218
Remo told him. "Maybe we should get you your own key."
"Er, sorry, Remo," Smith mumbled, adjusting his glasses. "I have only a moment."
"Then you won't mind if I don't ask you to sit down and join us?" Remo returned as he poured the rice into a woven rattan colander. He shook it to drain away the last steaming water.
"Of course not," Smith said, standing in the doorway as if unwilling to trespass further.
Remo tapped a small brass gong over the stove. It reverberated solemnly. "Good," he said. "I only cooked for two."
Chiun swept into the door, saw the rice, and then saw Smith. His placid expression flickered into momentary annoyance. Then, like the sun breaking through clouds, a smile beamed from his pleasantly wrinkled face.
"Ah, Emperor," he said. "You are just in time to join us in a simple repast."
"There's only enough for us," Remo put in quickly.
"Nonsense," Chiun replied. "Remo will have his meal later."
"Chiun . . ." Remo warned.
"It is all right, Remo," Chiun said, pulling out a chair for Smith. "Come, Emperor. I insist."
"Actually, I've eaten," Smith told him, accepting the seat. "I merely wanted to brief you on the aftermath of the Krahseevah matter."
"Then you may do so and observe how the Sinanju assassin ekes out his pitiful existence. Remo, serve, please."
As Remo ladled out helpings of unseasoned brown rice onto two china plates, Chiun launched into a running commentary.
"Notice the simple fare," he told Smith. "Rice. Only rice."
219
"I understand that rice is the staple of the Sinanju diet," Smith said uncomfortably.
"Ah, but we are also allowed to eat duck, and certain fish. Do you see any fish on this meager table?"
"No," Smith admitted.
"I am certain that the Boston Red Sox are eating fish even as we speak. Even the lowliest of them. The ones who are so poorly paid that they earn as much as other menials. Like atomic scientists, brain surgeons, and that underappreciated but necessary minority, the assassin."
"Master of Sinanju, I must tell you in all frankness that you are exceedingly well-paid for your work."
"True," Chiun said simply as Remo sat down and dug into his rice. "I am better paid than the Master who came before me. But he lived in evil times. I am privileged to live in an era when riches are bestowed on persons in all manner of ridiculous professions. I read only the other day that that talk-show woman, Copra Inisfree, is paid millions for her services. Have you ever watched her program, Emperor?"
"No, not really."
Chiun leaned closer. "Most of the time she just sits," he said in a hushed voice. "I would like an assignment where I might simply sit and speak with boon companions, basking in the applause of others."
"I don't think you quite grasp the complex economics here, Master Chiun. As with baseball games, The Copra Inisfree Show is sponsored by commercial firms. They pay her fabulous sums because of the audience she attracts, which in turn purchase their products."
"Then I will attract an audience!" Chiun cried. "It will be the biggest audience the world has ever seen! We will sell their products and we will all become rich men."
Smith looked to Remo helplessly.
Remo took a sip of mineral water in an effort to keep a straight face.
220
"Our work is secret," Smith said stiffly. "You know that."
"But our sponsor is the greatest sponsor in the land. The President of the United States. Surely his coffers can spare a few more gold ingots."
"Please, Master of Sinanju. I have only a few minutes. We can discuss this later. After all, your current contract has nearly another year to run."
"Perhaps you are right. Excuse me while I allow myself a sip of purified water, for it is the only beverage I can afford on my present salary."
Smith sighed. When Chiun put down the glass, he resumed speaking.
"I have been reviewing CIA intercepts of message traffic out of the Soviet embassy down in Washington," he said. "The post is in an uproar. They have not heard from their agent at all."
"That means we've seen the last of the Krahseevah, right?" Remo said through a mouthful of rice.
"So it would seem. They've given up on him and recalled their charge d'affaires to Moscow. Evidently, as his case officer, he will bear the brunt of the responsibility and the punishment for what happened."
"So what did happen to the Krahseevahl Is he dead?"
"I don't really know," Smith admitted. "Going on the assumption that his nuclear constituents were being carried by electrical impulse through the phone system to my telephone, the act of unplugging it before the connection was made could have caused any number of consequences. Perhaps his atoms are still racing through the system. Perhaps they've been scattered or destroyed. When dealing with experimental technology such as this, it's impossible to say. The bottom line is that he's no longer a threat and the Soviets have lost their unrestricted access to U.S. technology. Just in time, too. They may have plundered key parts of our Stealth technology, but without sample RAM tiles
221
to replicate, they might as well be trying to build an operational plane from a child's plastic model kit."
"You know, I just realized something," Remo said. "Except for the Krahseevah-and you actually took care of him-we didn't have to kill anyone this time out."
Hearing this, Chiun dropped a forkful of rice.
"Do not hold this against us, Emperor," he said loudly. "I promise you that this will never happen again. You will have bodies in plenty during our next assignment. For an assassin's worth is truly measured by the blood he spills, and I promise you that soon your swimming pool will brim with the blood of America's enemies."
"But I don't own a swimming pool," Smith protested.
"Have one built. Remo and I will supply the blood."
"Please," Smith said. "I'm just as happy that this assignment produced no unnecessary casualties. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going."
"Let me see you to the door," Chiun said, getting up.