"Destroyer 029 - The Final Death.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

38
airplane seats and denies his father all good things." Chiun stopped.
"Well?" said Remo.
"Well, what?"
"How does it turn out? What happens to our hero and this ungrateful American son whose name probably turns out to be something like Remo Williams?"
"I have not yet written the ending," Chiun said.
"Why not?"
"I want to wait and see how good a job you do as my agent first," said Chiun.
Remo took a deep breath. "Chiun. I've got something to tell you and . . . and I'm glad the telephone is ringing because I won't have to tell you."
The caller was Dr. Harold W. Smith.
"Remo," he said. "I want you and Chiun to come to Woodbridge, Connecticut."
"Wait a minute. Don't you want to know how everything went in North Dakota?"
"It went fine. I heard about it. Did you bring back the $10,000?"
"I used it to tip the cabbie," Remo said.
"Please, Remo. Your attempts at humor are disconcerting."
"You think that's disconcerting, try this. I wasn't joking. He drove me to my hotel and didn't say one word. It was worth every penny of it."
"I'll pretend that I haven't heard any of that," Smith said in his dry, precise voice. "Woodbridge, Connecticut."
"Can it wait?"
39
"No. We are going to a funeral."
"Your treat or mine?"
"Be at the Gardner Cemetery at 7 a.m. And Remo?"
"Yes?"
"Bring the $10,000," Smith said, and hung up before Remo could tell him again, truthfully, that he had given it to a cab driver.
Remo replaced the receiver. Chiun was still standing motionless on the rice mats in the center of the room.
"And the title of this beautiful drama is. . . ." Chiun began.
"Little Father, I've got bad news for you," Remo said.
"Oh. How does that make this day different from any other?"
"Your beautiful drama. I won't be able to deliver it right away, because I have another assignment from Smith."
Chiun rolled up the sheets of parchment. "That is all right," he said. "I can wait a day or two."
40
Chapter Three
The body of Vincent Anthony Angus was borne to its final rest in the Gardner Cemetery in Woodbridge, Connecticut, by a caravan of Cadillacs.
The long procession of shiny black ears passed through the heavy iron gates of the cemetery and past three men who stood in the early-morning chill near the cemetery's stone wall. Chiun wore a light-yellow robe, Remo a shortsleeved shirt and slacks. Dr. Harold Smith looked like a fuzzy gravestone, wearing a gray suit, gray overcoat, gray hat, and the grim gray pallor of a man whose universe is bounded by office walls.
Smith said hello to Remo and ,Chiun as they arrived.
41
Remo said, "Wait a minute," and unbuttoned Smith's topcoat. "Just checking," he said.
"Checking what?" asked Smith.
"Same suit, same vest, same white shirt, same stupid Dartmouth tie. I've got this picture in my mind of a closet filled with these same clothes and stretching on to eternity. And in the cellar of the White House, they have this laboratory and it's making dozens of windup Doctor Smiths to fill those clothes. And they're going to keep sending them out, sending them out, to order me around and around and around and. . . ."
"You're very poetic this morning," Smith said. "You're also late."
"I'm sorry. Chiun was busy rewriting his great new work."
Chiun stood behind Remo, his hands up the sleeves of his pale-yellow kimono, his sparse wisps of white hair blowing in the morning breeze like smoke.
"Good morning, Chiun," Smith said.
"Greetings, Emperor, who is as wise as he is generous. Your glory knows no bounds. Your telling will know no antiquity. Your wisdom will be spread on the sands of time forever. This humble thing shall earn your fame in Sinanju 20-fold."
Smith cleared his throat. "Errr, yes. Of course," he said. He pulled Remo to the side. "He wants something from me. What does he want from me? I already send enough gold to that village of his to finance a small country. Now, that's it. No more raises in the tribute.
42
I'll hire Cassius Muhammid to train you if he raises the price again."
"You don't have a thing to worry about, Smitty," said Remo. "He's not after your money."
"What then?"
"He thought with all your connections you might know somebody in the TV business."