Remo said in exasperation. "Just lean on the one button until you hear the line ring. That's how I do it. "
When Smith's voice came on again, Remo said breathlessly, "Remo here. Gotta talk fast. These screwy British phones shut you off when they get hungry."
"Just keep feeding coins," Smith said.
Remo put in more coins as he talked. " I lost Chiun."
"He just called. He told me everything. You have the . . . er . . . item?"
"In my hot little hands," Remo said.
"Chiun believes he can blackmail the British government into talking. I have my doubts about that, but it is all we have. Chiun is on his way to the Morton Court Hotel, near the Earl's Court tube station. I suggest you join him there. We'll see what develops. It's all we can do until Looncraft's computer comes on-line. Please hurry, Remo. The Far Eastern markets are restive."
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