Blue Smoke and Mirrors td-78

by Warren Murphy

  "What else?"

  "I am afraid that's all we have."

  "Not very observant, is she?" Remo remarked.

  "She was hiding under a bed at the time. When she got out, there was no one there. But in her official report she insists that she saw something disappear through a solid wall."

  Remo's bored expression grew interested. "Is that so?"

  "She . . . um . . . insisted it was a car battery."

  "Stuff disappearing from locked rooms. Things flying through walls. It doesn't sound logical," Remo said.

  "Yet these thefts have continued with impunity," Smith went on. "It's as if the thief has no fear of capture. He's never been clearly observed. He might as well be a ghost."

  Remo grinned. "Well, we know that's out. We don't believe in ghosts, do we, Little Father?"

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  When the Master of Sinanju didn't reply, Remo turned and saw Chiun's grave face.

  "Do we?" Remo repeated.

  "We do," Chiun said flatly. His face was tight.

  "Well, I don't," Remo snapped. "There are no such things as ghosts."

  "How can you say that?" Chiun asked tartly. "You who have beheld the Great Wang with your own eyes."

  "Great Wang?" Smith said blankly.

  "It's not like it sounds," Remo said quickly. "Wang was the greatest Master in Sinanju history. He died a long time ago. But I met him once."

  "Yes," Chiun said imperiously. "All Masters since Wang are not considered to have achieved full Master-hood until the spirit of Wang appears before them."

  "Really, Remo?" Smith said, his voice level with interest. "You saw a ghost?"

  "I never thought of him as a ghost," Remo replied uneasily. "It happened back during that business with the Russian superhypnotist, Rabinowitz. Remember? He had you going too."

  Smith swallowed. "Yes," he said, wincing. The Russian could make himself appear to be a trusted person. To Smith, he had appeared in the form of his first-grade teacher, and Smith had accepted this even though Miss Ashford had been dead for years. It had been very embarassing.

  "Wang appeared before me," Remo was saying. "I talked to him. We had a conversation. But he wasn't a ghost. He wasn't white, didn't wear a sheet or rattle chains. He was just a fat little guy with a happy face. It was kinda like having my long-lost Korean uncle drop by for a visit. He had a great sense of humor, as I recall."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really," Remo barked. "Don't look at me like that, Smitty. I can't explain it, but it happened."

  "I can," Chiun said sternly. "The spirits of past

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  Masters of Sinanju live on after their bodies. Sometimes they return to earth to communicate. Wang has been very conscientious about that. I saw him when I reached my peak. Remo has seen him. And Remo's pupil, if he ever fulfills his duty and sires a proper son, will see Wang. It is the way of Sinanju."

  Smith blinked owlishly behind his rimless eyeglasses.

  "I don't know what to say," he said at last. "I do not credit the existence of ghosts. Yet these incidents at Grand Forks defy explanation. Why would a ghost haunt a nuclear-missile grid? Why would he steal such a bizarre assortment of items?"

  "Maybe it's a poltergeist," Remo said with a chuckle. "Do we believe in those, Little Father?"

  "Possibly," Chiun said vaguely. "I am only acquainted with the habits of Korean spirits."

  Smith cleared his throat. "The President wants you both to go to North Dakota immediately. Whether a human agency is at work or not, we feel only your abilities can solve this problem." Smith extracted a sheaf of thin papers from his gray coat and placed them on the table. "This is a copy of the official OSI report on the incidents, as well as precise instructions for entering the facility. Please commit them to memory and eat them."

  Remo and Chiun looked up from the paper with blank expressions. Remo fingered the thin top sheet.

  "Rice paper," Smith explained. "The ink is vegetable-based."

  "No chance," Remo said.

  "I will see that Remo chews them thoroughly before swallowing," the Master of Sinanju assured Harold Smith as he got up to leave.

  "No freaking chance," Remo repeated.

  On his way out the door, Smith remembered something.

  "Oh, the sugar. I would have a hard time explaining this visit to my wife if I returned empty-handed."

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  "We don't have any sugar, remember?" Remo growled.

