"Oh. So they're on the permanent shitlist?"
"We will never work for Turkey so long as we honor the memory of Wang, whom the pharaohs saw fit to honor in the form of a stone lion wearing the face of he who discovered the sun source."
Remo took up another mailer. "Here's Iran. I guess we can add that to the unfavorable pile, right?"
"They still persist in misnaming themselves?"
"Yeah. The mullahs still rule."
Chiun closed his eyes and seemed to be sniffing the air. "The melons of Persia haunt my dreams," he breathed.
"It's not Persia anymore, and I'll bet the melons are as bitter as the people these days."
"Place their entreaty in the undecided pile."
Remo frowned darkly. "No way will I work for Iran."
"Perhaps they can be persuaded to go back to the old ways."
Reluctantly Remo made a new pile and a mental note to shit-can the message from Iran the first chance he got.
"Do I have any say in this?" he asked, reaching for another mailer.
"Yes."
"Good. I don't think I could be happy in a country where English isn't spoken."
"You also speak Korean."
"Okay, I could live with South Korea."
Chiun scrunched up one eye while the other regarded Remo coolly. "North Korea would be preferable. For did not Kim Jong II offer to employ us only last year?"
"Where's that letter from England?" said Remo, looking around hastily.
"England is cold and damp. It is not good for my aging bones. But I will consider England."
"How about Ireland?"
Chiun shook his head gravely. "A vassal state. We cannot lower ourselves, although it is said that the Celts are the Koreans of Europe. I will allow it to be placed in the undecided pile."
"I didn't notice anything from Canada."
Shrugging thin shoulders, Chiun said, "We have never worked for Canada. They may not know of us."
"Damn. How could the Canadians forget about us?"
"They are too new. They have no history, being merely another vassal state of Great Britain."
"Still, I could live with working for Canada. That is, if America doesn't come through."
The phone rang and Remo's eyes went to it. It was the house phone, not Chiun's 800 line.
"Must be Smitty," Remo said, jumping to his feet.
"Remo! Do not rush to answer. It would be unseemly. Allow the bell to sound twenty times before touching the device."
"Twenty? Who'd hang on the line twenty rings?"
"Emperor Smith," said the Master of Sinanju.
Remo waited, counting twenty-one rings. Then Chiun signaled him to answer.
"Smitty, any good news?"
"No. We are having trouble locating the funds. I do not suppose a five percent down payment would seal our contract?"
Chiun made a negative shake of his head.
Into the phone Remo said, "Sorry. You know how it is. Cash and carry. No checks. No IOUs. No credit."
And to himself the Master of Sinanju smiled. His pupil was not hopeless, merely slow.
"The Mexican situation has developed into a standoff," Smith was saying.
"That's appropriate. A Mexican standoff with Mexico."
Smith cleared his throat. "We also have a diplomatic problem with Russia."
"How's that?"
"Their duma member Zhirinovsky is missing. Early reports say he slipped into this country via Toronto, but there is no sign of him."
"Try looking in the back of every parked taxi in Atlantic City," Remo suggested.
"Excuse me?"
"If you don't find him there, check out Bismark, North Dakota."
"What do you mean?"
Remo lowered his voice. "I found him drunk on my doorstep. Had to get rid of him somehow."
"Remo, that is not funny."
"Tell me about it. He and his entourage tried to bull their way in and con Chiun into backing their next coup. They didn't get very far."