"Remo's a grown man. I left him on a doorstep in my grief and sorrow after his mother died. In doing that, I renounced all right to run his life for him. He's of my blood, but you've made him yours. You have my admiration for that."
And Sunny Joe stuck out his big windburned hand.
The Master of Sinanju grasped his bony wrists, and the sleeves of his kimono came together, swallowing his long-nailed hands.
"Do not think honeyed words and false declarations will trick me," Chiun said thinly.
"I meant what I said sincerely."
"You are a mere trickster. You have demonstrated this. If I shake your hand, how do I know I will retain my fingers?"
Sunny Joe dropped his hand at his side. "I'm grateful you brought my son back to me. Always will be. But he's got his own life now. I won't interfere."
"Will you tell him this?" Chiun said eagerly.
"Don't have to. He knows it."
"You must tell him these things," Chiun hissed. "For sometimes he does not know his own mind. Tell him he must follow the path of his ancestors."
"Which ancestors?"
"His pure-of-blood ancestors," Chiun answered.
"Remo will do what's right."
"Yes, if we make him."
"You and I see things differently, I reckon. I won't tell Remo to go or to stay. It's not my place."
"You are as stubborn and intransigent as he. Now I know where he gets his pigheadedness."
"Walk softly along your trail, chief."
"I will walk as I wish," snapped Chiun, storming off.
In the morning the Master of Sinanju appeared to Remo in his hogan. Remo slept on a bed of colorful Sun On Jo blankets. He came awake the instant Chiun entered, and sat up.
"I am going now," Chiun announced.
"Happy trails," said Remo.
"You are not coming?"
"We've been through all that, Little Father."
Chiun lifted his bearded chin resolutely. "Then I must go."
"If it makes you happy."
"It does not make me happy! Why must you be so—so—"
"Understanding?"
"No!"
"Agreeable?" Remo suggested.
"No!"
" Accommodating?"
"Indian! You are just like your father. Stubbornly—"
"Easygoing?"
" Pah!" And with that the Master of Sinanju turned on his heel and swept out of the hogan.
From the door Remo called after him. "Chiun!"
The Master of Sinanju turned, hazel eyes expectant.
"What about your speech?" Remo asked.
"I will not squander it upon uncaring ears."
Shrugging, Remo reentered his personal hogan and went back to sleep. It was good to sleep late in the morning. It was equally good not to have any responsibilities to wake up to.
There was time enough to figure out where he was going to take his life yet.
As for Chiun, they had come to these crossroads before. It had always worked out. A little vacation from one another was probably a good thing, Remo figured.
And Chiun knew better than to cause trouble before Remo made up his mind about things.
Chapter Five
Anwar Anwar-Sadat checked his solid gold Rolex watch as the Lincoln Continental limousine slithered to a stop before a nondescript building across from the hollow monolith of the United Nations Buildings on Manhattan's Lower East Side.
His watch read 11:55. And around the case in Arabic letters was engraved: Diplomacy Is The Art Of Saying Nice Dog While You Reach For A Stick. Those who met Anwar Anwar-Sadat naturally assumed the engraving was some verse from the Koran. It wasn't. Although Egyptian by birth, Anwar Anwar-Sadat was only passingly acquainted with the Muslim holy book. Anwar Anwar-Sadat was a Coptic Christian. The Bible was his holy book.
No one knew who had authored the diplomatic truism engraved on Anwar Anwar-Sadat's watchcase. Just as no one who knew the stone-faced Copt would ever dream that he possessed anything remotely resembling a sense of humor.
His studious-looking glasses perched on a nose as stubborn as basalt, he exited the limo, buttoned his houndstooth jacket and entered the nondescript building. An elevator took him to an upper floor where he stepped through a black walnut door marked Situation Room and into a dim room where the green-mid-amber screens of a bank of monitors washed the bare white walls with contrasting colors.
A swarthy man at a terminal looked up, stood and said, "Mr. Secretary." He all but bowed.
"General."