"What's going on?" asked a freshmen Republican senator from Arkansas as he watched the group in the aisle.
"It's that dumb-ass Flicker. What's he doing here, I wonder?" commented a famous heavy-drinking senator from one of the Carolinas, and the mentor to the young man from Arkansas.
"Sharp and Tosio are sure laying it on thick," the younger senator said. "Don't they know Flicker's star is falling fast? Least that's what I heard."
As he was thinking it over, the older man's cheeks ballooned with a belch that he expelled through his nose. His protege, out of habit, held his breath until the lethal whiskey stench dissipated.
"I think you and me had better go do a little paw grabbin'," the wise old politician decided.
There was a joyous greeting between the elder senator and Flicker, and a boisterous "Good to meet you!" exchange between Flicker and the younger man.
Thirty feet away a small group watched with growing interest.
"What do the 'Publicans know that we don't know?" demanded "Rocky" Rutledge, D-New Mexico in a hastily called huddle. "There's three of them over there now with Flicker!"
"It's just glad-handing," said a Hawaiian senator dismissively. "Flicker's been on the down elevator since the bad news this afternoon."
"Maybe something more is going on," Rocky Rut- ledge countered. "Maybe he's turned it around in the polls again. Maybe he's got something going."
The Hawaiian shook his head. "I guarantee you, the only reason Flicker's here is to create some goodwill before we vote on the Whiteslaw bill."
"I heard there's gonna be opposition to the Whiteslaw bill," hissed the gaunt Montanan, Kartsotis. "I hear somebody's gonna air dirt on Whiteslaw."
"If Whiteslaw becomes untouchable, the bill won't pass and MAEBE could be on the ballot nationwide," Rutledge concluded. "That hack Flicker could be the next leader of the free world."
"Fat chance," commented the senator from Hawaii, only to find he was talking to himself. The huddle of Democrats had become a stampede of Democrats, bearing down on Orville Flicker. The Senator from Hawaii ran to join the herd.
"The Democrats are getting in tight with Flicker!" said the top Republican. "I want to know why."
"Who knows with that S.O.B.," said the eternally disheveled senator from Nevada. "I can't keep track of that roller coaster of his. He was way up in the polls this morning, way down this afternoon. Who knows where he stands now?"
The senior Republican pursed his brows, a signal that his wisdom was about to issue forth.
"When in doubt, schmooz."
The knot of Republicans closed in on Flicker as if he were a brother coming home from the war.
Orville Flicker kept his dignity, didn't allow himself to get carried away, just took his time and kept shaking hands until he had shaken all of them—all except that of Herbert Whiteslaw, who entered in a wheelchair and was situated in the aisle near to the front of the great hall of the United States Senate.
Flicker felt the mobile phone in his pocket buzz twice, pause and buzz twice again. Kohd had come in through the rear and was in place, somewhere in the balcony above. Flicker had called in another favor to make that happen.
The senator who granted him that favor would never, ever admit to it, especially once he realized the consequences of his actions.
"Senator Tosio, are you prepared?" Flicker said quietly, returning to his longtime acquaintance after the reception line.
Tosio nodded with hooded eyes. "I'm ready. I'll come out against the Whiteslaw bill—but only after I see Whiteslaw go down."
"He's going down, even as we speak."
"It had better be. The special session starts in two minutes," Tosio said. Tosio nodded at the security guard who was coming to ask Flicker, very politely, to remove himself from the Senate floor.
"It will be delayed," Flicker promised.
A handful of aides unexpectedly entered, delivered brief messages and left again. A buzz started among the senior senators, and then the junior senators began buzzing, as well, so they wouldn't look marginalized. The security guard was alert for trouble, wondering what all the hubbub was about, and didn't get around to ushering Flicker out. Senators started getting up and leaving in bigger numbers.
More buzzing. News of an unexpected recess. Most of them had no idea what was going on, and the wheelchair-bound Herbert Whiteslaw was like a trapped fish, searching for an explanation. Nobody got near him.
Tosio was a third-term senator, giving him enough seniority to get the news in the second batch of disturbed buzzing. He left with a group of ten senators, walking quickly, for an impromptu party conference.