  "How about some rice?" Chiun suggested hopefully. "Perhaps she will not notice the difference."

  "Yes, yes. That will do."

  "Excellent," Chiun said, hurrying to a wall cabinet, where he went through several tins. He selected one and brought it back. He poured out a cupful of long-grain white.

  "Thank you, Master of Sinanju," Smith said when Chiun stopped pouring.

  "That will be seventy-five cents," Chiun said, holding out his hand. "No checks."

  "Oh, for crying out loud! Let him have the rice," Remo snapped.

  "I would," Chiun said sadly, "but alas, I am only a poor assassin. I am not even as well paid as a base player of balls."

  "Baseball player. Get it right."

  "I am sure that Emperor Smith, for all his wisdom and wealth, will not take advantage of a poor old assassin who subsists on rice and rice alone," Chiun added.

  "Oh, very well," Smith said huffily, digging out a red plastic change container. He angrily counted out seventy-five cents in coins. The expression on his face was that of a man donating his critical organs.

  "One last thing," Smith said on his way out. "Robin Green will be your contact. You will have her full cooperation."

  "Maybe she likes rice paper with vegetable-ink dressing," Remo said with a smug grin.

  Smith's face sagged. "You wouldn't."

  "It's her report," Remo pointed out.

  Smith left without another word.

  "Can you believe that guy?" Remo said after Smith had gone. "Thinking that we'd eat his silly reports."

  When the Master of Sinanju didn't answer, Remo

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  turned. Chiun was silently chewing, his face interested. Remo noticed that a corner of the report in Chiun's hand was missing.

  "Tasty?" Remo demanded, folding his arms.

  Chiun ceased chewing. His Adam's apple bobbed once. An expression of dissatisfaction settled over his wrinkled features.

  "It needs more ink," Chiun said, handing the report to Remo as he floated from the room.

  3

  Remo and Chiun drove to McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey, where they hitched a ride on a C-5B Galaxy cargo plane using a laminated photo ID card that identified Remo as Remo Leake, a retired Air Force captain. At North Dakota's Grand Forks Air Force Base, he produced another card that said he was Remo Overn, with the OSI. This enabled Remo to commandeer a jeep. As the Master of Sinanju watched with stiff mien and hands tucked into the linked sleeves of his blue-and-white ceremonial kimono, Remo transferred to the jeep the green-and-gold lacquered trunk that Chiun had insisted upon bringing along.

  As they drove through flat North Dakota farmland, Remo broke the silence with a question:

  "Is that a ceremonial robe?"

  "Yes," Chiun replied tightly. His hazel eyes were agate hard. He wore a white stovepipe hat on his bald head.

  "And that's not one of your usual wardrobe trunks, is it?"

  "It is very special, for it contains equipment necessary for the task we face."

  Remo almost braked the jeep. He swerved and kept on going.

  "Hold the phone! Did you say 'equipment'? As in technology?"

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  34

  "I did say 'equipment' because that is the closest English equivalent. I did not mean 'technology.' That was your word."

  "If you're contemplating dismantling the U.S. nuclear deterrent while you're visiting," Remo warned, "I want you to know up front that Smith definitely would not appreciate it."

  "I contemplate nothing of the kind," Ch
iun snapped. "And please concentrate on your driving. I wish to arrive intact."

  Remo settled down to watching the road. They passed countless corn and barley fields, any of which, Remo knew, could conceal an underground launch facility and missile silo.

  The access road was marked by a small sign. Remo drove the quarter-mile to the perimeter fence of Launch Control Facility Fox.

  A sign on the fence proclaiming "PEACE is OUR PROFESSION" caused Chiun to snort derisively.

  The guard in the box hit a buzzer to make the barbed-wire-topped fence roll open. Remo drove in, and presented the sergeant on duty with a card that identified him as Remo Verral, special investigator for the General Accounting Office.

  "Trip number 334," Remo said, repeating the information Smith had given him. "Remo Verral and Mr. Chiun."

  The sergeant checked his blotter and compared Remo's ID photo against his face twice. He nodded. Then he noticed Chiun's peacocklike kimono and the lacquered trunk.

