"He would have seen us, Little Father. He would have to be blind not to."
"He probably is. Only a blind man would own a decrepit vehicle such as that man drives."
"Maybe."
"And you are only arguing with me to cover up your ruining of my brilliantly complicated plan."
"I am not arguing," said Remo. The light changed. Remo pulled behind the governor's station wagon as they left the city and found themselves wending through tree-lined residential streets. "And how was I to know he drove a junkbox?"
"You should have known. You were born American. I am still new to these shores."
"Two decades in America is not new," Remo pointed out.
"Another decade and I will not be new. Why are we stopping here?"
"I think the governor is home," said Remo.
The Master of Sinanju looked up and down the street. Clapboard triple-decker houses crowded tiny lawns covered by riotous autumn leaves.
"Where is his castle?" demanded Chiun.
Remo watched the governor step from his car and up a flagstone walk. He disappeared into a gabled Victorian home.
"That must be it."
"The governor of a whole province," squeaked Chiun. "And he lives there? No, Remo, that cannot be. This man wields the power of life and death over his subjects. He would not live among them like a commoner. No, this must be the dwelling of one of his many concubines. Yes, it is a concubine's house. I am certain of this."
"Well, whatever it is, Little Father," Remo said slowly, "he's inside with the briefcase and we're out here. What are we going to do?"
"We must have that letter," Chiun decided. "We will wait. When the lights go out, we will steal within, cat-footed as ghosts, and-"
"Don't you mean cat-footed as cats?"
"No, ghosts. Cats make noises. We will make none. We are Sinanju."
"Yeah, right," said Remo, who didn't like the idea of waiting for another couple of hours or whatever for the governor to drop off. "We are the wind in the trees."
"The unseen wind," corrected Chiun.
"Yeah, unseen. Wake me up when the lights go out." Remo dozed off instantly. Chiun's tapping finger seemed to touch his shoulder only seconds later. Remo came awake, every sense alert.
"How long was I out?" he asked, looking around.
"I am not certain. Six, possibly seven minutes."
"Minutes!"
"The governor is obviously a tired man," said Chiun, pointing. Remo saw that the house had gone dark. "Okay, let's go."
They got out of the car, closed the doors quietly, and approached the house. Remo found a back door that looked like an old servants' entrance and probably led into the kitchen.
Remo set himself against the door and placed one palm over the outside of the lock. He pressed, and kept on pressing. Remo could have shattered the lock with a sharp blow, but he needed to avoid the sound of snapping metal or splintering wood. So he simply exerted a quiet, relentless pressure.
The lock surrendered like a rotted tooth pulled from its socket.
Remo stepped in, his eyes adjusting to the webby darkness of a kitchen that had last been tiled when Eisenhower was in office.
"Let's hope the governor doesn't sleep with his briefcase under his pillow," Remo whispered.
Chiun followed Remo into a frumpy parlor decorated in Danish Modern. Yellowing dollies decorated every flat surface.
"Nothing," said Chiun, looking around. "Fie upon it." Remo searched the other rooms without success.
"It's gotta be upstairs," he decided. "I don't like this."
"We will be the wind," said Chiun encouragingly.
"We will be in trouble if the governor catches us. He'll howl all the way up to the White House."
"So?" said Chiun. "The President will receive his complaint with thanks and protestations of innocence and then he will order Smith to terminate this troublemaking governor. "
"No way," said Remo. "There'll be a scandal. Heads will roll. The President's, Smith's, and probably ours."
"Be extra cautious, Remo," Chiun said. "We do not wish to awaken this important personage."
"Right," said Remo, starting to climb a curving staircase.
The governor's bedroom door was closed. Inside, Remo heard the quiet breathing of two persons deep in sleep, the governor and his wife. Remo and Chiun exchanged knowing glances in the darkness. They split up and checked the other rooms.
When they rendezvoused outside the governor's bedroom, Remo shook his head and Chiun showed empty hands. Remo shrugged, and signaled Chiun to wait outside. Chiun mouthed two words silently: the wind.
