"Yes. It is already the largest number of criminal leaders ever collected in any one place."
Remo opened his eyes. They were cold steel. "Bomb the whole damn country," he said, his voice perfectly level.
As the CURE director absorbed Remo's dispassionate, almost clinical suggestion, Chiun emerged from the cupboard, a fat pot clutched in one bony hand.
Although the words were strong, the delivery was not. It was as if Remo's idealism had fought a battle with his practical side and realism had won. Yet his old longing for a perfect world still remained.
So distracted was Remo by his own thoughts, he did not even notice that Chiun had begun to test the strength of the cast iron pot by banging it mercilessly on the countertop.
"You are serious," Smith said after a brief pause.
"One hundred percent," Remo replied in a tone icy enough to chill the phone in his hand. "We've been kidding ourselves that we've been making a difference, Smitty. Ever since you bamboozled me into this rinky-dink organization, you've had me running my ass off all over the world supposedly safeguarding American values. Well, rah-rah for the flag and apple pie. I'm telling you those values are shot to hell. If you nuked that whole damn country now, in one fell swoop you'd be taking out an entire generation of predators. You want something that'll make a difference, Smitty? That would make a difference."
"That is not an option," Smith said stiffly.
"It ought to be," Remo replied.
"No, it should not. You and I are of a different opinion," Smith said. "I think we have made a difference. Right now crime is fragmented. But if it is allowed to consolidate under one roof, as it were, there is no telling how much more powerful it could get."
"Don't worry," Remo muttered. "Wait a few years and you'll see." He sighed deeply. "I'll go, Smitty. Because that's what I do. But I'm not happy about the world right now or my place in it, so don't come bitching to me when I rack up a body count on this one."
"Yes," Smith said cautiously.
Periodically during his tenure with the agency, CURE's enforcement arm had lapsed into melancholia. The last time had been about a year ago. But Smith could not remember Remo ever sounding this bad.
"Er," Smith ventured carefully, "perhaps it would be wise if you brought Chiun with you on this assignment."
Across the room, the Master of Sinanju was examining the bottom of his pot in the sunlight that poured in through their kitchen window. At Smith's suggestion, the old Korean scowled. He shook his head violently. The wisps of hair above his ears were cotton blurs.
"He can't," Remo said. "He's already packing for some other trip he won't tell me anything about."
The pot went flying at Remo's head. Remo snagged it before it cracked his skull.
"What?" he asked as the old man bounded across the room.
"I will what you," Chiun whispered, yanking the receiver from Remo's hand. "Remo is in error, Emperor Smith, whose every word is a pearl that enriches my unworthy ears," he announced in dulcet tones. "I am merely in the process of reorganizing my meager possessions. A task suited to one as old and frail as I."
"Frail?" Remo whispered. A sharp elbow caught him in the belly.
"Yes, frail, Emperor," Chiun said, suddenly weary. "I have toiled happily in your employ lo these many years, yet lately a fatigue has set in. Not uncommon for one of my advanced years." He forced a pathetic cough.
"Oh, brother," Remo muttered.
"I hope it is only temporary," Smith said seriously.
"At my age, who knows?" Chiun said. The words were an effort to get out. "My Masterhood has gone on much longer than the norm. Perhaps it is the start of the end for me. We will not know if this is merely a passing debility until I have taken to bed for a week or two. Make it two. And please do not come to visit during that time, for I fear I will be too weak to answer the door. Or the telephone," he added quickly.
"I am sorry to hear that," Smith said. "Remo doubtless could have made use of your expertise as a cultural guide while in East Africa."
Chiun had been handing the phone back to Remo. But at the mention of the country's name, the receiver flew back to one shell-like ear.
"You are sending Remo to East Africa?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
"Yes," Smith said. "But I understand if you cannot-"
"Wait!" Chiun interrupted, breathless. "Is it possible? Yes. My lassitude of body and spirit has vanished. I do not know how you accomplished this miracle, but simply by conversing with you, O Emperor, has my robust health been restored. Your lilting voice alone must act as remedy."
"So you will be able to accompany Remo after all?" Smith asked, confused.
"On wings of doves I do your bidding, Smith, Son of Hippocrates," Chiun proclaimed.
He threw the phone back at Remo.
"Make the arrangements, Smitty," Remo said blandly. "In the meantime, I'll see if his transmission held together with that sudden shift into reverse." He hung up the phone.
Chiun had gathered up his cast iron pot and was on his way out the door.
"What was that all about?" Remo called after him.
"It is called conversation," Chiun replied. "It is a bit more advanced than the grunts and rude hand gestures you are used to."
"Ha-ha. You know what I mean. What was with that line of pap you were feeding Smith? You haven't been tired since I've known you."
"That is not true. I cannot begin to count the times you have exhausted my patience." He slipped from the room.
Hopping down from the counter, Remo dogged him to the bottom of the main staircase.
"I know you," he accused as Chiun mounted the stairs. "You're up to something."
"Yes," Chiun agreed without turning. "I am up to packing my eighth trunk. Summon a carriage to take us to the airport, and you may load the first seven for our trip. I must make haste!"
With that, the old Korean vanished into his room, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter 5
Fortunately for Remo, Chiun packed light, taking only nine of his usual complement of fourteen steamer trunks.
The Master of Sinanju made it Remo's responsibility to see to it that the trunks were undamaged on their transfer flight to New York from Boston's Logan International Airport. After much arguing and a few well-placed bribes, he was allowed to retrieve the cases from the belly of the 747.
"I'm not used to being a luggage monkey anymore," Remo complained as he hauled the trunks through the terminal at JFK International Airport.
The Master of Sinanju marched at his side. "The monkey part should be second nature," Chiun said. "As for the other, bend at the knees, not the waist."
"Har-de-har-har," Remo replied. "What are you taking all this garbage for, anyway? You've been leaving these stupid trunks home the past couple of years."
"You have admitted yourself that you have allowed your baggage transporting skills to deteriorate. What kind of teacher would I be if I let your slide into indolence continue without addressing it?"