  "What's in the box?" he asked.

  "None of your business," Chiun said haughtily.

  "That's classified," Remo said in the same breath.

  The sergeant looked at them stonily from under his white helmet, then glanced at the trunk again,

  "I'll have to inspect it," he said.

  "Do you value your hands?" Chiun warned, with-

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  drawing his long fingernails from his sleeves. They gleamed in the hard late-afternoon light.

  "Look, pal," Remo said casually, "don't make a scene. We have clearance. You can run a metal detector along the box and trot out any sniffer dogs you have. But if he says you don't touch the box, you don't touch the box."

  "I'll have to check this with my superiors."

  "You do that. And while you're at it, send word to OSI Robin Green that we've arrived."

  "Yes, sir," said the sergeant. He saluted just to be sure. He wasn't sure how much pull a GAO investigator had, but there was no sense taking any chances.

  He came back from using the guard-box phone a moment later.

  "You're free to pass, sir. Have a good day, sir."

  The launch-control facility was a long concrete building. Aside from a smaller maintenance building in one corner, it was the only visible indication of a vast ICBM field that sprawled out to the borders of Canada and Minnesota.

  "Before we go in," Remo told Chiun as he pulled up to the main building, "I gotta warn you. They're very touchy in installations like this. Don't antagonize them. Please. And above all, do not touch any buttons or levers or anything. You could single-handedly trigger World War III."

  "Do not tell me about nuke-nuke madness," Chiun snapped as he stepped from the jeep. "I have been in these places before."

  "That's right, you have, haven't you? Should I bring the trunk?"

  "Later. We must examine the zones of disturbance first."

  "Zones of-?"

  Chiun raised an imperious hand. "Hold your questions. I will teach you the basics as we go along."

  "You're the Master," Remo said.

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  They were met at the flight-security controller's officer by a bantamweight redhead with snapping blue eyes. Her eyes snapped even more when they alighted on Remo's T-shirted torso.

  "You're Remo Verral?" she asked incredulously. She wore a regulation blue Air Force skirt uniform.

  Remo pulled an ID card from his wallet, caught himself before handing over a laminated card identifying himself as Remo Hoppe, an FBI special agent, and gave her the GAO ID.

  While Robin Green looked it over, Remo looked her over. He decided he liked what he saw.

  Robin Green did not.

  "I'm still waiting," she said hotly, "for someone to explain to me what the investigating arm of Congress is doing in the middle of an internal Air Force investigation."

  Remo started to say, "Your guess is as good as mine," but decided he wanted to make a good impression. Instead he said, "This is a very, very serious matter." He hoped Robin Green wouldn't press the point. Remo didn't know squat about half the ID cards he carried. If Smith said to use one, he used it.

  Robin's voice tightened. "The Department of Defense, I could understand. Or DARPA. Even CIA. But GAO?"

  Remo thought fast.

  "The material stolen was paid for by the taxpayers, right?"

  "Well, yes," Robin Green said slowly. "So?"

  "So Congress wants to know what happened."

  "There's no rank on this card. You're civilian."

  "Both of us," Remo said, tossing the ball into another court.

  Robin Green turned to Chiun. The Master of Sinanju was looking her up and down critically. He walked behind her, as if examining her for flaws. He made a

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  complete circle of her, saying nothing, but frowning furiously.

  "Oh, this is Chiun," Remo said. "He's with Korean Intelligence."

  "Korean Intelligence!"

  "It's too complicated to explain," Remo said, taking back the card. "He's a specialist on loan to us. Just take my word for it."

  Robin considered. "I'm a dead duck if I don't produce results pronto. It took me three days just to convince them I wasn't on drugs. So I guess I should be grateful for whatever help I can get. How do you do?" she said, shaking Remo's hand. Remo held it a few seconds longer than necessary and Robin Green's tight expression softened. Remo smiled. She returned the smile uncertainly. Worry lines still haunted her eyes.

  But when she went to reach for Chiun's hand, the Master of Sinanju presented her with his austere back. He pointedly examined a plaque on the wall.

