"You had better be right about this," Smith warned MacCleary from the corner of his mouth. Chiun stopped before the CURE director. "Greetings, President Smith," the Master of Sinanju intoned. He offered a formal bow.

"Presi-?" Smith questioned. The word wasn't past his lips before he heard a scuffle behind him. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found a Folcroft visitor leading an elderly patient down the main staircase. Although the female patient was oblivious to the tiny kimono-clad figure, her relative took a long, puzzled look at Chiun.

Coming down behind the two women was the trio of cabdrivers. They went to work on the next set of trunks.

Smith bit his tongue until the pair of women had passed and gotten into a parked car and the cabdrivers were hauling the second trio of trunks. Only when no one was paying them any attention did he grab MacCleary by the arm.

Smith pulled the bigger man up into the building. The first of Chiun's trunks were piled just inside the entrance. Smith steered past them. The first open door he found was to an empty waiting room. Smith took MacCleary inside. To the CURE director's intense displeasure, the old Korean trailed in their wake. "What is this?" Smith demanded, closing the door. His voice was a low hiss.

"The president thing?" MacCleary asked. "It's a long story, Smitty. Sinanju has a history of working for leaders of nations or guys aspiring to be leaders of nations, if you catch my drift. Chiun thinks you want to be president."

Smith's spine grew so rigid for a moment it looked as if it might crack. "And I suppose you didn't attempt to disabuse him of something so patently preposterous?"

MacCleary's face split into a smile. "Hey, I tried, Smitty," he admitted. "But I think he thought I was full of it. He thinks I'm just your lackey. Probably thinks I want to bump you off so I can become president."