No Contest

“We don’t know much yet, Katie. What you’re seeing is apparently a custom-made recreational vehicle that is traveling the interstate at speeds of, get this, more than 120 miles per hour. Now, New Mexico State Police tell us this vehicle is already wanted for numerous state traffic violations dating from last week. We do know the vehicle is registered to a Romeo Yun-Fat, who has a Connecticut state driver’s license.”

“Could it be the same Romeo involved in The Ladies’ Man stunt in Phoenix?” Katie asked.

‘I’d believe anything, today, Katie.”

“How far are you from Phoe—?” Bob asked.

“You’re only about a hundred miles from Phoenix, is that right, Allison?” Katie interrupted.

“We’re just over the New Mexico border and, in fact, the vehicle has been speeding since it left Phoenix. That was less than an hour ago.”

“What a day!” Katie exclaimed. “What next, I wonder?”

Harold W. Smith knew what was next.

Acquiescence. Surrender. Defeat. He was beaten.

Somehow, somewhere, everything had whirled out of control. How did that happen? He’d kept a pretty tight rein on things for a lot of years, and now, chaos.

Really, it had been coming for a long time. Ever since Remo became Reigning Master. Maybe, Smith thought, he ought to have paid closer attention to Remo’s complaints. But it was difficult. Remo was always complaining.

“I accede to Remo’s demands or I fold the operation,” Smith said. “It has come to that.”

Mark Howard nodded. “Actually, you have no choice but to accede to Remo’s demands, regardless of whether you fold the operation or not,” he said. “If he exposes this operation in the way he’s threatened, well the scandal will paralyze the federal government and the political parties. We can’t let that happen.”

“You’re right.” Smith sighed deeply and held his hands over his keyboard, lost in thought for a moment, as if thinking over his decision one last time.

“You’ve tried to control what cannot be controlled,” Mark said. “I suggest you let it go.”

“Ignore our security concerns?” Smith demanded, hands hovering.

“You’ve kept CURE secure because you’ve been diligent about controlling what you can, but you never could control all the unknown factors. These things were before your time or completely out of human hands to begin with. Just because you know of them now doesn’t mean you need to control them.”

Smith weighed the words.

“We can’t control ourselves into paralysis,” Mark added. “What good is that to anybody?”

“That makes good sense,” Smith said. Sitting straighter, with brisk movements, he began to key in his commands.

“We can see what appears to be a statue in the rear wraparound windows of the Airstream,” Allison reported. “It’s an old man in a bright red robe, sitting cross-legged.”

“That window design is certainly not original to the Air—” Bob commented, but was cut off.

“Is it a Buddha, Allison?” Katie asked.

“I think so, but quite skinny and wrinkled compared to the Buddhas I am familiar with—Something’s happening. We have a U.S. Army helicopter on the scene. Man, are they in a hurry. Are you seeing this, Katie?”

“That’s actually an Air Force chopper, Allis—” Bob said.

“They’re attacking!” Katie exclaimed. “No. I think someone is getting out of the chopper. Yes, they’re being lowered onto the RV. He’s kneeling. He’s knocking, I think.”

“Could you get the door?” Remo called. His voice had to carry through the SUV and all the way to the back of the Airstream to the meditation chamber.

“They are not knocking on the door. They are knocking on the roof.”

“Could you get the roof, then? I’m trying to drive.”

“I am meditating.”

The knock was polite, but it came again. “Come in!” Remo shouted.

Remo heard the roof latch crank. He had noticed the square section of the roof, but had not realized it was a hatch. The visitor tugged a few times, then knocked again.

“Chiun, it’s locked. Would you mind?”

Chiun made an exasperated sound. “Can a man not sit and meditate in his own home?”

“Oh, my goodness,” Allison Quarberg cried. “It’s not a statue—it’s a real man. He just got up and left. Now he is back.”

“We’re seeing the Army agent enter the RV. Can you tell what’s happening? Does the old man appear agitated? Is he being arrested?”

“No. He’s in the lotus position again.”

“Anybody home?”

“Up here,” Remo called. An airman came carefully through the umbilical and into the SUV, crouching in the empty space of the SUV bed and eyeing the speedometer display warily. The display read 189.9 kph.

“Morning, Commander,” Remo said. “Sorry for the trouble, but what a show, huh?” He glanced at the dashboard TV, showing Good Day, U.S.A.

“I have a phone call for you, sir.” The airman handed a mobile phone to Remo. Remo took his eyes off the road for a second, thumbed a button, put the phone to his ear, then lobbed it over his shoulder. The airman caught it neatly.

“Busted,” Remo declared.