Flicker waited, standing in the aisle, comfortable even amid so much uncertainty. This event had to be presented in just the right way, but Orville Flicker always knew the right way.
Step one, ruin the reputation of Senator Herbert Whiteslaw. Step two, eradicate Senator Herbert Whites- law. He'd never have the chance to make his humble- hero speech, and the dirty laundry that CNN was showing at this very moment would make it impossible for him to become a martyred hero. Senator Whiteslaw would be remembered as nothing more than a corrupt politician who got what he deserved.
Whiteslaw turned his wheelchair around, facing Flicker down the long aisle and smiling smugly, the bastard. Any minute now Flicker was going to have the rare opportunity of blasting that smile right off.
Whiteslaw crooked his finger, summoning Flicker. Bastard! Flicker couldn't ignore the cripple, not until the cripple was completely disgraced, and that would take a few minutes more. Flicker made the long, humiliating walk down the aisle to answer the call of his well- known adversary.
"Everybody's checking out the news," Whiteslaw said without a word of greeting. "Maybe you should have a look at it."
"Maybe you should, Senator," Flicker answered, viciously gleeful.
But Whiteslaw just sat back comfortably. "Already have."
Flicker knew then that something was wrong. He turned away from Whiteslaw, fast, before the man saw his doubts, then strolled up the long aisle again, into the narrow hall, joining a crowd outside a tiny office with a blaring TV.
On TV was the videotape of Senator Herbert Whites- law counting hundred-dollar bills and stuffing them into a bulging envelope. The man with him was the infamous foreign secretary of a now discredited and annihilated foreign dictatorship. When Whiteslaw was done counting the bills, he put the envelope in his jacket and withdrew another envelope, this one slim and sealed. He handed it to the foreign secretary, who grunted and left.
It was the most expensive piece of evidence Flicker
had ever purchased. Only his dire predicament had finally motivated him to spend the one million dollars the Saudi seller had demanded.
But something had changed, and it wasn't until the end of the tape that he knew what it was. Whiteslaw turned and walked toward the camera, but he wasn't Whiteslaw. The senator's face was replaced with the face of Orville Flicker.
"You bastard!" said somebody close by. It was one of the senators. And to think, not ten minutes ago the man had been shaking his hand as if they were best friends.
The taunting came.
"Benedict Arnold."
"Spy."
"Traitor."
"Stop it! That isn't me!"
"Sure, Flicker."
"Who let this criminal into the Senate building?" demanded Senator Tosio, who had, in fact, arranged the pass. "Security!"
"Tosio, this isn't how it is supposed to go," Flicker said, backing the senator up against the wall.
"What will you do, Mr. Flicker, buy us all off?" Tosio declared loudly for the gathering audience. "Looks like you pulled in a cool million on that deal."
"It wasn't me—it was Whiteslaw!"
"Get off it. Where's security?"
Flicker broke away and jogged to the Senate floor, slipped around the uniformed guard and ran at Whites- law, who sat in his wheelchair grinning like the devil.
Flicker was ruined, bu
t he could still exact a little revenge. He could still get away with murder. He withdrew his phone and thumbed the speed-dial for Noah Kohd. In the balcony, Noah responded.
"Here he comes," Whiteslaw said aloud, craning his neck, but couldn't find Remo.
Remo watched from behind a nearby desk. Flicker was coming fast, his eyes wild. He wasn't trying to hide his intentions. Smitty's little special-effects movie had done the trick.
But Remo was very interested in seeing how he planned to make this happen. Shoot down a senator, in cold blood, on the floor of the Senate? That took some balls.
Flicker did something with his phone, put it back and grabbed for the inside of his suit jacket again. He came out with a pair of solid chrome glasses, which he dragged over his eyes. The guy had sealed off his vision completely. At that moment an ugly, lumpy woman wearing the ID of a Senate intern came to the rail in the balcony above and swung a small sack of grenades out into the vast interior of the Senate.
Remo didn't watch. He hid his eyes in his arm, covered his ears, closing down all his highly tuned senses as completely as he could.
The grenades went off when they were ten feet above the ground, but this was no ordinary Army- issue sound-and-light grenade. The sound was no more than a quick hiss, and the light was so brilliant and so brief that it had not been successfully measured, even by the munitions expert who developed the weapon.
