Then he said, "I'll promise not to point the clicker at the TV if you promise not to break it or change the channel for the rest of the evening."
"Done," said Chiun.
And holding the clicker so it pointed at his own shiny reflective brow, Remo pressed the 7 button. The infrared signal hit his forehead and bounced back.
The channel flicked over to 7, and the pretty face of the new Woo appeared.
"What is this! What is this!" Chiun howled.
"Must have pressed the button by accident," Remo said, face bland.
"You changed the channel."
"I didn't point it at the screen," Remo said quickly.
"What white talk is this? Change it back this instant."
"I'd like it the way it is, and don't forget your promise."
Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed suddenly. "Why do you perspire?"
Remo shrugged. "Why not?"
Chiun's eyes squeezed almost shut. His papery lips thinned. "You tricked me!"
"I outwitted you. Maybe. Now settle down. I want to hear what she's saying."
Redirecting his attention back to the screen, Chiun made a sour face. "How can you stand that thin, pasty face?"
"It's makeup, and her face has a nice shape."
"She has the head of a turnip. And she is sunken of cheek and hollow of eye."
The graphic over the new Woo's head showed an explosion. The words Bomb Scare labeled the explosion in scary, shattered red letters.
"Hold on. This may be it," said Remo, reaching for the clicker to turn up the volume.
"Remember your promise," hissed Chiun.
"Oh, right," said Remo.
"And I will not be silent until I have the old Woo back in all her oblate glory."
"Chiun, this is important."
"So is the correct Woo."
"How about we compromise and watch Channel 4?" Remo suggested.
Chiun hesitated. "I may be willing to compromise as long as I am spared the horrid sight of the new Woo," he allowed thinly.
"Good," said Remo, lifting the clicker again.
"No. I must do it. You have made a promise."
Remo hesitated.
"I have promised," said Chiun. "And you have promised. We are prisoners of our promises."
"Okay," said Remo, handing over the remote control.
The Master of Sinanju changed the channel with a quick flourish.
Instead of the expected brunette, there was a new Asian female reporter doing a remote stand-up on Channel 4.
"Who is she?" Remo blurted.
"Aiiee! A Japanese!" shrieked Chiun. "Change the channel."
"I can't. I made a promise."
"So have I," gasped Chiun. "Is there a fourth channel?"
"There's CNN, but you hate them worse than Woo."
"Not more than Japanese."
"What's with this mania for Asian news reporters all of a sudden?" Remo wondered aloud. "Channel 5 had Bev Woo, so 7 countered with their own Bev Woo. Now 4 pulls out this one. What's her name anyway?"
The graphic under the reporter's face said she was Tamayo Tanaka. She was standing against a backdrop of- the Manhattan skyline, hazy with a lowhanging cloud of smoke.
Chiun lifted an apricot kimono sleeve to shield his eyes and said, "I will listen to the strident voice, but not suffer the sight of Japanese countenances."
Remo decided that was okay with him as long as he caught the newscast.
Tamayo Tanaka was saying, "At this hour, the death toll stands at forty-three in midtown Manhattan, where a string of terrorist-style bombings took place during the noon hour today. Authorities are being tight-lipped, but at least thirteen separate explosions took place within a large radius between Pennsylvania Station and the Jacob Javits Center. According to FBI sources, several Middle Eastern terrorist groups have claimed responsibility, but informed sources insist that while they cannot at this time discount a Middle Eastern connection, they are focusing their investigation elsewhere."
"Sounds like militia crazies," said Remo worriedly.
"This is good," said Chiun from behind his sleeve.
"It is?"
"Yes. If terror has gripped this nation, Emperor Smith will have work for us."
"How is that good?"