Smith allowed a slip of relief to pass his bloodless gray lips. "Thank you, Master Chiun."

"No, no," Chiun said. "The thanks are mine. Thanks that you would honor one so lowly and unworthy as I to bask in the radiant glow of your reflected majesty."

Smith decided to quit while he was ahead. Offering an uncomfortable "you're welcome" to the Master of Sinanju, he turned his full attention to MacCleary.

"Set up some exercises," Smith ordered. "I would like to see what it is we're buying."

Conn's face cracked into a wicked smile. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised," he promised.

He headed out the door. Smith began to follow but felt a bony hand clamp his elbow. When he looked down, the upturned face of the old Korean was filled with cunning.

"I understand completely, Your Royal Presidential Highness," Chiun whispered slyly. "You do not want to make your intentions known before the commander of your palace guard. That is wise, for a king has welcomed betrayal into his court who fully trusts his closest knight." He patted Smith's forearm. "We'll talk later."

With a broad wink Chiun ducked past Smith and headed out into the hallway to check on his trunks. Alone, Smith gripped the door frame until his knuckles turned white. His sick eyes strayed to the fuzzy wallpaper.

With renewed worries of hidden microphones, the CURE director left the small waiting room.

THE NEXT DAY was Saturday.

There was normally only a skeleton work crew at Folcroft on weekends. Smith made certain that there was less staff than usual. It was early in the afternoon, after lunch but before visiting hours, when the three men met once more in Folcroft's basement gymnasium.

The gym was on the far side of the big building, beyond the already closed cafeteria. At MacCleary's insistence, Smith had informed the duty staff that any strange noises they might hear this day would be caused by plumbers working on the sanitarium's ancient boiler-fed heating system.