Snapping a telephone off a taboret, Remo hit the one button. Relays clicked, initiating an untraceable call to Folcroft Sanitarium, the cover for CURE. After a moment, a distinctly lemony voice came on the line.
"Remo."
"Smitty, you owe me."
"Remo?"
Remo made his voice hard. "You framed me for a murder I never committed, railroaded me into the electric chair and buried me in absentia."
"I am still looking for your missing daughter," Smith said hastily.
"This isn't about her. It's about Chiun."
"What is wrong with Chiun?"
And Remo lifted the receiver in the Master of Sinanju's direction.
As if on cue, Chiun brought his nails ripping down again. He threw in a low moan of repressed rage. "Is he dying?" Smith asked anxiously.
"If he doesn't get another crack at the Nishitsu Corp, someone will be," Remo said pointedly.
"I am still working on the logistics of it. I may have a safe plan of attack for you soon."
"How about we get on the road to speed things up.
"Are you certain it is necessary?" And Remo lifted the receiver again.
This time Chiun punched a hole in a new wall and pulled out a mass of wiring.
"My honor must be avenged!" he cried. "Why will the gods not hear my beseeching entreaties?"
"You know it's urgent when he starts invoking the gods," whispered Remo. "Normally he doesn't acknowledge any gods."
"I will make flight and hotel arrangements," said Smith.
"You'll be glad you did," said Remo, hanging up. Turning to the Master of Sinanju, he said, "We're on."
Chiun flung a nest of wiring away with such force it adhered to the wall like tossed spaghetti.
"At last. At last my ancestors will again rest in peace."
"Not to mention this descendant," Remo said dryly.
THE NORTHWEST AIRLINES flight to Osaka had more than its share of Japanese passengers, and their faces stiffened when the Master of Sinanju stepped aboard, resplendent in his apricot kimono with silver stitching.
Chiun glared at every Japanese face that dared glare at him first.
By the time the plane filled up, the cabin atmosphere was thick with glaring.
Chiun took his accustomed seat over the left wing. He wore the jade nail protector designed to protect the stub of the injured nail he was cultivating, and curled the finger in the palm of a clenched fist so it could not be noticed.
"Let's not have a scene," Remo whispered. "it's gonna be a long flight."
"Agreed. We will talk of Korea to pass the long hours until we perform this important service our Emperor demands of us."
"Feel free."
Chiun raised his voice. "Have you ever heard of the feared kamikaze warriors, Remo?"
"Yeah. What's that got to do with Korea?"
"Everything." Chiun lifted his voice to an even higher register. "It was during the era of Kublai Khan, who wished to subjugate Japan, a noble goal. Kublai had first conquered Korea, an ignoble goal, from there to launch his invasion by sea. But Kublai impressed Korean shipbuilders to build his war fleet."
All through the cabin, Japanese heads cocked to catch the words of the Master of Sinanju.
"Are Koreans good shipbuilders?" asked Remo. "I know they were excellent horsemen."
"Yes, Koreans were excellent shipbuilders-when building ships for Koreans, not oppressors."
Remo nodded. He used to listen to Chiun's accounts of his homeland with one ear. Now that he knew Chiun and he shared a common ancestry, he was more interested.
"The day came that the invasion fleet of the Khan set sail for Japan," continued Chiun, his voice growing in fullness. "Mighty were its vessels, packed with soldiers and horsemen. Fearsome was the fate that awaited Japan, the unprotected."
The Japanese passengers became very still in their seats now.
"Then a mighty wind blew out of the north," said Chiun. "A typhoon, Remo. It tossed the fleet of the Khan about. They wallowed helpless in the waves. The warships fell apart, foundered and sunk. The noble invasion was never to be. The fearful Japanese, beholding this with their own incredulous eyes, named this storm Kamikaze, which means 'Divine Wind.'"
All through the cabin, Japanese heads bobbed in agreement with the words of the Master of Sinanju. "But in their ignorance, they never suspected the truth," Chiun added quickly.
The agreeable bobbing stopped.
"The Master of that time sunk the ships, right?" asked Remo.
Chiun shook his wise old head. "No."
"No?"
"No," said Chiun, waving his jade nail protector in the air without realizing. "That had nothing to do with Sinanju and everything to do with Japanese ignorance and arrogance. For the Korean shipbuilders who constructed the fleet of Kublai Khan did so with inferior lumber and weak nails. Any storm would have sunk the fleet. The Khan never knew this, so no retribution was visited on Korea. The Japanese never imagined this, so they believed themselves to be under divine protection, which accounts for their insufferable arrogance."
All through the cabin, the glaring of turned Japanese faces grew venomous.
"Look," said Remo, "can we get off this subject? No more Korean stories, okay?"
"If you insist," Chiun said thinly. Chiun was silent for only a short time.
"Have you noticed, Remo?" he asked over the windup whine of the 747's turbines.