  "What's his problem?" Robin asked in an injured voice.

  "Technical specialists are like that," Remo said. "Preoccupied."

  Chiun turned suddenly. "I would like to see the zones of disturbance," he said in a formal voice.

  "He means the theft areas," Remo said in response to Robin's baffled expression.

  "All right. Follow me."

  As Robin escorted them down a long corridor, Remo dropped back to have a word with Chiun. It gave him a chance to check out Robin Green's walk. It was a nice walk, considering that she was in uniform. There was the suggestion of a wiggle. Not many women wiggled when they walked, he thought approvingly.

  "Why did you stiff her like that, Little Father?" Remo wanted to know.

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  "Do not trust her, Remo," Chiun hissed back. "She is an impostor."

  "Her? She's Air Force Intelligence. Smith said so."

  "An impostor," Chiun repeated firmly.

  "If she's a fake," Remo said, watching her hips in motion, "then I'd be interested in meeting the real thing."

  "She said her name is Robin," Chiun said coldly.

  "Yeah. So?"

  "Robins are red."

  "Yeah."

  "And her other name is Green."

  "Yeah?"

  "Robin Green. Obviously a fictitious name. It should be Robin Red."

  "Or maybe Red Robin," Remo suggested lightly.

  "I saw a Robin on television once," Chiun ruminated, stroking his beard. "He was a boy. He wore very nice clothes but also a mask. He followed a fat older man, whom I suspect of leading him into evil habits. He called himself a batman, but he did not carry one of your baseball bats. He dressed like the flying bat. Obviously delusional. Like this woman."

  "Uh, I'm losing the chain of this logic. Besides, this Robin's a redheaad, in case you didn't notice."

  Chiun dismissed Remo's comment with a wave. "A typical white misconception, like calling brown people black. Are you all color-blind? Her hair is orange, not red."

  Remo threw up his hands. "I give up."

  "Mark my words, Remo. She is a fake. Do not trust her."

  "I'll keep it in mind," Remo said as Robin Green came to a halt before a padlocked door. She opened it with a passkey.

  "This is the room," she told them, holding the door open for them to enter. Remo noticed that her hand,

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  resting on the knob, shook. She was still rattled by her experience.

  Remo started to enter, but Chiun brushed past him.

  "Polite, isn't he?" Robin remarked, arching an eyebrow.

  "Don't let him fool you. He knows what he's doing. Maybe not what he's talking about all the time, but in his field, he's an expert. The expert."

  As they watched, the Master of Sinanju padded back and forth. Remo noticed that the room was pleasant, more like a hotel room than military living quarters. There was even an air conditioner. It hadn't been like this in the Marines, Remo recalled ruefully.

  "You! Female," Chiun said, suddenly turning on Robin Green.

  Robin blinked. "Female?"

  "Humor him," Remo whispered. "His wife was a real battleax."

  "This was the room where you saw the feet of the apparition?" Chiun demanded.

  "Yes. I was concealed under the bed. His feet were suddenly just . . . there. There was no sound. By the time I crawled out, he was gone."

  Chiun knelt down to peer under the bed. He straightened up and examined Robin Green critically.

  "I feel like a piece of meat," she whispered to Remo.

  "Don't sweat it. He's a vegetarian."

  "With those cowlike things," Chiun said, pointing with his long fingernails, "how did you fit?"

  "What cowlike . . . ? Oh! Now, that's an impertinent question."

  "I am conducting a serious investigation. Answer me."

  "All right. Fine. I held my breath. Okay?"

  Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed. "And the alleged car battery, where did you see it?"

  "There. See the wall above the dresser? It went

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  through there. One minute it was plain as day, the next it was like a soap bubble. Just pop! And gone."

  Chiun pushed the dresser set aside. It was solid maple and Robin Green was surprised at the frail Oriental's strength.

  "He must eat a lot of spinach," she said wryly.

  Chiun stoked the wall area with the palm of his hand.

  "Here?" he demanded, turning his head.

  "No, a little higher," Robin told him.

  "Here?"

  "I think so," Robin said slowly. Then, firmly: "Yes, there."