Part 5 (2/2)

”I demand to see some form of identi?cation,” Helene said of?ciously.

Remo shrugged. He pulled his and Chiun's dummy State Department ID from the pocket of his chinos.

Helene peered at the plastic-laminated cards for a full minute. At last she presented them back to Remo.

”These are in order. Though I am surprised that you would have come here today, considering what has happened,” she added suspiciously.

”Diplomacy must go on.” Remo smiled. He began stepping beneath the yellow tape.

”Wait,” Helene said, struck with sudden inspiration.

”What?””Perhaps you could get me inside,” she suggested, nodding to the emba.s.sy courtyard.

”There's really nothing to it,” Remo said. ”Look.” He slipped beneath the tape, dropping it from his hand once he had reached the other side. ”See?”

”You do not understand,” she persisted. ”There was an earlier misunderstanding between our respective teams. Your men have since stubbornly refused us entry.”

”Perhaps you accused them of being American,” Chiun offered, still on Helene's side of the ?imsy barricade.

”They are American,” Helene told him.

”Ah, but perhaps they do not like to be reminded of that fact,” Chiun said sagely. Bending double, he joined Remo on the other side of the tape. The back of his kimono didn't even brush the tape.

”This is the point where you're supposed to ?gure out he wants you to say you're sorry for thinking he was American,” Remo offered. ”It's called the subtle approach.”

Helene's eyes ?nally showed dawning understanding. She glanced at Chiun.

”I apologize,” the French agent said. ”Most sincerely. You are quite obviously not American.” Her eyes narrowed, as if she were seeing the Master of Sinanju for the ?rst time. ”In fact, I would venture to guess that you are Korean, if I may be so bold.”

Chiun's lined face brightened. ”A woman of obvious good judgment,” he said. ”If somewhat delayed.”

Helene knew at once that she had struck gold. She forged ahead.

”Forgive me, but sometimes my eyes are not so good,” she lied. She nodded to Remo. ”I saw this one and a.s.sumed you were both American. I see now that I was obviously in error.”

Chiun studied her for a moment. ”There is nothing wrong with your eyes,” he concluded. Reaching out with a single curved ?ngernail-sharp as a t.i.tanium razor-he sliced through the yellow tape. The ends ?uttered gently to the ground. ”However, there is nothing a Frenchman does better than grovel.” He indicated that Helene could join them within the courtyard.

Quickly she stepped over the split sections of tape. ”The FBI isn't going to like this,” Remo warned.

”You will talk to them,” Chiun sniffed indifferently. ”After all, they are Americans and are therefore better dealt with by their own kind.”

Chiun and Helene stepped in through the wreckage, leaving a grumbling Remo to deal with the of?cials from Was.h.i.+ngton.

REMO DID TALK to the investigators. Rather than get into a ha.s.sle explaining why a low-ranking State Department of?cial was stumbling about the remnants of the most signi?cant foreign bomb attack since the Marine barracks explosion in Lebanon, he showed the agent in charge a different badge, this one identifying him as a member of the National Security Council. Chiun, Remo said, was with him. Helene was with Chiun.

There was surprisingly little said by the special agent within the cordon. He was far too busy directing his team of experts. His only warning was that Remo and his party should not destroy too much evidence in their pointless tour of the scene. A shot at the NSC. The harried agent had then gone back to work.

Remo found Chiun and Helene near the battered wall of the courtyard. The exploded truck was parked just on the other side. What was left of the men in the cab had at last been removed. The back of the truck was nothing more than a bare cha.s.sis. All around, the ground was charred black.

Helene was stooped down examining small fragments of debris on the ground. The Master of Sinanju was standing upright. His b.u.t.ton nose was angled upward. He appeared to be doing some sort of deepbreathing exercises.

”We're okay with the Feds,” Remo announced, coming up to them.

”Good,” Helene said distractedly. Chiun ignored Remo altogether. He continued snif?ng the air. ”What's your name, by the way?” Remo asked Helene.

She seemed peeved by the interruption. ”Helene Marie-Simone.”

”Do you realize you have three ?rst names?” No reply. Helene had become so engrossed in her meticulous search of the ground she no longer seemed to realize he was even there. Getting down on her hands and knees, she began brus.h.i.+ng at the black grit that ?lled the s.p.a.ces on the ground between the fallen emba.s.sy bricks.

Remo turned his attention back to Chiun.

The Master of Sinanju was still snif?ng carefully at the air, drawing in delicate puffs of some distant scent.

”Okay, what is it?” Remo asked.

”I am not yet certain,” Chiun responded. ”But there is something here. Very faint. The boom devices have managed nearly to erase it.” He turned ever so slowly in the direction of the battered truck, as if trying to sneak up on something long lost.

While they spoke, Remo caught Helene looking at them from the corner of her eye. When she thought that they were paying no attention to her, she pulled a small plastic bag from the pocket of her short leather jacket. s.h.i.+elding her body from them, she quickly stuck something she had found from the ground in the bag and then hurriedly stuffed the whole bundle back into her pocket. Face ?ushed, she resumed her search.

”Back in a sec,” Remo told Chiun. He wandered over to Helene. ”What was that?” he asked, stopping above the kneeling agent.

She looked up at him, blandly innocent. ”What was what?” she asked dully.

”Can the innocent act, Madam Clouseau,” Remo droned, reaching down into her pocket and plucking out the small bag.

Helene jumped to her feet, eyes charged with horri?ed fury.

”That is evidence taken from the crime scene beyond the wall! It was collected on French soil!” She made a grab for the bag. Remo held it away from her grasping hands.

”I saw you pick it up from in here,” he said. He held the bag up a few inches from his eyes.

Inside was a piece of jagged metal. It was a small fragment, no larger than a ?ngernail. It had survived the blast in surprisingly good condition, considering that corrosion had taken hold of it long before the explosives it had contained were detonated.

”Give me that this instant,” Helene hissed. She s.n.a.t.c.hed once more, missing again.

”Which world war is this from, do you think?” he asked aloud. He glanced over at her.

Helene's eyes immediately glazed over. It was a very deliberate affectation. She stopped jumping. ”What do you mean?” she asked blandly.

”It's obviously part of the munitions that were stolen from your depots last night. I'd say it was World War I. That metal has seen at least seventy years' worth of air and water eating away at it.”

Helene's stomach knotted. The thefts were not yet public knowledge. As far as everyone was concerned, the bombing at the emba.s.sy was separate from the explosions that were still designated as accidents at the deminage depots.

Helene scrutinized Remo carefully, as if seeing him for the ?rst time.

”You are with your State Department?” she asked ?nally.

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