Warren Murphy: Funny Money

"The government never did change its mind," Smith said. "It stopped funding Dr. Carlton two months ago."

"Oh, who cares?" Remo said. "Anyway, that robot's running around loose now wondering what it has to do to survive. It thinks it's got it tough; it should try being a housewife with these prices."

"Technically, I guess, he is an android," Smith said.

"No. He's a robot," said Remo.

"A robot is a recognizable machine. An android is humanoid, that is, a robot that looks and acts human."

"All right, have it your own way. An android. Does that solve your problem?"

"The problem is still you. No one except me of course knows exactly who you are and what you do. But some of the people at Treasury who have met you think we should give Mr. Gordons what he wants. That opinion might carry some weight with the President."

"Forsythe, right?" said Remo. Smith nodded.

Chiun played with the three-way switch on a lamp, changing it from dim to bright to brightest to off, dim to bright to brightest to off, rhythmically plunging the room into darkness.

"Suppose the President says do it?" asked Remo.

Smith shrugged. Chiun broke the small switch off the lamp.

"Where's my head supposed to be delivered?" Remo asked.

"It's supposed to be left in a litter basket at the Eastern Airlines desk at Dulles Airport, any night after 3 A.M. Gordons called Forsythe with the message. If you could only find the printing operation."

Chiun rose with the light switch in his hand. "Remo, let us leave Emperor Smith to his thoughts now." He put a hand on Remo's elbow and guided him from the room. "Do not talk anymore to him," Chiun warned. "He is crazy again."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chiun insisted that he must see Forsythe immediately. Remo said that he did not care if he never saw Forsythe again. Chiun said that this showed only that Remo was stupid and knew nothing about nothing, but what could one expect of a white who was just like all other whites, even to his pasty complexion and stupid big feet and hands and thick wrists and no brains.

"The inferior always act alike. They think it will give them strength. But many fools, even together, are still fools."

"Enough, already," said Remo. He would talk no more and he sulked when they got into the taxicab, vowing not to tell Chiun where Forsythe's office was.

Chiun told the cabdriver, "Take us to Mr. Forsythe's office."

"Wha?" said the driver.

"Mr. Forsythe's office. He is a very important man. You must know him." He leaned forward and whispered confidentially, "He is white like you."

"Buddy, I don't know no Forsythe."

"I will describe him for you. He is ugly and stupid. A typical specimen."

The driver looked to Remo for help. Remo said nothing. Chiun said, "What is the ugliest building in this ugly city?"

"That's easy. They got this building for the Treasury that looks like a tomb."

"Take us there," said Chiun, sitting back comfortably on the seat. To Remo he said, "Where else would Forsythe be?"

The Treasury Building looked like a tomb because it was designed after a tomb—the tomb of Mausolus who had given his name through the ages to the type of building known as a mausoleum.

Chiun waited while Remo paid his countryman. Inside the building, a uniformed guard sat at a desk.

Chiun approached him. "We look for Mr. Forsythe."

"This is ridiculous," Remo said.

The guard said, "Do you have an appointment? Is he expecting you?"

Chiun said, "The Master of Sinanju needs no appointment."

"The what?"

"Tell him that the Master of Sinanju and his servant are here," Chiun said.

"I'm the servant," said Remo.

"I am the Master of Sinanju," said Chiun.

"And I'm the white queen. Go away."

Chiun reasoned with the guard with a thumb in his clavicle and the guard realized it made great good sense to call Mr. Forsythe's office.

"Yes," he said into the phone with pain, "There's a man… a person here called the Master of Sinanju to see Mr. Forsythe. Ew-scray all-bay. Yes, I'll wait."

"What did that mean?" Chiun asked Remo.

"What?"

"What was that he said?"

"He said you were a screwball."

Chiun glared down at the guard who said into the phone, "Mr. Forsythe doesn't know any Master of Sinanju?" He looked up in helplessness. "Tell him Remo's here, too," suggested Remo.

"Someone named Remo's here, too," said the guard. "Please check." He waited a moment, then a smile relaxed his features. "Okay," he said and hung up the phone, gently because any quick movements hurt not just his shoulder but every muscle down to his waist. "He'll see you."

"Let go of him, Chiun," said Remo.

Chiun squeezed once hard, then released the guard who clapped his left hand to his right shoulder to try to massage away the pain.

"There is no hope for a country in which the name of Remo is a passport while the name of the Master goes unknown," Chiun said.

"You know how us whites are," said Remo. "Thick as thieves."

"Hear, hear," said Chiun with an evil cackle. "Hear, hear."

Forsythe awaited them in his office on the fifth floor of the building. He remained seated behind his desk in a large infield-sized room as Chiun and Remo entered and Remo forgave the lack of manners as a sacrifice made to good taste because while seated, only Forsythe's shirt could be seen and it was pink with purple flowers, but later when he stood, Remo saw he was wearing matching pants which made him look like a Bahamian shell peddler. He needed a straw hat to complete the getup, decided Remo, who later saw a straw hat on a table in the corner.

"Good to see you again, Mister Master," Forsythe said to Chiun. "And you too, what is it, Remo?"

And Remo knew that Forsythe knew very well what it was and that it was Remo and that it was Remo's head that Mr. Gordons wanted or else he would paper an entire city with bogus money.

Chiun nodded. Remo did nothing.

"What can I do for you?" asked Forsythe. Remo looked at Chiun, who stood motionless in front of Forsythe's desk, saying nothing.

To fill the vacuum of silence, Remo said, "We wondered how you were doing with Mr. Gordons."

Forsythe lied. "Oh, we're still trying to track him down. After you got those plates from him at the airport, we haven't heard anything from him. Nothing at all. Have you had any luck?"

One good lie deserved another. "We did a little research into his background," Remo said. Chiun shot him a warning glance. Remo blithely went on. "He's from a small town in Missouri. His father, now dead, was a printer. His mother took in washing. He went to local schools, somehow avoided service in Korea, and was a schoolteacher. His hobbies are making models, watching baseball games on television, and needlepoint. He does not drink or smoke but is a member of no organized church."

"That's very good," Forsythe said with enthusiasm. "It's really fine how you two have found out so much in such a short period of time. Impressed, fella. Really impressed I am."

Remo smiled foolishly in response to Forsythe's foolish smile. Chiun continued staring at the man behind the desk.

"Maybe if we work together, fellas, we can get this Mr. Gordons," Forsythe said hopefully.

"Maybe, fella," Remo said. "Full speed ahead. We could really do it. Working together, both pulling one oar and all."

"Absotively," said Forsythe. "Precisely my exact sentiments. You have a place to stay in town?"

Remo shook his head.

Forsythe said, "Just a minute," and picked up the phone. He dialed a number and asked for the manager. "Hello, Frederick. Forsythe here. Some very important people…" he winked at Remo "… have just come to town and I want you to put them up tonight. Some kind of a special room. Second floor. Near the center elevators. That sounds fine. Make the reservation in the name of Mister Master of… never mind, make it for Mr. Remo. See you, Frederick."