There were two colors in Dr. Harold Smith’s world.
Predominantly, that color was gray. It had as much to do with the ethics of actions Smith had to take in the interests of the United States as it did to do with his wardrobe, furnishings, and sallow appearance. The gray actions were not always the cleanest actions, but they were necessary to preserve the Constitution, and to fulfill the charter of the agency he was tasked with leading.
Today was a gray day, with a large dollop of bright pink antacid as Smith continued to listen to Remo’s complaints over the phone.
“We don’t leave loose ends, Smitty,” Remo groused.
“We can assume the entity calling itself Mr. Gordons survived the encounter,” Smith stated flatly.
“Not what I’m talking about,” Remo said. “I know that robot is still out there, and I’ll deal with him when the time comes. But there are still a few more targets out there, like that crazy plant lady. Whoever hired her. The guys who bombed those other bridges.” Smith knew Remo was ticking each item off on his fingers as he spoke.
Smith opened the drawer to his desk to pull out a fresh bottle of antacid. “Dick Joplin has been removed from the picture,” he said, pouring the viscous fluid into the little plastic cup that came with it until it brimmed at the top. “With his death, we have no reason to believe there will be more bridge catastrophes, but I assure you we will continue to monitor activity in that arena.”
“Did you find any connection between Joplin and the DoM-FoCs?” Remo countered. “You didn’t, did you? So there’s still that.”
“I believe Master Chiun sent a message to the Disciples of Mohammad and the Fathers of the Caliphate that was received and understood,” Smith said. He downed the pink liquid and placed the cup on his desk.
“My gut still says there’s more to this, Smitty,” said Remo. “Someone hired that botanist lady to intentionally mislead people. And I still don’t buy that even the DoM-FoCs are incompetent enough to hit abandoned targets.”
“Remo, I assure you that all so-called loose ends have been handled efficiently and efficaciously,” Smith said.
The phone went silent for a minute. “Oh, holy hell,” Remo groaned. “That was us, wasn’t it? Those abandoned bridges…that was us. Our guys did that. Just say it, Smitty. I know it’s true.”
“That will be all, Remo,” Smith said.