Although Smith's lips pursed unhappily, it was Howard who broke in.
"I know this is hard for you, Remo," Mark said reasonably. "The three of you have worked as a team for a long time. I can see how you'd see me as an intrusion."
"Buddy, intrusion is way down the list," Remo said. "I mostly see you as a waste of space with just a smattering of pain-in-the-ass tossed in for good measure."
A dark thundercloud crossed the Master of Sinanju's leathery face. In a swirl of silken robes he swept around Smith's desk.
"You will excuse us, O Emperor, but your humble servants have taken up enough of your precious time. We will leave you and your young princeling to the work of governance."
"Yes," Smith agreed, his flint eyes trained on Remo. "Perhaps that would be wise."
Chiun gave a curt bow. "Move, lout," he barked, kicking Remo's feet.
With a deep sigh Remo pushed himself up from the couch. Before he'd even stood, a bony hand seized his bicep.
"Come, loudmouthed one."
"Yeah, yeah," Remo muttered.
Like a child being led to the woodshed, he allowed the old man to guide him to the door. Before they'd reached it, Remo paused abruptly. When he turned back there was a look of sincere concern on his hard face.
"Are you okay with all this, Smitty?" Remo asked quietly.
Across the room, the CURE director seemed lost behind his big desk, a wasted figure propped up from another age. Behind him, the one-way picture window overlooked the cold waters of Long Island Sound. A fitting backdrop to the thin, gray man. In that instant Smith had never looked so old.
"It will work out for the best, Remo," Smith promised, giving a tight nod. His bloodless lips were drawn into a grimace that could have been either a smile or indigestion.
"I agree with Dr. Smith," Mark Howard said. "I think we all just need a period of adjustment."
"Tell me how well you've adjusted when they're tying on your toe tag," Remo said, annoyed. He winced as a long fingernail ground into his lower back.
"You have made enough friends today," Chiun whispered harshly. He popped the door and propelled his pupil into the outer office. The old man whirled rapidly on the others. "This is truly a momentous time, about which poets will be inspired to write odes and songsmiths will compose joyous anthems," Chiun sang. "May the wings of a thousand doves echo the celestial chorus that heralds this, the first day of your new great dynasty. All hail Emperor Smith and his heir, Prince Howard."
With a formal bow to the two men in the office, he backed from the room, pulling the door shut behind him. The bolt had barely clicked in the frame before he was whirling to face Remo.
"What is wrong with you?" the old man snapped in Korean.
"Me?" Remo growled. "What's wrong with you?"
At her desk, Eileen Mikulka's wide face grew anxious. She couldn't understand the language the two men were arguing in, but whatever they were saying didn't sound good.
"It was your behavior that was inexcusable," Chiun accused, his hazel eyes burning. "And in front of Smith's lackey, no less. How do you expect to curry favor with him when your every word is an assault?"
"Hmm. Let me think about that one," Remo said, tipping his head in mock thought. "Oh, yeah. I don't."
Spinning, he marched out into the corridor. The Master of Sinanju flounced after him.
"Are you so resistant to change?" Chiun asked, bouncing along at his elbow. "You cannot be blind to Smith's age."
"You're a lot older than him and you do okay."
"Even you are not so stupid, Remo," Chiun said. "Everything that is not Sinanju is less than Sinanju. Smith, while an adequate emperor, is just a man. We need to think about a contingency plan if the unthinkable happens."
"Unthinkable means you don't think about it."
"One of us must think once in a while," Chiun said. "May the gods have mercy on us if that someone is you."
They were at the fire exit. Remo stopped dead. "Always the goddamn mercenary," he muttered. Chiun's back stiffened.
"I do what I must to feed the people of Sinanju," he sniffed. "And they are fortunate that they have me to rely on. If it were up to you, we would be sending the babies home to the sea, their bellies swollen with hunger."
"I got news for you," Remo said. "It already is up to me. Half the gold that goes to those fat-faced freeloaders is my paycheck. Anytime now they're gonna be all my responsibility, so back off."
For an instant, Chiun seemed to expect more from Remo, but the younger man merely turned away.
Remo slapped the fire door open, ducking into the stairwell. Chiun slipped through behind him.
"The coffers of Mad Harold are deep," Chiun argued, his voice growing subdued. "Given his health, we cannot afford to squander every opportunity to dance attendance on his heir."
"Tell you what. You dance-I'll sit this one out."
"If you cannot be pleasant at least remain silent," Chiun said. "I will curry favor with him."
On the ground-floor landing Remo paused. "You're amazing, you know that?" he laughed mirthlessly. "You're the one who's always beating me over the head with the scrolls of Sinanju. You're always going on about tradition this and the lesson-of-Master-that, but the minute your mood of the moment doesn't gibe with your so-called sacred history, you chuck five thousand years of Sinanju precepts into the fire in exchange for cold hard cash." He crossed his arms. "Or have you forgotten about Wo-Ti?"
The wrinkles of Chiun's face grew very flat. "What of him?" he said dully.
"'No Master of Sinanju shall serve a succeeding emperor,'" Remo recited by rote. "Wo-Ti got that from getting stuck serving two pharaohs in a row."
The flesh around the old Korean's mouth tightened. "I will not be given a lesson in Sinanju history by you," Chiun intoned, his voice steel.
"Why? Because I'm right and you're wrong? Wo-Ti's lesson has been passed down from Master to Master for centuries, but when the bank account gets threatened we just conveniently shove it to one side and slap on a set of blinders. Problem solved. But there is still a problem, Chiun, and you know it. What's more, I know it, because you're the one who hammered it into my skull." He exhaled hotly. "Just forget it. I'm outta here," he snarled.
His final word delivered, Remo spun away from his teacher. He shoved the outside door open and strode angrily out into the morning light. When the door slammed shut, the walls of the stairwell shook from the force.
Alone on the landing, the Master of Sinanju remained fixed in place. His face unreadable, he studied the door through razor-slitted eyes.
In another, younger time Chiun might have been furious at such an outburst from his pupil. But things were different now. Remo's emotions were not his own. The younger Master of Sinanju had encountered too much difficulty of late. And there was the promise of more looming just over the horizon. Remo's anger was in part due to his frustration. His spirit understood that something momentous was coming, but his mind could not yet see it.
This was only part of why the old Korean could not be angry at Remo for having the temerity to quote the lesson of Wo-Ti to him, the Reigning Master.
Chiun could not rebuke his pupil for his insolence because in his heart he knew that Remo was right. As Reigning Master, Chiun was custodian of the most sacred teachings of Sinanju. Yet in that moment Remo had proved himself the better guardian of the traditions of their ancient discipline.
In the wan light of the stairwell, Chiun's thin beard quivered. His hands were clenched impotently at his sides.
After a long moment he turned away from the door. Stone-faced, the old Asian padded down the stairs to the basement. To be alone with his troubled thoughts.