"Destroyer 078 - Blue Smoke and Mirrors.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

Chiun clenched his bony fists. "Unbelievable! They have all the clubs and yet they let their mortal enemy take over. Why do they not beat them back? Why do they not simply crush their skulls and run around in circles as much as they wish? Thus, they could achieve thousands of useless points after they have eliminated the other team."
"They can't. It's against the rules."
"They have rules?" Chiun's voice was aghast.
25
"Yes, they have rules. It's a game."
"All games are a form of warfare. Chess is one example. And Go another. And intelligent men know that in war there are no rules. With such wealth at stake, they should be defending their position to the death."
"Now, how can they have a contest if they don't let the opposing team have their turn at bat?"
"Did the Greeks allow the Persians to take over their cities?" Chiun countered. "Did Rome cease laying waste to Gaul, and then stand idle while the enemy besieged their own cities so the ultimate victory would not be excessively decisive?"
"It's a freaking game, Chiun."
"It is base. Now I know why they call it baseball. It is a pastime for idiots. They run around in circles for no purpose and are paid richer than royalty. More than an assassin. Why am I not paid this richly? Do I not perform a more important service in this land of cretins? Without me, your American civilization would crumble. Without me, your feeble Constitution would be only a scrap of yellowing paper."
"Louder," Remo muttered. "The neighbors might not hear you clearly."
"I am going to speak to Emperor Smith about this at our next contract negotiation. I demand parity with these base baseball cretins."
"You may not have long to wait. I think I hear knocking at the back door."
"Some journeyman, no doubt," Chiun sniffed.
"No," Remo said suddenly, getting up. "I think it's Smith."
"Nonsense. Emperors always employ the front entrance."
"When Smith accepts that he's an emperor, and not the head of the organization we work for, I'll believe you," Remo said, angrily shutting off the TV on his way to the kitchen.
26
Remo opened the back door on a lemon-faced man in a gray three-piece suit and striped Dartmouth tie. His rimless glasses rode his patrician face like transparent shields.
"Hi, Smitty," Remo said brightly. "Here to complain about the noise?"
"Quick, Remo," Dr. Harold W. Smith, the director of CURE, said. "I mustn't be seen by the neighbors."
Remo shut the door behind Smith.
"Oh, for crying out loud, Smitty. We're next-door neighbors now. You can afford to be seen paying a social call."
The Master of Sinanju entered the kitchen and bowed once, formally. His expressionless face was a mask.
"Hail, Smith, Emperor of America, where hurlers of balls are paid more richly than anyone. Including those closest to the throne."
Smith looked at Remo. "What is he-?"
"I've been explaining baseball to him. He was fascinated by the players' salaries."
"Does that mean what I think it means?" Smith asked in a raspy voice.
Remo nodded grimly.
Smith turned to Chiun anxiously.
"Master of Sinanju, I realize it may seem out of line that baseball players are paid what they are, but you have to understand the circumstances. They are paid out of commercial revenues."
"Then we will do the same," Chiun shot back triumphantly. He raised a finger from which grew a long sharp nail. "I can see it now. We will fly to the ends of this disintegrating empire and after dispatching the enemies of America, Remo will shout for all to hear that this assassination was brought to you by Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, breakfast of assassins,"
"Oh, my God," Dr. Harold W. Smith said hoarsely.
"I'll talk him out of it," Remo whispered. "Relax, Smith. What's that in your hand?"
Biue Smoke and Mirrors 27
Smith looked down at the measuring cup clutched in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. His knuckles were white. He relaxed. His pinched sixtyish features registered doubt.
"Er, oh, this. I told my wife I was going to borrow a cup of sugar."
"Smitty, you know we don't use sugar."
"It slipped my mind. Well, that isn't the real reason I've come. We have a situation on our hands. A very bizarre one."
"Pull up a chair, Smitty. You look pale. Paler than usual, I mean."
"Thank you," said Smith, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Remo and Chiun joined him. Chiun folded his hands on the table. His expression was impassive.
"I don't know how to tell you this," Smith began. "I don't believe it myself, but the President specifically requested that I bring you into this."
"He is very wise," Chiun said blandly. "And healthy, one trusts?"
"Yes, of course. Why?"
"Chiun caught the Vice-President on TV," Remo remarked dryly.
"Youth is overvalued in this country," Chiun said. "It is another of its deficiencies."
"That is not our department," Smith said quickly. He stared into the glass measuring cup as if peering into his own grave. "We have a low-level crisis at a launch-control facility attached to the Grand Forks Air Force Base in North Dakota. They have been plagued by a rash of unexplained thefts."
"Don't tell me someone lifted a warhead?" Remo said.
"No. But critical missile parts are missing. As are certain other . . . things."
"Which things, Emperor?" Chiun asked interestedly.