Through the open door, men came and went in the identical blue pajamas with the sunburst monogram. "I don't like the look of this."
"Do not fear, Remo. To Japanese eyes, all Koreans look alike."
"Not what I meant," Remo muttered.
Inside they had to leave their shoes and put on paper slippers. Since Chiun did this without complaint, Remo followed suit.
When they checked in, they were given keys.
"We are on the fifth floor," said Chiun as he led Remo to the elevator where more men in pajamas waited. They had the sleepy look of hotel guests, not employees.
"Casual establishment," remarked Remo.
"Customs are strange in this occupied land." Stepping off on the fifth floor, Remo at first thought he had stepped into a morgue.
The walls were beige, and there were no doors recognizable as such. Instead, spaced along the walls were hatches like the drawers in a morgue, set in twos, one atop the other.
"You sure he said fifth floor?" asked Remo, looking at his key.
Chiun nodded. "Yes. The fifth."
"Our rooms must be down the hall. Way down the hall."
But in fact, they were just around the corner. Remo's key number corresponded with an upper hatch. Chiun's the lower.
"Must be storage lockers," said Remo.
"Yes," added Chiun with a frown.
But as they looked around for the corresponding room door, a Japanese in blue pajamas walked up to a wall hatch, unlocked it with his key and calmly crawled into the lighted tube, shutting it after him.
Soft music floated out of the sealed hatch.
"Did you see what I just saw?" Remo asked Chiun. Remo went to his hatch and opened it.
Inside it was like a morgue drawer except there was bedding. Soft fluorescent lights illuminated the sixfoot-long tube. On the bed lay neatly folded a pair of the blue pajamas, sunburst monogrammed pocket side up. There was a TV screen recessed into the ceiling directly over the short white pillow at the far end. On one side was a control panel for lights and TV
"I'm not sleeping in this!" flared Remo.
"Nor am I," huffed Chiun. "It is an insult!" They turned back, heading down to the lobby. The clerk patiently explained in English that they had no rooms. Only "capsures."
"What's he saying?" Remo asked Chiun.
"Capsures," repeated Chiun.
"I heard that. What's he mean?"
"This capsure hoteru," the clerk said briskly. "No rooms."
"We want our money back," said Remo.
"Sorry, you open hatch. Room is rented. No refund."
"It's not a room," Remo retorted. "It's a freaking drawer."
"You open, you rent. Sorry."
"I have not opened mine," proclaimed the Master of Sinanju, slapping his key down with a flourish.
"You may reave," the clerk allowed.
"Not without refunds," insisted Remo.
"If you insist, I wirr summon porice."
"Yes, call your constables," flared Chiun. "We refuse to knuckle under to your barbaric customs."
"No, don't do that," Remo said hastily. And lowering his voice, he whispered urgently, "We're wanted. Remember?"
"I am not wanted. Some mustachioed impostor is." Remo rolled his eyes.
Turning to the stone-faced clerk, he asked, "Look, can you recommend a good hotel?"
"Yes. This one very good."
"Other than this one," Remo said wearily.
"We have branch in Shinsaibashi District."
"It have rooms?"
"Sunburst Hoteru chain never offer room. We are budget hoteru. Offer exerrent economy for weary traverer."
"Remind me to extract Smith's fingernails one by one when we get back," growled Remo, collecting his shoes.
DAWN WAS BREAKING at the Osaka International Airport.
"So how do we pull this off?" said Remo. "Disguises?"
"I do not require a disguise," said Chiun. "They are seeking an impostor, not me."
"Count on them rounding up every Korean they can lay hands on and sorting them out later. You're not out of the woods yet."
"Nevertheless, I intend to board the next aircraft leaving this hateful land, with or without you."
Remo looked concerned. "Maybe if we go in separate entrances . . ."