"Thank you for your lecture on policy," Smith sniffed. "Now let me tell you something. You seem to have forgotten our basic mission which is to fight crime. That effort will be seriously compromised if Nemeroff and Asiphar are allowed to make this Scambia a haven for criminals."

Remo paused. "So I'm elected?"

"You're elected."

"And what about my vacation?"

"Your vacation?" Smith said loudly. "All right, if you insist upon talking about it, let's discuss vacations. How many weeks a year do you think you're entitled to?"

"With my longevity, at least four," Remo said.

"All right. Where did you spend three weeks of last month?"

"In San Juan, but I was training," Remo said. "I've got to keep in shape."

"All right," Smith said. "But the four weeks you spent in Buenos Aires, in a damned chess tournament? That was training too, I suppose."

"Certainly, it was," Remo said indignantly. "I've got to keep my wits razor-sharp."

"Do you think it was sharp-witted to enter the tournament under the name of Paul Morphy?" Smith said coldly.

"It was the only way I could get a game with Fischer."

"Oh, yes, that game. You spotted him pawn and move, I believe," Smith said.

"Yeah, and I would have beat him too if I hadn't gotten careless and let him capture my queen on the sixth move," Remo said, annoyed to even have to remember the business in Buenos Aires, which had not been one of his brighter moments. "Look," he said hurriedly. "You're too upset now to talk about things like vacations. Suppose I do this job and then we'll talk about vacations? What do you say?"

What Smith said was, "I'll get a file to you. Everything we know. Perhaps something will come out of it. But about all this vacation time…"

Remo turned the dial on the earpiece from fourteen to twelve and immediately Smith's voice went berserk again.