Remo's eyes were squeezed shut and covered by his arm and still he saw the bones in his arm and the veins in his eyelids. The light diminished in a heartbeat, but that was when the panic started. Remo risked a glance, found it safe and blinked away the lingering red spots floating in front of his vision.
He was lucky. The Senate was full of blind people. Whiteslaw was rubbing at his eyes, trying to massage the functionality back into them, and all over were senators and staff who were doing the same thing. Some tried to stand and run, eventually crashing to the floor.
Only one man still had his vision. Orville Flicker pushed the chrome glasses onto his forehead and came at the wheelchair-bound senator wearing a sick smile. He extracted a yellow plastic device from a pocket high inside his jacket, just under the collar, and pointed it at Whiteslaw.
"Hi, what's that?" Remo asked, and took the device for himself as he emerged from hiding. "Is this a gun? Never seen one like this before."
Flicker stopped, shocked yet again. He knew whom he was looking at. "You ruined me," he said accusingly.
"Hey, whoa, you handled that one all by yourself. Did a damn good job of it, too."
"What's going on?" Whiteslaw demanded, squinting at them helplessly.
"Give me that," Flicker ordered, making a grab for the weapon, only to find it pulled just out of his reach.
"It's one of those disposable guns, right?" Remo asked. "All plastic, preloaded, fire it once and throw it away?"
"Give it to me!"
"You going to shoot the senator?" Remo asked. "Not a bad idea, actually."
"What?" Whiteslaw barked.
"Well, you did sell out the U.S.," Remo pointed out. "I, for one, know that it was you on the video. Orville here knows it, too. In my book, you're a slimebag who doesn't deserve to share my air."
Flicker saw a small glimmer of hope. "So give me the gun!"
"Yeah, okay," Remo said.
"No, don't do it," Whiteslaw blurted.
"Too late." Flicker laughed, then gripped the weapon in both hands and squeezed the trigger. There was a bang.
"Oops," Remo said.
"What happened?" Whiteslaw cried, then felt the limp body of Orville Flicker collapse heavily in his lap. "Get off me! What is this? I'm soaked."
"That would be blood," Remo explained helpfully.
The blind senator tried to get Flicker off him, and in the process he accidentally grabbed something strange. Soft human tissue. Spurting blood. Exposed bone. It was a wrist without a hand.
Flicker made disgusting sounds in his throat.
"Get away from me," Whiteslaw squealed and shoved at the wrist, only to find a second one. "For God's sake, get him off me."
"You know, Coleslaw, I think you two deserve each other."
Remo left them together.
On the balcony he found a hefty corpse sprawled alongside Chiun.
"You okay, Little Father?"
"Why would I not be okay?"
"There was this bright light, you might have noticed. See all the blind people around you?" He pointed out the stumbling, blinking interns.
Chiun nodded at the corpse. "From the booms this one activated."
"Yes."
"I closed my eyes," Chiun explained.
"I see."
"In truth, the flash was less intense here than below. See, these servants are not entirely blinded." He thrust a spread palm at the face of a stumbling young intern, who dodged it with a short sound and steered away, into a wall. She landed on all fours and found crawling was a safer option anyway.
"Who's the looker?" Remo asked, nudging at the blond wig. The face, behind the heavy makeup, was that of a middle-aged male. "Benny Hill looked more attractive in drag than this guy."
"As I said, he is the boom tosser. Unfortunately, he
did not reveal his presence until I was on the other side of the balcony. Otherwise I might have prevented the booms."
"Yeah. Well..." Remo shrugged. He stood at the rail. Below, Whiteslaw and Flicker were still tangled together, covered in blood. The Senate floor was filled with shouting and sobbing, blinded senators feeling one another's faces and tripping over one another.
"What a mess," Remo Williams said.
"Yes, it is."
"At the moment, I mean."
Chiun looked doubtful.
"It's not always a mess," Remo insisted. "Greatest country in the world and all that."
Chiun said, "The men with the sunglasses are arriving. We should go."
"Okay, but maybe we should come back sometime, you know, so we can see what it's like when it's running smoothly."
"Maybe you can come by yourself."
"Maybe I will."
"Fine."
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 exposur
e 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."
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