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"You've got heads of state on the premises. You'll need FDAC on all
personnel."
"Nobody told me that." The beer belly and its owner swung pendulously at them.
He apparently decided on belligerence.
"Sorry. You can start the show when you have them. Phone the Department of
Justice, and they'll take care of it."
"Oh. Okay. I'll phone right now. How long it'll take, you think?"
Remo shrugged. "Eight weeks is what they'll tell you, but really it'll take
twelve."
"What? We got a show to do in ten minutes! You can't make us stop the show!"
"Wouldn't dream of it. But we will be required to escort your guest away from
the premises immediately."
"But then we got no show!"
"Then maybe you tell Scruff and Scruffier to cough up some ID. You, too."
Remo glared at the IDs, then ordered Scruff the Youngest and the car-parking
kid to go to school. Scruff the Youngest began sobbing. Remo reluctantly
allowed the show to go on, under his supervision, and he and Chiun took seats
in the audience. The Real People Hour got under way just fifteen minutes
late.
"Don't worry about it folks. We're on tape anyway, and we want everything
perfect before we get the show on the road!" The host was Missy Glosse, whose
complicated hair design and makeup contrasted with her rumpled farm-wife dress
and the cheap set. In fact, the only change made to the show since the very
first program was the host's new hairdo and several new folding chairs.
After a few handshakes and bad jokes, Glosse disappeared into the curtained
livestock stalls that now served as dressing rooms. Minutes later the house
lights dropped and the show started with a blare of music from a portable
stereo. Missy Glosse came on stage and brought out her guest without delay.
"Who is this whelp?" Chiun asked in a voice so quiet only Remo could hear it.
"Don't let his age fool you. The kid is an elected government leader."
Chlun shook his head sadly. "I am not surprised. You elect felons. You elect
actors. You elect professional wrestlers. Why not elect a playground brat?
Democracy inspires idiocy."
"Well, he wants out of our particular democracy," Remo explained. "He wants
Union Island to go independent."
"Ah. Emperor Smith opposes this."
Remo shook his head. "I don't think Smitty give two hoots in a holler about
Greg Grom or Union Island."
Chiun's face pinched. "Then why are we here?" Remo ignored the question. Missy
Glosse was effusing to the audience about her recent vacation on Union
Island.
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"President Grom, your island is just the most beautiful tropical paradise! I
have never experienced anyplace like it!"
"Thank you very much, Ms. Glosse. You know, we can only try to protect our
beautiful country from the ravages we know are coming-no less than total
destruction of the entire island."
"What?" demanded a mortified Missy Glosse.
"You know the poor people of Puerto Rico have been terribly inconvenienced by
the military exercises on their out-islands," the youthful-looking Greg Grom
recited. "The political backlash has been tremendous and the U.S. is looking
for another site-one without a minority population. We have it on good
authority that Union Island has been designated. It's close, it's a U.S.
property and the population is more than fifty-percent white, so the military
can't be accused of racial discrimination."
"But what about that beautiful island and those shining, happy people?" Ms.
Glosse wailed.
Greg Grom hung his head. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his
nose. He looked up a moment later.
"I am sorry. It just makes me so sad to talk about."
"I can't believe anybody falls for this guy," Remo muttered.
"Most of the charlatans vying for ballots in this failing democracy have some
crude acting skills, if nothing else," Chiun observed. "This young faker is
entirely insincere."
Grom was looking straight at the camera now. "Our friends in Washington says
there is a lockdown on these plans, and we've met with nothing but falsehoods
and denials from federal officials. They do not even have the guts to tell us
the truth."
"I haven't seen acting this bad since we did Gift of the Magi in fifth grade,"
Remo complained. "Come on."
"What? Going?" Chiun said. "The show has just begun."
"There's more to see and it's not in here. You coming?"
"Not until I know where."
"Suit yourself."
The entrance had a hand-lettered sign that forbade opening the door during the
taping of the show. A padlocked steel bar kept the door firmly closed.
Standing guard was another family member-in fact, his age suggested he might
be the progenitor of the Glosse species.
"Terlet's in the rear. Can't be opening this door while tape is rolling."
"Terlet's on the stage, if you ask me," Remo replied as he tapped the padlock
and it cracked like brittle glass. It clanked noisily on the wooden plank [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]