"All right, all right," Remo said, raising his hands in angry resignation. "Just answer me this. Where are we?"
"Dullsville."
"I thought we agreed to move on to more fruitful areas of discussion."
"I have told you. We are at Dullsville Airport. It is near one of your Washingtons."
"Dullsville ... Washington," Remo mused. He snapped his fingers. "Right. Washington, D.C. This must be Dulles Airport."
"Dulles, Dullsville-all American places sound alike to these aged ears. As for what we are doing here, Emperor Smith refused to tell me. He said it was for your hearing only, and I am insulted."
"Why?" asked Remo, hurrying into the terminal. Chiun flew at his heels, skirts blowing with the fury of his pace.
"Because I am still senior Master."
"Smith probably figures he'll save time by explaining it to me and having me explain it to you later. He's always complaining that you're hard to deal with."
"I?" squeaked Chiun, stopping in the middle of the crowd. "I, hard to deal with? Emperor Smith said that? Of me? Poor Chiun? Aged Chiun? Chiun, who is in the end days of his life? Hard to deal with?"
"Excuse me, sir," a skycap who was loaded down with two suitcases under each arm interrupted politely. "You're blocking the way."
Chiun whirled on him with the blunt fury of a tornado. "You would not have to take up so much room if you did not carry so many suitcases," the Master of Sinanju said scornfully. "Have you never heard of packing light?"
"But these aren't mine," the skycap protested.
"Here, since you insist upon intruding on the serene placidity of my existence, I will relieve you of your burdensome baggage."
And, moving with controlled rage, the Master of Sinanju slashed the handles of the suitcases so that they fell from the skycap's clenching fingers. The luggage, seeming to weigh no more than down pillows, floated to the tips of Chiun's long-nailed fingers and, spinning briefly like gyroscopes, suddenly careened toward an escalator. They landed in a pile. The heaviest pieces, flying open, spilled a profusion of brightly colored garments.
A matronly woman who had been walking behind the skycap screamed in horror.
"My luggage!" she wailed.
All eyes turned to them as the skycap pointed an accusing finger at Chiun.
Remo moved in swiftly, and taking Chiun by the elbow, guided him to an empty phone booth.
"Serene placidity?" Remo asked pointedly as he slid a quarter into the slot.
"That man was rude," Chiun fumed. "I am amazed that he stayed married to that woman for so long."
"I don't think they were married, Little Father. And what was that crap you were giving him about too much luggage-you who won't go on a pleasure-boat ride without taking along fourteen steamer trunks?"
"Which are forever being misplaced by incompetents or having to be shipped separately. And do you know why?"
"Let me guess," Remo said as he dialed the special code. "Because guys like him hog the room that rightfully belongs to your luggage."
"That is correct, Remo," Chiun said in a mollified voice. "I am glad you understand."
"No, I don't understand," Remo returned as he listened to the dial-a joke. When the punch line was about to come in, he inserted his own. "I don't know who he was, but his driver was Gorbachev," Remo recited wearily. He hated Smith's security rigmarole. Then, while a series of phone relays clicked, he returned to Chiun. "He's entitled to his four pieces just as much as you are to your fourteen."
"Philistine," spat Chiun, turning his back.
"Hello, Smitty," Remo said when the parched voice of his superior, Dr. Harold W. Smith, came over the line. "I'm at Dulles. I guess you know that, because you rerouted my flight. What's up?"
"Remo, I don't have much time," Smith said. "I'm on my way to Washington myself."
"Want us to wait for you?"
"No, you and Chiun have a critical task before you. A terrorist group has taken control of the Lincoln Memorial. They have explosives. Fortunately, there are no innocent people involved. The National Guard has the monument surrounded, but one of the terrorists claims he's holding a pressure-sensitive trigger device. If he lets go of it, either voluntarily or in death, the memorial will go up."
