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"I'll bet you are. I've been with IDC going on twenty years. I've never seen a
new man dressed like you."
"Didn't you hear? They've relaxed the dress code. All they expect now is clean
underwear."
"Who told you that?"
"That security guard, as a matter of fact. Guess the shock was too much for
him."
At the airport, Remo checked in and sought a pay phone. He called his hotel
and got a busy signal.
"Dammit," Remo said, hanging up. He walked the waiting area impatiently and
tried again. The line remained busy. He couldn't understand it. Chiun hated
telephones.
When they called for final boarding on his flight, Remo was listening to
another busy signal.
He was the last one on the plane. What the hell was Chiun doing on the phone
all this time? Remo wondered as he took his seat.
Then he remembered. During the months when Chiun had been presumed dead,
Harold Smith had stopped taping Chiun's latest passion, British soap operas.
The Master of Sinanju had hectored Smith unmercifully until he had promised to
acquire the complete backlog.
No doubt a fresh shipment had arrived and Chiun was catching up. He usually
left the phone off the hook while he watched his soaps. When he didn't rip it
out of the wall entirely, that was.
" I hope they're especially good episodes," Remo muttered as the 727 engines
began to whine preparatory to takeoff, "because when I get back, Chiun's going
to kill me."
Chapter 6
At Boston's Logan Airport terminal, Remo looked around for a payphone.
He was halfway there when an upright hulk in a sharkskin suit got in front of
him and asked, "You the guy from IDC?"
"How'd you guess?" Remo asked.
"You got the blue book. They all come with the blue book. We got a lot of blue
books now, and we still got our problem."
"Yeah," Remo said, looking around the terminal distractedly. "And if I don't
make a quick call, I'm going to have a problem. "
"It can wait," the chauffeur said, placing a meaty paw on Remo's shoulder.
"No, it can't," Remo said, heading for the pay phone. The chauffeur was
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stubborn. He refused to release Remo. And so he found himself being
frog-marched to the pay phone, his expression a mixture of surprise and
respect.
Casually Remo dropped a quarter into the pay-phone slot and punched in the
number. While he was waiting, he absently reached up to pry the heavy hand off
his shoulder.
Remo got another busy signal. He hung up. "Okay, lead me to the car."
"You know," the chauffeur said, looking at his numb hand with vague disbelief,
"you're not like the stiffs they sent before. " , The classified I answered
specifically said 'No Stiffs.' '
The chauffeur's thick features brightened. " I got a good feeling about you.
What'd you say your name was?"
"Remo. "
The chauffeur's broad face broke out into a broad grin. "No kiddin'? Remo. I'm
Bruno. Come on, Remo. You might be just what the doctor ordered."
"That's what Tollini said."
"That Tollini, now there's a stiff. Keeps sending us stiffs, even though we
keep tellin' him not to."
"I think he got the message," said Remo.
"I think he did, at that."
The car was a black Cadillac, Remo saw. It was parked in the middle of a line
of cabs. None of the cabbies seemed to mind.
"Hey, Remo," the driver said once they were in traffic.
"Yeah?"
"Do yourself a big favor."
"What's that?"
"If you can't fix the boss's box, don't come out and say so right away. Know
what I mean?"
"No."
"Don't give up so easy. We don't like quitters in our outfit. Catch me?"
"What happens if I can't fix it?" Remo asked.
"Never say never. That's all I got to say."
At the offices of F and L Importing, Remo took one look at the lonely personal
computer sitting on the Formica card table in the dim room surrounded by husky
security men in sharkskin suits and without preamble broke the bad news.
"It's hopeless."
"What'd I tell you!" Bruno the chauffeur moaned. "Ain't you got ears? Don't
you listen?" He got between Remo and the three security men, and waving his
arms, said, "He's kiddin' us. He's a kidder, see? I was talking to him on the
ride over, gettin' him wise." The chauffeur turned to Remo and said, "Tell
them you're kiddin', Remo. His name is Remo, see?" he called over his
shoulder.
"I'm not kidding," Remo said firmly. "I'm a professional. I can tell by
looking that this computer is broken beyond repair. "
"None of the other guys said that."
"None of them have my background. I'm a certified genius. I invented the
world's first Korean keyboard."
"Korean? What's that got to do with this?"
"You ever see Korean? They got a million characters for everything. Forget the
twenty-six letters. A Korean keyboard, even a small one, is twenty feet long
and has thirty rows of keys. To operate it you need roller skates and a
photographic memory."
"He's kiddin'," the chauffeur said, his eyes going sick. "Tell them you're
kiddin'."
"I am not kidding," Remo said, folding his arms. He made no move toward the
keyboard.
His back to the three security men, the chauffeur mouthed a single word. The
word was "Try. " To which he added a silent "Please."
Because he was getting tired waiting for something to happen, Remo shrugged
and said, "Okay, I guess a quick looksee won't hurt anything. Who knows? I
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might get lucky."
"What'd I tell you?" the chauffeur said, facing the security team once more.
He grinned nervously. "He was kiddin'. A little joke. To relieve the tension.
He's a good guy. I like him. Go to it, Remo. Show us your stuff."
Remo addressed the silent PC terminal, lifted it in both strong hands,
examined his own reflection for a moment, and then brought the screen to his
ear. He began shaking the terminal briskly.
"Hey, none of the other guys done that," one of the security men pointed out.
"This is an advanced technique," Remo told him. "We shake until we hear
something rattling around in here. You'd be surprised how often the trouble is
a paperclip that got in through a vent."
This made perfect sense to the assembled F and L Importing employees. They all
went very quiet, listening.
Soon, something rattled.
"Hey, I heard it!" the chauffeur cried. "You hear that? Remo found it.
Attaboy, Remo."
"Shhhh," said Remo, still shaking the PC terminal.
Another element began to rattle. Then a third. Pretty soon, under his
relentless shaking, the PC began to sound like a majolica rattle.
Remo stopped.
"What's the verdict?" Bruno the chauffeur asked.
Balancing the PC in one hand experimentally, Remo frowned. Then he lofted the
PC over their heads. It seemed to float in a shallow arc. Every eye in the
room followed it like ball bearings drawn to a horseshoe magnet.
"Hey!" one yelled.
The four men lunged for the floating PC like startled linebackers. They were
too late. The PC landed in a wastebasket in one corner, where its picture tube
shattered.
The quartet froze in place, looking at the shattered PC in disbelief.
Only when Remo coolly said, "What'd I tell you? Beyond repair. "
Slowly they turned around. Their faces were bone-white. Their eyes were hard
and glittering. Their limp-with-helplessness fingers made slow, determined
fists.
Mechanically three of the men surrounded Remo. The fourth-the
chauffeur-lurched to a plain door as if his legs had turned to wood.
"The box is broke," he called in. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]