"You are not Uncle Sam!"
"The hell I'm not!"
"Uncle Sam would never use such language."
"A lot you know. And who are you two clowns, CIA?"
The question was ignored. Chiun pitched his voice to Remo's roaring ears. "Remo. This man is an imposter. Smite him at once."
"I-I can't!" Remo gasped.
"Banish the pain," Chiun urged.
"It's not the freaking pain. This is Uncle Sam! The real one! I can't hurt him!"
"Nonsense."
"He's got an animatronic freaking heart!"
"Radio-animatronic," Uncle Sam corrected in his famous professorial tone. "Use the correct terminology, please."
"Radio?" It was the dazed voice of the President of Cuba.
The hand slackened its excruciating grip. Remo forced his eyes open. He looked up. Uncle Sam, dressed in the Stars and Stripes, loomed over him, grinning wickedly.
"Controlled and kept beating indefinitely by an outside signal. No need to change batteries, or replace defective parts. They say I've got another ninety years in me, at least."
"You are a machine," Chiun accused.
"I'm just as human as the next guy. I've only been augmented."
"Chiun," Remo gasped. "Don't just stand there debating. Do something!"
The Master of Sinanju's eyes became slits. Coldly, he intoned, "Remo, stand up. Do not shame me before this bearded ruffian of a tyrant. Show that you are worthy of the training bestowed upon you."
"I can't kill him! You know who he is!"
"You must!"
"Look, you do it!"
"Remo! I cannot have the children of Sinanju believing that I dispatched their favorite white in all the universe. You must do this yourself."
Remo started to rise. The hydraulic hand clamped down hard.
"Another move like that," Beasley warned, "and I'll squeeze his hand to bloody pulp."
"Another word like that, and my pupil will grind you into powdered bone meal," Chiun countered.
"I can't do it, Chiun!"
Across the room the Master of Sinanju stood his ground, his hands having retreated to their concealing sleeves. He looked to his pupil, humbled before the very eyes of Mongo Mouse and the others. It was unseemly.
He noticed the bearded tyrant. Castro struggled to his feet.
"Jou," he groaned, addressing Chiun. "I will give jou anything jou name if jou save me from this loco gringo."
"Have you gold?" asked Chiun, interest flavoring his voice.
"Si. Si. As much as jou wish."
"Five billion," Chiun said quickly.
"Que?"
"Five billion in gold. Will you pay?"
"No! It is a preposterous amount. Who do jou think jou are?"
"I am the Master of Sinanju," Chiun said haughtily, eyeing the tyrant to see what his reaction was.
"By the beard of Che! I have heard of you!"
Chiun smiled thinly. "I thought you would."
"Jou are a North Korean."
"Correct."
"The last of my trustworthy allies," the Cuban President said hollowly. "Have they strayed from the Socialist path, as well?"
"I am no tool of Pyongyang," Chiun spat.
"Then who do jou work for?"
"Your mortal enemy."
Castro groaned. "Then I am a dead man."
"Only if this is my wish," Chiun said dryly.
Dr. Osvaldo Revuelta had had enough of this charade. Every moment delayed his assuming the presidency of Cuba, his beloved island.
He stood up, saying, "Enough. It is time to yudge the tyrant. I say, 'Death to Castro!' " He turned his thumb downward. "What say jou, members of the yury?"
One by one, the others followed suit. Mongo turned his white-gloved thumb downward. Dingbat dropped a webbed hand. Wacky Wolf lowered his shortest claw.