Remo rolled his eyes after he turned his back on the Master of Sinanju and eased the bedroom door ajar. He slipped in. The briefcase was a blob in the darkness. It stood on a nightstand beside the governor's sleeping head.
Remo took it in his hand. He paused in mid-step, wondering if he should take it downstairs and open it there, or take a chance and open it here. He decided that opening it downstairs was just as risky as opening it here. It was important that Governor Princippi not suspect that his briefcase had been rifled, although when he later found the letter was missing, he was certain to suspect the truth because Remo had shown interest in it earlier in the day.
Remo set the briefcase down on the floor. It was one of the combination-lock types, requiring that three sets of numbers line up.
Remo was about to start on the combination when he realized that the governor probably didn't bother to lock his briefcase in the privacy of his own home. Which could mean that the combination was already set to the correct number sequence.
Remo tried the unlocking latch. It flipped up.
Grinning in the darkness, Remo went through the briefcase. He found an envelope. Inside was a letter. He saw the signature "Tulip" at the bottom and silently congratulated himself.
Shutting the briefcase, Remo restored it to the nightstand exactly as it had been. He had no sooner let go of the handle than, down on the first floor, there came the heart-stopping sound of automatic-weapons fire.
The governor shot bolt upright in bed and, with Remo frozen not five inches away from his face, went for the bedside lamp.
Chapter 16
Antonio Serrano and his Eastie Goombahs had gotten off at the trolley stop nearest the governor's house and walked the streets until they found it. Even though neither Antonio nor any of his Goombahs had ever been in this suburb, the governor's house was easy to locate. It had been shown on television often during the campaign as proof that the governor had not lost his common touch, because he was still living in the modest brick home he purchased when he was first married.
"Hey, look," Antonio said. "This is a break."
"What is it?" asked Johnny Fortunato.
They were in the side yard, where they extracted their weapons from nylon gym bags.
"The fool left the kitchen door open. We can just walk right in."
"Then let's go." They went in.
"Shit!" cursed Antonio, tripping over a wooden chair. He almost overturned a round kitchen table in the process.
"Shhhh," someone said. "You wanna wake him up?"
"Anybody bring a flashlight?" gasped Antonio, clutching his injured knee.
No one had. "Okay, be more careful now," said Antonio, limping into the next room.
"You're the one who tripped," Johnny complained.
"Shhh! "
Antonio bumped into more furniture. This time it was some kind of soft chair. He was glad for that because his knee wouldn't take another hit. He wished he had brought a flashlight.
A faint breath of air swept past him, like the backwash of a thrown baseball. The hair on his forearms lifted in warning.
"Hey, did you guys feel that?"
"Feel what? What about you, Johnny? Johnny?"
"Oh, shit, I think Johnny booked."
In the darkness, Antonio turned back. A shadow stood before him. A very short shadow. That had to be Johnny, the shortest one
in the group.
"No, he's right beside me," said Antonio. "I see him." But then the one they thought was Johnny raised his hands and there was something wrong about them. Even in the darkness Antonio saw that they were abnormally long, like claws. Vampire claws.
"Johnny?" whispered Antonio.
The claws swept down, and another shadow-a larger one-fell to the floor. The thump was soft, but the vibration in the floor was very, very solid.
"Shit, you're not Johnny," Antonio hissed, and raised his Uzi. "But you're dead, sucker!"
The governor's bedroom light snapped on.
And snapped off again. Remo smashed it against a wall. There was no time for subtlety. He had to get out of the house with the letter before the governor recognized him.
"What is it? What is it, dear?" a woman's thin voice called.
"Call the police," said Governor Princippi, jumping out of bed. "There's someone in the room."
Remo shot out of the door and, after closing it behind him, mangled a door hinge with his fingers. That would slow him down, Remo thought.
Chiun wasn't on the landing, but Remo hadn't expected him to be. The sound of gunfire below meant that someone else had broken in. No one could have entered the first floor without the Master of Sinanju's keen hearing picking it up.
Remo skipped the stairs. He jumped from the second-floor landing to the parlor in a floating leap.