"Terrorists? I just dealt with a terrorist hijacking. So did Chiun. "
"It's like a plague. The police killed one Middle Easterner while he was attempting to wire Mount Rushmore with explosive charges. Another group simply opened fire in a crowd watching an air show in Dayton, Ohio. It was a slaughter. One perpetrator was captured alive. He's been sent to FBI national headquarters in Washington for interrogation. That's where I'm going. Every few hours, another incident is uncovered. It's as if the terrorist world has declared all-out war on the U.S."
"What else is new?"
"Believe it or not, Remo, as vicious as these people can be, they are very canny and politically astute. Until now they have carefully targeted U.S. interests abroad, but this time there seem to be no restrictions. We have no idea what has triggered this, but it's big. Huge. That's why I'm on my way to Washington. I'm going to personally interrogate this man. The sooner we have answers, the quicker we can move effectively against the instigators. Right now, we're reduced to putting out brushfires."
"Why not let Chiun and me handle the interrogation? We can squeeze the truth out of him faster than you can call your travel agent."
"No good. The Lincoln Memorial is a national symbol. If it goes, even without loss of life, it would be a blow to our national prestige worse than Pearl Harbor. It would show the world that we cannot even protect our nation's capital."
"I guess I follow, but Chiun could have handled this. "
"I could not take that chance. I wasn't certain he would understand the technical problem of the detonator."
"I heard that," said Chiun loudly.
"What was that?" Smith asked.
"He's pissed. I let slip that you sometimes find him difficult."
Smith sighed. "His feelings will have to take a back seat to this situation."
"I heard that too," Chiun shouted.
"Never mind," Remo put in. "We're off to the Lincoln Memorial."
"Don't let it be destroyed, Remo," Smith warned.
"Not me. Count on it."
Remo hung up and turned to the Master of Sinanju, who fumed, his foot tapping impatiently.
"After all these years," said Chiun. "After all these years of faithful service, now I know how that man truly feels about me."
"Can it, Chiun. Smith has a lot on his mind. Let's grab a cab."
"And who is he to order us around like chess pieces? Without proper rest or nourishment. For too long we have done his bidding. And for what? What?" demanded the Master of Sinanju as he followed Remo out of the terminal and to a taxi stand.
"For gold," Remo said, flagging a cab. He opened the door for Chiun and slid in after him. The cab got going.
"Yes," said Chiun. "For mere gold."
"Gold? Mere? I never thought I'd hear you say those two words together."
"There are more things in life than gold," said the Master of Sinanju.
"I know that, but I didn't know that you knew that. While we're in traffic, regale me with a few choice examples."
"There are coffee breaks. When has Smith ever given us a morning coffee break? Even lowly cabdrivers get those."
The driver peered into the rearview mirror sourly.
"We don't drink coffee, Little Father. Caffeine is like rat poison to our digestive systems."
"It is not the coffee. It is the break. We could have a rice break."
"I'd like a break from eating rice."
"And what about a pension plan? And health insurance?"
"We're assassins. If we live to see our old age, it will be a miracle."
"You perhaps, but I expect to see my old age. Someday. Years from now."
"Uh-huh," Remo said. "I think you're just cruising for a grudge. You can't blame Smith for f
inding you tough to take sometimes."
"Why? Why? Tell me what I ever did to annoy him."
"For one thing, you carp a lot."
"Carp? Carp? Me? Carp? I never carp. Or complain. Although I have a good reason, what with a white for a pupil and another white for an emperor. And Smith is not even a proper emperor. When was the last time he wore a crown upon his head?"
"Got me. I can't remember the first time."
"I must write these things down. They will all go into my next contract negotiation. In the future I will require that Smith wear a crown when he deals with me. It is what my ancestors were accustomed to. It is what I am entitled to."
"And that's another thing. Your escalating demands. Another five years of contracts, and America will be bankrupt."
Chiun raised a finger. "But safe. And safety has no price. Let the American people work harder. Let them pay more taxes. Do you know that if fewer Americans cheated on their taxes, Smith could afford to pay us more?"
"We should stop in at the IRS when this is over," Remo sighed, folding his arms. "I'm sure they'd be captivated by your collection ideas."
"They are not for sale," Chiun sniffed.
"They pay a finder's fee, you know. Based on percentage."
