"Yes."
"And you have not used it?"
"No," Smith said coldly.
Silence.
Smith cleared his throat. "May I come in?"
"Alas, I cannot."
"Why not?"
"I await a visitor."
"Remo?"
Chiun gestured to the still-buzzing doorbell. "No. The repair person who is to fix this balky device is overdue. It will require my full and undivided attention to insure that the job is done properly and without overcharging."
Harold Smith reached out and removed the gum from the buzzer button. It fell silent.
"You may turn him away. The buzzer is functioning again."
Chiun bowed his head. "Great is your knowledge of things mechanical."
"I need only a few minutes of your time."
"Then you may enter."
The Master of Sinanju led Smith up the steps to the meditation tower, where the cool fall sunlight flooded in through the high windows.
The fresh, clean scent of rice clung to the walls and minimal furniture. It was probably steamed into the painted walls forever, Smith reflected.
Chiun waited until Smith had lowered himself awkwardly onto a tatami mat before floating down to his own mat to face him.
"My time is short," he intoned. "You have interrupted my packing."
"You are leaving America?"
"Regrettably."
"May I ask why?"
"This land is full of painful memories I can no longer abide."
Smith frowned. "Where is Remo?"
"I am forbidden to say."
"Forbidden by whom?"
"Remo has gone his own way. Now I must go mine."
"Is this why you are breaking the contract between America and Sinanju?" Smith asked.
"I break nothing. The contract expires on the eve of the eleventh month, where it has always ended. I chose not to renew."
"I would like to convince you otherwise."
"I cannot."
"Why not?"
"I am an old man now. The strenuous work of America is too much for my frail shoulders."
Harold Smith opened his briefcase, removed his automatic and leveled it at the Master of Sinanju's thin breast.
"I do not believe you."
Chiun regarded him without a flicker of concern. "I speak the truth."
"Then I apologize if I have erred, but I am giving you fair warning of my intent to pull the trigger."
Chiun stuck out his chest like a pouter pigeon. "Pull. The wound you inflict will be far less than that inflicted by the ingrate you charged me with training."
The Master of Sinanju closed his hazel eyes.
And Harold Smith squeezed the trigger.
The weapon roared in the close room. The sound made Smith blink once. Gun smoke made his eyes smart.
When they cleared, the Master of Sinanju was sitting serenely just as before, only there was a chill light now in his eyes.
Smith gasped. "What happened?"
"You missed."
"I did not see you move."
"I did not."
"Then where did the bullet go?"
And taking one gnarled hand from his sleeve, the Master of Sinanju uncurved an index finger to indicate Smith's briefcase, which had sat between them.
Smith looked. The briefcase hadn't appeared to move, but on the side facing the ceiling smoked a bullet hole. The lead slug had mashed itself against the leather, stopped only because the lining was plated with bulletproof Kevlar.