"He is saying the airport is closed at this hour. I am saying it will be opened for us."
"Little Father, they're going to be waiting for us."
"Good."
"To arrest us."
"That they will never do."
"What say we crash for the night and figure out something in the morning?"
"What hotel did Smith say he secured for us?" asked Chiun.
"The Sunburst. Knowing Smith, it's probably the cheapest fleabag in Osaka, too."
Chiun relayed that information to the taxi driver, and they were off.
They were cruising the neon-bedazzled streets of Osaka not long after. Like Tokyo, the city might have been a gigantic laboratory for company logos. Every building and tower seemed to shout a name in English and Japanese.
Seeing little police-cruiser activity, Remo relaxed slightly. "Looks like the manhunt has quieted down," he told Chiun.
Then Remo saw the Sony Jumbotron TV screen mounted high on an office tower overlooking the heart of the city-an artist's composite sketch of the Master of Sinanju was being telecast to all of Osaka, if not Japan.
Remo lowered his voice. "Little Father, don't spook the driver, but your face is on the giant TV screen up there."
"Where? Where?"
"I said don't make a fuss," Remo hissed. Then Chiun did.
Catching a glimpse of the face shown in full, Chiun's own face collapsed in anger. "That is not me!"
"Chiun!"
"Look, Remo, they have desecrated my face with a mustache. I wear no mustache. And those eyes! They are Japanese, not Korean. How dare they! We must sue for satisfaction."
And switching to Japanese, the Master of Sinanju called for the driver to stop.
Chiun got out, walked to the sidewalk opposite the giant image, which had receded into a floating graphic beside the head of the Japanese network anchorman, and frowned up at the colossal screen.
"They have insulted me."
"Look, people are going to notice us," warned Remo, looking around warily.
Catching a passerby, Chiun took him by the back of the head and directed his face to the Jumbotron screen.
"Is that me?" Chiun asked in English.
The Japanese looked up. Chiun directed his head at his own face, then redirected it back at the screen. "Is it?" Chiun demanded.
The Japanese man began shaking his head no. Vigorously.
"See, Remo. Even he does not see the likeness."
"That's because he doesn't understand English and you're shaking his head for him," Remo argued.
"I am not," said Chiun as the hapless Japanese's tongue began wagging like a dog's tail. His eyes rattled like crazy dice.
"You are. He's trying to get away."
"Then I will grant him his wish," said Chiun, releasing the man.
The Japanese stumbled away, holding his head and staggering off like a salaryman full of saki.
"There is the proof," said Chiun. "If he thought that wretch was the Master of Sinanju, he would have called for my arrest."
"Right now all he's calling for is a doctor."
Chiun glared at the image on the screen. "Remo, have you any coins?"
"Sure, why?"
"Never mind the why. Let me borrow the largest." Remo dug into his pocket. "A Kennedy half dollar do?" he asked.
Chiun accepted the fat, gleaming coin. "It is perfect."
Flipping it, Chiun made the coin bounce and sing. He flipped it several times. Each time the coin spun higher, singing at a higher pitch.
On the fourth flip, the coin shot up, then angled across the street, as if suddenly pulled by a giant magnet.
Before Remo knew it, the Jumbotron screen winked out, leaving a tiny hole that smoked.
"There," said Chiun, satisfied. "Now we will go to our hotel."
"You're going to get us tossed in the local pokey if you keep this up."
But Chiun padded on, serene in the knowledge that he had righted a severe injustice done to him.
In the neighborhood of the hotel, Remo started noticing people walking around in what appeared to be thin blue pajamas. The pajamas all had the same sunburst crest over the blouse pocket.
"What kind of outfits are those?" Remo asked Chiun.
"Pajamas."
"That's what I thought. This a new Japanese custom? Wearing pajamas at night?"
"I do not know."