"When you pay the driver, ask him for the IRA's address."
"That's IRS. The IRA is a different terrorist group. But you could probably find work with them too, if you're so unhappy with Smith."
The driver turned back to face them. They were on the Virginia side of the Arlington Memorial Bridge, which spanned the Potomac River. "This is as far as I can take you two," he said. "Looks like they have the bridge shut down. Must be an accident or something."
"I heard the Lincoln Memorial is under siege," Remo said.
"No shit. Those Democrats sure took the last election hard," the cabby remarked.
"Guess so," Remo said, paying the man off. Chiun followed him through the lines of stalled cars, which honked and grumbled up to the banks of the Potomac.
"This is going to be a tough one," Remo said as the brilliantly lighted Lincoln Memorial came into view. The night was alive with the red and blue lights of official vehicles. There were National Guard troops deployed even on this side of the Potomac.
"Not with me to help you avoid mistakes."
"Smith told me we don't have any innocent lives at stake. So our objective will be to take out the terrorists before they blow up the building."
"I understand."
Remo whirled. "You do?"
"Yes, of course. That fine building is obviously a temple of worship. Is it one of your churches, Remo?"
"No, but it's important. We can't let it go up in smoke. "
"I suggest the Flying Dragon attack," Chiun said, surveying the building.
Remo shook his head. "Too wild. We gotta pinpoint the man with the explosive detonator. Once we take him out, the rest will be just mopping up."
"I do no mopping, up or down," snapped Chiun. "I am no menial. I will consider mopping up when I receive a proper rice break."
"Look, this is very serious. And mopping up is just an expression."
"So is respect. And I see none of it from either Smith or you."
"Simmer down," Remo said, slipping around the ring of National Guardsmen. "The reason Smith didn't brief you on the mission was that he wasn't sure you'd understand about the detonator. It's very tricky stuff."
"What is so tricky about something that goes boom?"
"Not being on the premises when it does go boom," Remo said dryly. "Ask any bomb-disposal expert."
"I will leave boom disposal to you. I will handle the garbage disposal, heh, heh. "
"I think our best bet would be to sneak up on the building," Remo said as he studied the Lincoln Memorial, just across the river. It was as still as a photograph. "The National Guard has a clear view of the whole grounds. The terrorists have the same advantage. We should swim for it, then sneak up on the building."
"Ah, the Sea Dragon attack. A sound approach," said Chiun, girding his waist as he headed for the sparkling waters of the Potomac. "Then we will descend upon these villains, faster than a serpent's fangs, and steal the very breath from their mouths."
"Not so fast," Remo said, touching Chiun on the shoulder. "It's more complicated than that."
Chiun turned and looked up at Remo curiously. "How so?"
"I thought you heard what Smith said. About the detonator."
"I only listened to the meaningful portions. The painful words. The low, base lack of appreciation. Besides, we are faster than any finger on any button."
"It's not striking before they push the button this time out, Little Father. We've got to hit them so they don't let go of the button. One of those guys is holding a device. I'm not sure what it looks like. But the instant he lets go, ka-boom!"
Chiun considered. "I liked the old buttons better."
"That's progress. Got any ideas on how to handle this? An appropriate legend about the days of the pharaohs perhaps?"
Chiun frowned. "Pharaohs did not have explosions."
"Let's hope we don't either," Remo said. "And I take it I'm on my own figuring this one out."
Chiun shrugged. "You are an American. You are used to dealing with the irrational."
Remo looked at Chiun and started to say something. He changed his mind and instead said, "No comment. Just follow me. Maybe when we spot the guy with the detonator, something will come to us."
And Remo, moving low to the ground, slipped into the water like a duck, the Master of Sinanju following him. Their heads vanished under the surface so cleanly that within seconds there was no ripple to betray their penetration.
As the cold current of the Potomac closed over them, Remo and Chiun moved through the water like two purposeful dolphins. They held air in their lungs so that no water bubbles betrayed their passing. They were like human submarines, silent, efficient, undetectable. Their lungs contained just enough air to keep them floating under the surface, but not so little that they touched the silty river bottom. Their feet kicked in small controlled motions, their arms trailed at their sides, hands moving like little rudders.
