Political Pressure

40

"I'd say the Senate has some security leaks," Remo remarked. "Government by the people or not, you'd hope they could keep out visitors with grenades."

"They're plastic, just like Flicker's disposable handgun," Smith told them. "The metal detectors weren't set off. They were hermetically sealed, so the explosives didn't alert the dogs. Inside is a magnesium mixture with granularized high-pressure hydrogen canisters. It's an experimental flash grenade that burns very bright and very fast, and no one is quite sure what the lasting effects might be."

"My stars, what will they think of next?" Remo said.

"What happened to Flicker's gun, anyway?" Mark Howard asked from Smith's old sofa, although he was sure he already knew. Remo confirmed his assumption.

"I think I might have scratched the barrel and maybe accidentally pinched the muzzle a little and the thing blew back at him, took his hands right off," Remo said. "A shame, really."

"It is a shame he did not blow off his head," Chiun said.

"One way or another, Orville Flicker is no more," Smith said. "Bled to death. The Morals and Ethics Behavior Establishment collapsed and disintegrated in a matter of hours."

"Good riddance. Any mopping up required?"

Smith looked out from under his eyebrows. "Not by you. We disseminated our intelligence to several law- enforcement agencies and the FBI. They've already picked up members of the last two White Hand cells, which have also collapsed and dissipated. They had no reason to carry on once Flicker was out of the picture. He signed the paychecks. Flicker's housekeeper is proving to be a fount of intelligence."

"Did she provide an ID on the drag queen who tossed the grenades?" Remo asked.

"That was Flicker's personal assistant, Noah Kohd," explained Mark Howard from Smith's sofa.

"We all made spectacles of ourselves," Remo observed. "How much exposure did we suffer?"

"I've been monitoring all the video feeds coming out of the vicinity," Mark said. "There were no clear shots of your faces. Regardless, I sabotaged every electronic file I could trace. Very few people actually report seeing you, even in the Secret Service interviews so far. Remo seems to have gone entirely unnoticed."

"Meaning?" Chiun demanded.

"It was the kimono, Master Chiun," Smith explained. "A garment so truly distinctive, how could it go unnoticed with all those people around? I believe you may wish to retire that particular garment for a few years."

"The real problem comes from the people we were exposed to, namely Coleslaw," Remo insisted. "He saw what we did and he's not stupid."

"He saw nothing to lead him to believe he was in the hands of anything other than a personal security specialist," Smith said. "I'm not worried about the senator. And I believe we're wrapped up."

"No, we are not," Chiun protested. "You have not issued a decision regarding my marketing plan."

Smith became uneasy. "I have considered it, Master Chiun. I'm afraid we must continue with our long-term strategy. As MAEBE proved all too well, exposure could only mean complication for CURE."

"The right publicity could mean the Eagle Throne, Emperor Smith," Chiun countered.

"Which I do not desire."

Chiun sniffed. "I see."

Smith knew the matter wasn't settled. It would never be settled. If he was lucky, he had purchased a reprieve of a few months.

"I still think Humbert Coleslaw is an unresolved issue," said Remo. "What's his legal status?"

"Herbert Whiteslaw's status is pending," Smith said vaguely.

"Pending me visiting him?"

"No. You are not to assassinate Whiteslaw. He's cooperating with the CIA."

"He's going to do time, though, right? Like, centuries of time?"

"Yes."

Remo frowned. "I don't like the sound of that yes. Is it a yes, definitely or a yes, probably, we'll wait and see?"

"It's a yes, almost definitely."

Remo glared back. "I read you, loud and clear," he said sarcastically.

"Remo, do not assassinate Senator Whiteslaw."

"I won't, Smitty. Almost definitely."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Remo got to his feet. "Well, this has been fun. Bye." Then he was gone. Dr. Smith and Mark Howard didn't see the door open and they didn't see it close, but the slam woke up sanitarium residents in the next wing.

Smith looked to the ancient Korean. "Master Chiun, as a favor to me, will you please try to prevent him from assassinating Senator Whiteslaw?"

Chiun opened his mouth, closed it and then said simply, "No."

"I see." Smith sat back, trying to come up with a persuasive argument, but then saw that both his chairs were now empty.

Chiun was gone, as well.