"Chiun, you okay?"
Above, he could hear the governor repeatedly smashing a shoulder into the jammed bedroom door.
Remo spotted the Master of Sinanju in the middle of a clot of armed individuals. He did not respond to Remo's call. He was slipping between the gunmen, teasing them into wasting their bullets. Remo saw him tap one on the back, and when the man whirled, legs apart and hands up in a two-handed pistol grip, the Master of Sinanju ducked between his legs and came up behind him, where he tapped again. The man, frantic, was firing blindly.
"Chiun, cut out the horseplay!" Remo hissed. "We've got to get out of here. I got the letter. Let's go."
"Hush!" Chiun hissed back. "The wind does not speak its name."
"Then let me help you," said Remo, moving in on one of the gunmen.
Then the upstairs bedroom door slammed open. The governor came pounding down the stairs, flashing a jerky ray of light in all directions.
"Oh, great," groaned Remo.
"Who's there?" the governor demanded, snapping on a light at the bottom of the stairs.
There was nothing Remo could do but make the best of a bad situation. As light flooded the parlor, Remo stuffed the letter under his T-shirt. Maybe he could get away with that much, if nothing else.
The light hit Antonio Serrano's eyes like needles. He blinked stupidly, sweeping the room with his Uzi. Through spots of light he made out the figure of the governor, in an old flannel bathrobe, pointing a flashlight at a faggy-looking guy at the bottom of the stairs. Antonio had a clean shot at both men. He decided the faggy-looking guy would be an easy kill. So he aimed for the governor and squeezed the trigger.
The Uzi burped a short burst, no more than three rounds. They buried themselves in the rug at Antonio's feet. One of them mangled his little toe.
Antonio, still trying to blink the spots out of his eyes, couldn't understand it. He had dropped the gun. He had only begun to pull the trigger and-dumb shit that he was-dropped the gun. That had never happened to him before. Ripping out a curse under his breath, he reached down to pick up his Uzi.
But a strange thing happened. He could not pick up the gun. It was as if his fingers had lost all feeling. And the spots in his eyes wouldn't go away. In fact, the room was going dimmer all the time.
Then Antonio saw why he was unable to pick up his weapon. He was grasping it. He saw very clearly, just before everything got truly weird, that his hand was wrapped around the butt of the Uzi. But when he straightened up, the gun stayed on the floor, still tightly clasped. Antonio saw that his lifted wrist ended very suddenly, very cleanly. The hand might have been taken off by a bone saw, it was so neatly done. The blood fountained in spurts, and as Antonio felt his heart beating faster, the blood spurted faster. Funny how that worked.
When Antonio turned to show the other Goombahs how his wrist was spurting, he saw a man shrouded in black staring at him, a long sword raised parallel to his shoulders. He did not see the stroke. He saw the room tumbling around him and in his last moment of conscious thought he saw himself standing, a raw cross section of meat where his neck ended. Funny how he was still standing up even though he had no head....
Remo turned from the governor. The kid with the Uzi was about to fire. Remo moved in on him. Suddenly a figure swathed in black jumped out from behind a dividing screen. The swordsman swept down with his blade, severing the kid's gun hand. The sword swung back upward, then took off the kid's head. Swick swack, just like that. The headless body of the kid stood like a ruined statue for several heartbeats, then crumpled into a bag of dead flesh. The head landed in the crook of one dead arm, so that it looked as if the kid had died carrying his head under one arm. The sight would have been comical had it not been so ghoulish.
"Who are you supposed to be?" Remo asked of the man in black.
"I could ask the same of you," the man said coolly. His face was hidden, except for a swatch around the eyes, by the traditional black hood of the ninja warriors of Japan.
"I'm asking it of both of you," said Governor Princippi, stepping off the stairs. He looked closer. "Oh," he said, recognizing Remo. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh, we heard about an attempt on your life," Remo said, trying to keep a straight face. "Looks like we got here just in time."
"Is that right?" the governor asked the man in ninja black. "Are you with this man?"