Emerging on the other side of the river, they lurked in the shrubbery while they scanned the situation. The Lincoln Memorial shone in the glow of its ground spotlights. The long Reflecting Pool it faced was tranquil. The air was cool, but Remo sensed the tension that gripped the night.
"I see no persons," Chiun whispered.
Remo shifted to another vantage point, confident that even the National Guard could not see him. He spotted a figure in khaki. His head was swathed in a black kafflyeh.
"See the one pacing behind the columns?" Remo whispered.
The Master of Sinanju nodded. "He carries a boom stick, but no other weapon."
"He's yours if we have to move quickly."
"He is already history," said Chiun, repeating a phrase he had picked up from American TV.
"Just so the Lincoln Memorial isn't."
Several minutes passed without another person showing himself.
"Guess we might as well get this over with," Remo breathed. "Remember what I said about the detonator." When he got no answer, Remo looked at the next bush. Chiun was not in sight. Then he saw the Master of Sinanju slip around the side of the Lincoln Memorial. "Oh, Christi Chiuni What are you trying to do to me?"
And Remo glided toward the huge illuminated stairs of the Lincoln Memorial. He threw himself up against one of the huge Doric columns. He listened. He heard breathing. Low, tense. The breathing of nervous men. Three of them. He waited. Where the hell was Chiun? Then suddenly there were only two men breathing. What the hell? Remo thought.
Then only one man's breathing could be heard. "Damn!" Remo cursed. He had no choice now. He moved in.
A man slouched in the lee of the entrance to the sanctuary housing the great seated figure of Abraham Lincoln, his AK-47 held in both hands. The figure looked relaxed, the gun muzzle pointing to the
limestone flooring.
Remo, sensing no breathing, walked up to the man. His eyelids were lowered, but not closed. He seemed to be looking down the muzzle of his weapon. But when Remo placed a palm under his nose, he felt no exhalation.
The man was dead. Chiun's handiwork. But what was he trying to do? Prove himself to Smith? Remo moved on. The sanctuary looked empty. He made for the statue anyway.
Easing around behind the Lincoln statue, Remo sensed rather than heard a presence. It was close. It was not behind the statue. Nor was it outside.
A pebble struck him on the head and Remo jumped like a cat.
"Shhhh!" a voice hissed. Remo looked up. The Master of Sinanju was perched on Lincoln's shoulder. "What are you-!"
Chiun laid a finger before his lips. He leapt, floating to the ground like a colorful human parachute.
"I have immobilized two of them. What have you accomplished?" Chiun asked smugly.
"I just got here."
"No rice break for you."
"Shove it. Where's the guy with the detonator?" A hissing voice answered for him.
"Walid! Mehdi! Where are you?"
"Back that way," Remo whispered, gesturing. "He's our man. This time, no freaking grandstanding, okay?"
"I leave him to you."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Watch. If you are successful, the House of Sinanju will have learned something."
"And if I'm not?"
"This," whispered Chiun, lifting closed fists to Remo's face. Remo looked at them closely, his face uncertain.
Chiun suddenly opened his fingers. "Ka-boom," he said. "Heh, heh, ka-boom."
Remo's face snapped back, scowling. "I knew that already."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because I-" A voice diverted Remo's attention. It was the remaining terrorist. "Better get to cover," Remo said over his shoulder. When there was no answer, he looked back. Chiun had vanished again.
"Thanks a lot for helping me in my hour of need, Chiun," Remo muttered.
A whispered "You are welcome" reached his ears. It was so soft that it sounded inside his head, like telepathy. Remo decided he needed a vantage point. He went up Lincoln's back like a spider. He rested, his arm around the Great Emancipator's cool white marble neck. He spotted the second terrorist, stiff as a plank on the floor. Chiun had obviously come up from behind him, applied a Sinanju death grip, and carefully lowered him to the ground. The Master of Sinanju hadn't taken any chances that either man had the detonator. He had used a paralyzing death grip that accelerated the rigormortis process.
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