Brain Storm

24

"It was risky for the two of you to go out like that,"

Smith admonished.

"Sorry," Remo replied across Smith's desk, "but we didn't exactly feel like sitting around for a month twiddling our thumbs."

"It appears that might not be necessary." Smith went on to describe the incident involving the Russian ambassador.

"It sounds like the poor guy was programmed to off himself," Remo said once the CURE director was through.

"I agree," Smith allowed. "And to shatter the window as he did obviously required Sinanju skills."

"Only minor ones, Emperor," Chiun interjected, lest Smith believe his or Remo's skills to be any less valuable. He stood beside Remo in the Spartan office, hands tucked snugly inside his kimono sleeves.

"That is neither here nor there," Smith said. "The point is, Holz has retrieved the Sinanju information from his victims."

Remo shook his head. "It won't do him any good, Smitty. All the guys we went to were either dead or dying. They can't adapt."

"Yes, that is true. However, if they slow down the process to take weeks, months or perhaps even years in order to allow the host time to absorb the information, the process might still work. Your skills could conceivably be sold to terrorist nations or organized-crime syndicates. Or for that matter, to any petty criminal."

"Savages!" Chiun hissed to Remo. "They would be stealing prospective clients away from Sinanju."

Remo steered the conversation back to the problem at hand. "The British and American ambassadors haven't turned up?" he asked.

"Not yet. But we can assume Holz has similar fates planned for each of them. It is clearly his way of paying back the Allied nations for the defeat of Nazi Germany."

"Have you been able to find out anything about him yet?"

"No, but I have a suspicion," Smith replied, vaguely. His tired eyes stared off distractedly at the distant wall.

Remo snapped his fingers in front of Smith's face.

"Earth to Smitty. Care to share it with us?"

Smith's head snapped back. He blinked a few times, hard. "I am sorry," he said, businesslike once more. "The past three days are beginning to take their toll." He took a deep, cleansing breath before responding to Remo's query. "My suspicions concerning Holz are unfounded at the present time. And they are irrelevant to the current investigation."

"If you say so." Remo shrugged.

"I have done some further checking. Though I was unable to locate any concrete information concerning Lothar Holz, I have found something that might be significant." He began tapping his fingers on the edge of his desk. The keyboard buried below the desk's surface lit up obediently beneath his nim-ble fingers. "You said the warehouse to which he brought the ambassadors was within an hour or so of the Edison facility. That automatically eliminates most of their New York properties."

"I wish I could narrow it down better," Remo said, "but my system was so out of whack I couldn't even tell north from south."

"Alas, the even more powerful signal employed on me dulled my senses, as well, Emperor," Chiun intoned.

"It might not matter," Smith said. "Given the time interval, there are not many places he could have reached by car. There is a warehouse in Jersey City that is owned by PlattDeutsche. It is both convenient to New York City and to Edison. I want you to begin there."

"I hope this isn't just busy work," Remo grumbled.

"It is a start." As he spoke, Smith opened his desk drawer and removed two small, flat plastic disks. "I want you each to carry one of these."

Smelling a free gift, Chiun bullied his way in front of Remo. He snatched the small item from Smith's hand, examining it carefully.

"A talisman?" Chiun asked cagily.

"Something like that," Smith admitted.

This seemed to satisfy Chiun. The small object disappeared inside the folds of his kimono.

Remo had taken one of the proffered items, as well. He flipped it over in his hand. Small wires extended from the body of the device.

He could feel the faint hum of a battery.

"What is it?" Remo asked, puzzled.

"Possibly nothing," Smith said. 4'Consider it a good-luck charm."

The words were uncharacteristically cryptic for Harold W. Smith. He turned away from his two operatives and began typing at his computer.

"Come, Remo," Chiun insisted. "With our emperor's talisman in hand, we cannot fail."

Remo glanced skeptically from the small object to the CURE director. Smith looked absolutely exhausted. The strain of the past few days had drained him both physically and emotionally. Remo did not press him.

"Whatever," Remo said. He sounded unconvinced. Slipping the object into the front pocket of his chinos, he and Chiun headed out the door.