"I never saw this person in my life," replied the ninja.
"I meant Chiun," said Remo. "Little Father, where are you?"
"Right here," said the Master of Sinanju, stepping out of the bathroom. The toilet flushed, and Remo saw a pair of legs sticking up from the bowl. The toilet overflowed, but the legs did not even quiver.
"I know who you are," the governor said. "But who is this man?" He pointed to the ninja.
The ninja bowed low, sheathing his sword. "I am sent here as a personal representative of the President of the United States, entrusted with the protection of your life. I have been concealed in the darkness since you returned home. "
"A lie!" said Chiun. "Remo and I arrived first. There was no one here when we entered."
"I stood immobile in this very room. No human eye could perceive me, dressed in black. I am like the shadow of vengeance, awaiting your enemies, governor. "
"Tell him why you wear the black scarf over your features," spat Chiun with disdain.
"I have enemies who would seek me out if my face were ever revealed."
"That is not why!" screamed Chiun. "All ninjas go masked because their stealthy arts were stolen from Sinanju. They hide their faces to conceal the shame of what they are-thieves. So it is written in the histories of Sinanju. "
"I know nothing of histories," said the ninja. "I live by my wits and my sword."
"If that is the case," Chiun sniffed, "expect a short life."
"You saved my life," said the governor, brushing past Remo. He stuck out a grateful hand. "I owe you."
The ninja shook the governor's hand. "It was my duty, which I am proud to perform."
"You realize that I cannot take you on faith alone. Do you have anything to identify yourself by?"
"Oh, come on. That's not how it works," said Remo.
"Of course," said the ninja, reaching into a hidden pocket. He tendered a black card with writing etched in gold ink.
The governor read the writing. It said:
"TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: THE BEARER OF THIS CARD IS A HIGH OPERATIVE IN A SECRET UNITED STATES INTELLIGENCE AGENCY. PLEASE ACCORD HIM EVERY COURTESY."
The card bore the signature of the President of the United States of
America.
Governor Princippi looked up. "I'm satisfied," he said.
"But I'm not," said Remo, snatching the card and reading it. "This is ridiculous," he shouted.
"It is worse than ridiculous," said Chiun, taking it from Remo's hand. "This thief gets a magnificent card from the President and Smith denies me a common Gold Card."
"That's not what I meant," said Remo. "Nobody give out cards like these."
"Not to ninjas," added Chiun, slipping the card into a coat pocket. Later he would show it to Smith and demand one of his own.
"The ninjas were the Japanese Secret Service at one time, weren't they?" the governor asked curiously.
"Indeed," said the ninja. "I am a Master of Ninjutsu, which is Japanese for 'art of stealth.' "
"He means 'art of stealing,' " sputtered Chiun. "You should check your cupboards and briefcases after he leaves. Ninjas have sticky fingers."
"Do you mind?" said the governor. "We're having a conversation here." To the ninja he said, "You did an excellent job here."
"Don't tell me you buy his story," Remo protested. "Look at him. He looks ridiculous. And somebody should tell him that the sword went out of style after the Civil War. "
"Look at you," said the ninja. "Is that your undershirt?"
"Hey, I dress like this so I can blend in with ordinary people. "
"I dress in black so that I may blend in with the shadows. These killers did not see me in the dark. Nor did you."
"Sounds right to me," said the governor. "I used to listen to The Shadow on radio. Wasn't that how he did it?"
"What do you do when it snows, pal?" Remo asked smugly.
"I wear white," said the ninja.
"You should wear brown. It's getting knee-deep in here."
"True servants of the emperor do not hide their faces," added Chiun.
"Why not?" said Governor Princippi. "It worked for the Lone Ranger. No doubt this man requires secrecy to protect his private life. "
Remo turned to the governor. "There's nothing on that card that says this guy belongs to it-or it to him. He could have stolen it, for all we know. "
"I can almost guarantee it," inserted Chiun.
"The card looks authentic to me," said the governor. "And this man saved my life. And I'd still like to know what you two are doing here?"
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