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course of action," he said, drumming his fingers atop the surface of the
gleaming black desk. The faint glow of the buried keyboard responded to his
touch. "In the meantime I want you to remain on alert. It may become necessary
to send you back to Ranch Ragnarok on short notice."
"On alert?" Remo complained. "Geez, Smitty, what do you think we are a couple
of battleships?"
Chiun had slipped from the floor like a puff of steam rising from a teakettle.
"Know you this, Emperor," he intoned. "That even in the darkest center of the
coldest night, Sinanju is alert. Distance does not
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weaken the mighty bond of my House to one as great and worthy as you."
Smith shot a confused look to Remo. ' Thank you, Master of Sinanju," he said
in puzzlement.
Chiun bowed to Smith across the room. "The thanks are mine," he said. "Your
name, Wise Emperor Harold, shall be recorded in the histories of Sinanju by my
very hand. Rest assured, you will be remembered forever as the greatest and
most benevolent of rulers. Great reverence for your limitless beneficence
shall grace the lips of Masters of Sinanju long after your earthly form has
taken glorious flight into the Void. All hail, Emperor Smith."
Smith seemed more embarrassed now than confused. "Again, thank you," he said,
nodding awkwardly. The formality of Chiun's words made him feel as though he
should stand or bow or something equally unseemly.
Remo recognized the big kiss-off when he heard it. "Um, Smitty," he said,
casting a weary eye at Chiun. "He's telling you he's quitting."
Smith shot to his feet. "Quitting?"
Chiun wrinkled his nose distastefully. "A crude term," he said to Smith. "And
inaccurate." He shot a withering glare at Remo. "I assure you that Sinanju
does not quit. It moves on. But you need not be concerned, Wise Harold, for
only a very small percentage of former emperors have met with foul play. Your
safety is virtually assured, though vast oceans separate us."
"But but we have a contract," Smith sputtered. "Remo?"
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Remo held up his hands. "Don't look at me. I'm not getting into the middle of
this again."
"The gold for the unfulfilled portion of the current contract will be returned
to you," Chiun assured him.
"Whoa," Remo said, wheeling on Chiun. "You're giving rebates now?"
"Quiet, insolent one," Chiun shushed.
Smith was calculating quickly. "It will take several days to prepare the
submarine for your return to Korea," he said. "I assume this is still the mode
of transportation you prefer?"
"I do not wish that fat-faced son of Kim Il-Sung to greet me like a weepy
maiden at the Pyongyang airport," Chiun sniffed.
' 'Then let your final days in my service end as they began. Here, at
Folcroft. I will have your old rooms reopened and I will send for your things
in Massachusetts."
Chiun considered. "You are gracious to the end, Emperor Smith," he said with a
polite bow.
"And you honor me with your presence, Master of Sinanju," Smith replied. He
returned the bow.
"Let's hold the frigging phone for a minute, shall we?" Remo countered,
shocked by Smith's easy acceptance of Chiun's resignation. "You're just going
to let him up and hi-de-ho out the door?"
"I don't seem to have a choice," Smith said.
"Wisdom flows like honey from your delicate lips," Chiun said, nodding
serenely.
"Bulldookey," Remo snapped. "Each one of you thinks you're scamming the other,
and whenever that happens I'm the one that always winds up holding the stinky
end of the stick."
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"Forgive him, Emperor," Chiun said. "He is crass and does not understand an
agreement between his betters."
"Of course," Smith replied. He retook his seat. "I will make the preparations
for your departure." And with the promise made, Smith once more began typing
swiftly at his keyboard.
"Come, Remo," Chiun commanded. "We shall retire to our rooms." And with that
the Master of Sin-anju breezed from the office.
Remo watched Chiun go and then glanced back at Smith. The CURE director was
hunched diligently over his hidden computer console.
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"Right smack in the middle, every time," he muttered to himself. He slowly
pulled the door closed.
Once Remo was gone, Smith peered up over the top of his rimless glasses.
His promise to Chiun of a submarine had been a delaying tactic.
While Smith ordinarily didn't like to proceed on instinct, at the moment his
instincts were screaming that something big was happening in Wyoming. This was
not the time for hardball contract negotiations.
Whatever Chiun's game was, Smith had to move fast. He had effectively stalled
the Master of Sinanju for a few days. He hoped it would be enough.
Smith attacked the keyboard with renewed vigor. Time was of the essence.
Chapter Eleven
Candy Clay was hiking through town on her way home from the movies.
It was late much later than Candy was supposed to be out alone but Heidi
Lovell's father had gotten called away on an emergency job, so he wasn't able
to give Candy a ride home like he'd promised. He left a note on the kitchen
table telling Candy that she was welcome to stay overnight if she wanted and
that he'd pick up the tab next time the two girls went to the movies
together.
But Candy had swimming lessons early in the morning, so even though her father
would kill her when he found out, she decided to walk the three miles home.
Her father would have to leam that he couldn't treat her like a kid anymore.
After all, she was starting fourth grade in the fall.
Arapahoe Street in Thermopolis was quieter than on most nights. Folks were
worn-out after the big weekend rally. There was barely any traffic as Candy
crossed the street. She saw a sign advertising the upcoming Hot Springs State
Fair on the first weekend in May and she was a little embarrassed that she was
as excited about the event as she had been when she was
138
little. Passing the fair advertisement, she cut through the park toward the
west side of town.
There were still signs and banners everywhere left over from the Jackson Cole
rally, and when Candy saw his big owlish head staring at her from a poster in
Pumpernick's restaurant window, she wondered what the big deal was. Everyone
in town seemed to worship the senator. Heck, it was practically a public sin
to say you were voting for T. Rex Calhoun.
She wondered what her father would say if she told him that Heidi's dad was
voting for Calhoun.
Candy cut across the new construction site at Canyon Hills Road onto Shoshoni
Street.
Shoshoni was still mostly wooded, though a few washed-out flecks of light in
the distant blackness hinted that two or three new homes had been constructed
at the far end of the street.
The city had recently sold this stretch of land to a private contractor, and
development was supposed to begin in September.
Candy remembered hearing that there had been a big fight about the Thermopolis
city council approving the sale, and now there was an even bigger fight about
the lack of streetlights on this stretch of Shoshoni.
The city had a policy of not putting streetlights in wooded areas, and that
was going to stand until the new houses were complete.
Candy knew her father had been upset about that decision. He railed about how
dangerous Shoshoni Street was and how a lot of high-school kids used the area
for a drag-racing strip weekend nights. Over and over he vowed that there was
going to be hell to pay the day somebody got killed.
(
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Her father could be such a drip sometimes.
Candy picked up a stick and dragged it in the powdery dirt at the edge of the
road.
As she walked deeper into the enveloping darkness, she noticed for the first
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