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first mistook for a handful of needles. Then he realized he was looking at the longest fingernails he had ever seen in his life. "Okay;" Snell said slowly. "I guess there's no problem." The other agents lowered their weapons. "Excellent," said the Oriental brightly. "Now perhaps you can render us some assistance. We are seeking the residence of the President of Vice." The pistols came back up. "What do you want to know for?" asked Snell. "We're tourists," said the Caucasian hastily. "Tourists are not allowed into Blair House," said Snell. "Our mistake," replied the Caucasian. "We'll be on our way now." "I'll have to ask for identification before you go," Snell said. The Caucasian turned his pockets inside out, showing empty linings. "Must have left mine back in Peoria," he said. "I am Chiun, Master of Sinanju. I carry no identification because all worthy persons know of me," the Oriental proclaimed. "You don't have any identification either?" asked Snell. "If you wish someone to vouch for me, ask your President. He knows me personally." Page 32 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html "He does?" said Snell, for a heart-stopping moment wondering if he had stopped a visiting dignitary. "Yes," said the Oriental, returning his hands to his sleeves. "I saved his life once." Behind the two men, one of the other agents mouthed a silent word: crackpots. Snell nodded. "Why don't you just go on your way?" he said. "That's what we were doing," said the Caucasian. Agent Orrin Snell watched them walk away. "Talk about the odd couple," Snell joked, shaking his head. "Did you hear what he called the little guy-father. Okay, everybody back to your stations." After his men had returned to their positions, Snell couldn't resist looking down the street after the strange pair. They were gone. Pennsylvania Avenue was deserted and there was no obvious place the pair could have gone. They were not across the street. He radioed to the next checkpoint. "I've lost sight of a male Caucasian and an Oriental coming your way. Any contact?" "Negative," was the reply. Snell rushed up the Blair House steps and knocked on the ornate door in code. Another agent poked out his head. "No problems?" Snell demanded. "None. What do you have?" "Nothing. Must be a false alarm. I'll be glad when this scare is over," he said, returning to the street. He took his usual position and wondered where the pair had gone. As long as they hadn't gone into Blair House, then it wasn't his problem, he decided. Remo paused with his head just under the roof cornice of Blair House. "Getting old, Little Father?" Remo called down. "You used to be the first one to the top." The Master of Sinanju climbed around a window until he had reached Remo's level. "I am not getting old," Chiun snapped. "It is these American clothes. They are not made for scaling." "Maybe you should go back to kimonos," Remo suggested, grinning. "Nonsense. I am in service to America. I will dress like an American. Did you see how I got us past that foolish guard without arousing his suspicions?" "That's not how I remember it, Chiun. And if you don't lower your voice we're not going to get past the guards on the roof." "There are guards on the roof?" "Listen. You can hear them breathing." The Master of Sinanju cocked a delicate ear. He nodded. "They will be easy to handle. One of them breathes like a bellows. A tobacco addict, I am sure." "Why bother?" said Remo. "Let's go in a window." "Do you have any special window in mind?" whispered Chiun. "I do not want to find myself in a lady's bedroom by mistake." Remo grinned. "I'll see what I can do." And like a spider in its web, Remo slipped down the building's side until he found an unlit window. Clinging to the casement, he ran one fingernail around the edge of the pane. The glass squeaked like a nail being pulled from a tree. Chiun joined him, hanging gingerly so that his fingernails were not chipped by the brick. "If you would grow your nails to the proper length," he said, "you would not get that mouse-squeak sound." "I can live with a little noise," said Remo, pressing his palm against the glass to test its resistance. "No," admonished Chiun. "You could die from a little noise. " "Right," said Remo. "Watch this." And he popped the glass in with a smack of his palm. The hand followed the glass in with eye-blurring speed. When Remo withdrew the hand, he held the glass pane between two fingers, intact. "After you," said Remo, executing as much of a bow as he could, considering that he clung to the side of a building with one hand and both feet. Page 33 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html The Master of Sinanju slipped into the open frame like colored smoke drawn into an exhaust vent. Remo went in after him. The room was dark. Remo set the pane on a long table and made for the illuminated outline of a door. In the hall, the light was mellow. It came from brass wall lamps. The wallpaper was expensive and tasteful-but it was almost as thick as the rug. There was a still air about the hall usually found in museums. Remo went first. He had no idea where the Vice-President would be quartered and said so. "Pah!" said Chiun. "It is simple. Look for the largest concentration of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |