"Then read our histories. At least you didn't let them get stolen."
And then, in South Dakota, at the airport, Chiun seemed to go too far, even for Chiun. He refused to leave the parking lot, refused to let any cars move by him, and looked around, ready to take on the world. "There. Even here in this backward part of America they desecrate your parking lots with those signs. You are a decrepit culture. And you're going to get worse."
Chum's long fingernail pointed down to a painting of a wheelchair in the parking lot. The sign showed the space was reserved for the handicapped.
"What's wrong with that?" asked Remo. Even as they were landing, Remo had seen the army forces massing for miles down the roads leading to the Little Big Horn. It was a war he intended to stop. And if he wanted to succeed he didn't have much time to waste in parking lots.
"These are the best spots. They are closest to everything. And they are reserved for the wrong people. They should be given to your best people, your prize athletes, perhaps even to your assassins if your culture had advanced far enough to start producing them."
"Handicapped people are not our worst people. They're people who have been denied certain physical abilities, and as a decent country, unlike some vicious Oriental ones, we take care of them better. If they have a hard time walking, we give them the shortest route. I like it. It's one of the sanest things we've ever done."
"Ruination," said Ghiun. He was not moving.
"What's wrong?"
"You do not see it?"
"No. C'mon."
"Your whole country is doomed."
"You always said it wasn't worth saving anyhow. Let's go."
"And this doesn't bother you?" said Chiun, smiling wanly and shaking his head.
"No. I said so. Let's go."
"I'll explain then," said Chiun. "Many of these people who are in wheelchairs have been injured because perhaps at a moment of' crisis their minds wandered. Maybe they thought of something else while they drove their cars and did not have time to avoid an accident. You are rewarding lack of excellence. And in so doing you are promoting lack of concentration in your populace."
"Chiun," said Remo, "a lot of people suffered accidents that weren't their fault, and a lot of people were born with problems, so let's go."
"There is no such thing as an accident. There are events you have failed to control."
"Chiun, will you tell me what's wrong?"
"Read your histories."
"I'll read the histories. Let's go."
"You promise now because you want to get on to another silly little assignment."
"What's wrong?"
"Armies. I hate armies."
"You loved the assignment back in Flora del Mar."
"I would like anything that would get us out of that dump," said Chiun.
"It was a nice resort. Let's go."
"An army," said Chiun, "steals the bread out of the mouth of an assassin. An army-"
"I know, Little Father. I read the histories of Sinanju," said Remo, and to get him moving repeated that armies terrorized populations, promoted amateurism, instability, and loss of wealth to a host nation, and worse, gave a monarch the idea that perhaps an assassin wasn't necessary. A monarch often thought, wrongly, if he could have a hundred thousand killers for a pittance each, why would he need one assassin who would cost a fortune? There were many examples in the histories of Sinanju of a Master having to show a monarch his army was useless before he could get hired.
And as they drove a rented car toward Little Big Horn National Park, Chiun repeated the examples, with exactly what tribute was given, and at the end of each account he would mention that that tribute too was lost when Remo was off doing other things while Chiun was hot on the trail of the thief.
"We're never going to find that treasure, so stop carping about what you can't do anything about, and let's get on with this assignment."
"I can do something about it," said Chiun.
"Good. Let me know so I can help."
"You can never help."
"Then what is it you're doing?"
"I'm reminding you," said Chiun, nodding in sour satisfaction.
The entire national park was sealed off by military police. No one could enter without a pass. No civilians could stay on the road.
"All civilians should evacuate to the nearest area designated safe, sir," said the MP, his white helmet glistening in the sun, his sidearm polished in its holster, his boots immaculate.
"Thanks," said Remo, gliding past him. He wore his usual dark t-shirt and gray slacks. Chiun had on his gray traveling kimono and refused to wear the black kimono with red trim indicating a Sinanju Master was performing work. He did not think armies should ever be considered work.
The MP issued the threat again.
"Civilians are not allowed in the designated combat zone," he said.
Remo grabbed his brass belt buckle in two fingers and yanked the MP after them to a nearby jeep. Another MP ran up to help, his sidearm drawn. Chiun got him with his fingernails, and pressing nerves in the MP's neck, convinced him that driving them both into the combat zone was in their best interest.
Thus did they pass the miles and miles of cannon, tanks, and half-tracks, with Chiun complaining constantly.
"When I think of the billions your country spends on its armies, every tank costing many millions, every artillery shell costing five thousand dollars apiece, I am appalled at what a mere four hundred billion dollars would do in tribute to Sinanju."
"What would it do? Sit there?"
"The treasures are living things. They span all ages."
"They sit there," said Remo, and Chiun refused to answer such a low and base insult. Of course, he could have said he was planning to move them to a bigger building to show the glories of Sinanju to the rest of the world. But Remo knew that almost every Master for the last twenty-five centuries had planned to do that and never gotten anywhere, so Chiun could not dispute Remo's charge. Instead, he chose to sit in wounded silence.
As they approached the perimeter of the army encampment they heard groans. The morning attack had been called off. Some of these young volunteers complained that they might never get a chance to fire their weapons in combat.
"Armies," scoffed Chiun. "Soldiers."
"I was once a marine," said Remo.