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."There was a large TV on a metal chassis at the end of the conference table.Ata sign from Fritz, an armed skinhead switched the set on.The screen wasfilled with an image of the famous Paris Opera House.Still a relatively newaddition to the city, it had been constructed during the tenure of thepresident's predecessor.It was a huge, curving semicircle of glass and metal.The facade of thebuilding arced up from its cold concrete foundation and swung high into theair, stabbing back down sharply on the far side.To many the building was an ugly blot on the city landscape.The currentpresident of France shared this view.On the television screen, early-morning sunlight glinted off its many panes ofglass.They were seeing the Paris Opera House as it looked right now.Therewere three trucks parked in close to the front of the building.They appearedto be unoccupied."We have taken control of your television stations," Schatz said, as if thiswere so obvious that the mere mention of the fact was superfluous.Schatz nodded to the back of the room.In the rear yet another old Nazi bowedhis understanding.He spoke furtively into a telephone in his gloved hand.Schatz turned his attention to the screen.Fritz and the other troops watchedexpectantly, sparks of eager anticipation in their eyes.The president of France looked on with dread.For a long moment nothinghappened.Perhaps it will not happen, the president of France thought.Perhaps sheerwill can keep this evil-There was a sudden flash, so huge, so shocking thatall watching-with the exception of Nils Schatz-blinked their eyes insurprise.The trucks with their stolen surplus ordnance exploded upward and backward.The face of the ugly glass building burst apart in a blinding, sparkling flashof fire and smoke.In an instant the building seemed to hang in the air like a pointillistPage 79 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlpainting, then collapsed in on itself, filling the square before it with hugeplumes of smoke and dust.Tiny sparkling glass crystals danced on the chokingdust cloud as it raced forward like an angry gray fog.In seconds it hadenveloped the stationary camera.Schatz let the frozen French president dwell on the image for more than aminute.At last he switched the television off."You have seen the DGSE reports," Schatz said with a patient nod."You knowhow much of our materials we have reclaimed.I need you to believe me when Isay that I possess the capability to destroy major strategic and culturalportions of this city.You alone can stop me from doing this.You alone cansave your people a great deal of pain and anguish." He again offered the goldpen to the president."It will make my work so much easier," he added.The president considered his options.He found he had none.There was no telling where the bombs might be.And there were many.That thepresident knew beyond a doubt.They could be everywhere.Even in the palace.Schatz had already demonstrated his might and his willingness to use it.Histroops had commandeered French broadcasting.He had proved his seriousness inthe destruction of the opera house.He had even taken over the palace of thepresident himself.He was ruthless and efficient.With a small army at his disposal.There was no other choice.The president's hand shook with impotent rage.Without a word, he took theoffered pen from the new fuhrer.Chapter 23Remo moped around the headquarters of Source until late in the afternoon.Helene was gone.Apparently her fight with Remo had sent her back to France.Or perhaps she was elsewhere in England.For most of the day, he didn't carewhere.He only became upset at around two o'clock when he realized that she had takenher phone with her.Without the phone Smith would have no way of contactinghim.Remo wished for a brief time that he had his own cellular phone.It seemedlike everyone else had one.Helene.Guy Philliston.Even Smith had a pager.However, he had never been very good at keeping track of gadgets.Smith hadonce given him an expensive two-way satellite communications device.Remo hadbroken it the first time he used it.After that Smith had relied on thetelephone system.It had always worked in the past.Until now.Remo paced back and forth beforethe windows along the Trafalgar Square side of the office.He rotated histhick wrists absently as he walked."You are making me dizzy," the Master of Sinanju complained.He was sittingcross-legged atop one of the empty desks.A bone-china cup filled withsteaming tea sat in a gilded saucer.A delicate rose pattern adorned both cupand saucer."I can't just sit here," Remo grumbled."Why not?" Chiun asked, tipping his aged head."Have you forgotten how?"He picked up the teacup in his bony hand and brought it to his parchment lips.He sipped delicately.Remo stopped pacing.He looked once more at the empty square and then back at the Master ofSinanju.After a moment's pause he walked over to the desk next to Chiun.Climbing atop it, he dropped into a lotus position on the desk's barrensurface."You see," Chiun intoned sagely, "it is not as difficult as you might haveremembered."Once Remo was settled on the desk, Chiun clapped his hands two times,sharply.Like a genie summoned from a lamp, Sir Guy Philliston appeared from a smalloffice that was off to the side of the main Source information center.Hecarried with him a sterling-silver tea set.Chiun had sent Sir Guy out for some proper herbal tea after the Englishman hadPage 80 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlreturned that morning with the inferior, stimulant-laced East India blend.Ittook little effort for him to convince the Source commander to serve the teawhen beckoned.The objects on the tray rattled like a curio cabinet in an earthquake as GuyPhilliston stepped nervously over to the Master of Sinanju."For my son," Chiun ordered.Sir Guy gathered up the teapot and obediently filled a cup from the servingtray with the steaming greenish liquid.He handed it to Remo."The English make wonderful servants," Chiun commented."I once had a Britishbutler.He was a superb lickspittle.""He tried to poison us," Remo reminded him, accepting the tea from Sir Guy."Yes, but he was polite about it," Chiun replied.Sir Guy looked anxiously from one man to the other."Does sir require anythingfurther?" he asked.Chiun waved a dismissive hand."That is all, dogsbody."Relieved, Sir Guy gathered up his serving set.He moved swiftly back insidethe side office.After he was gone, Remo sipped quietly at the tea.He stared out the windowthoughtfully.The Master of Sinanju watched his pupil looking vacantly off into space.Afrown crossed his face."You are troubled," Chiun said.Remo glanced at him."Shouldn't I be?""No.You should not."Remo looked back out the window."Sue me," he said softly."What is it that you find so distressing?"Remo snorted, almost spilling his tea."Haven't you been paying attention towhat's going on?" He set the cup down at his knees."We've got World War IIIthreatening to erupt in Europe.Or at least a second installment of World WarII.According to Philliston's latest intelligence reports out of Germany,every skinhead or skinhead buddy is lining up to march on England.We've gotone of the sickest times in modern history resurfacing right before our eyes."Remo exhaled loudly."That's what's bothering me.""Ah, yes," Chiun observed, "but were you not also troubled before leavingAmerica?""That was different.I was ticked at that incident in New Hampshire.I didn'tthink I was making a difference back home.I'm over that now.This is a bigdeal."Chiun nodded."If you had been able to save the life of that woman whosummoned images of your troubled youth, would you have been pleased?"Remo shrugged."Yeah.I guess so.""You will never change, Remo Williams." Chiun smiled sadly
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