Normally, after a dozen or so chirps, an electronic relay kicked in and Remo got a ringing bell.
This time, the chirping simply stopped and he was listening to dead silence.
Remo hung up and tried again. This time, he didn't get so much as a chirp.
"Something's wrong with this phone," he complained, turning.
And the severed plastic line to the wall plug clicked onto his Italian leather shoes.
Remo looked down, saw the neatly snipped end, and looked toward the Master of Sinanju, who sat on his reed mat like a wispy little Buddha, as if he had not moved. Remo hadn't seen or heard him move. Chiun was the only person on earth who could slip something past Remo. His long-nailed bird-claw hands rested open and loose on the bright lavender lap of his kimono. Those deadly nails, Remo knew, had severed the line.
"I gotta contact Smith," he said. "He'll be frantic."
"Exactly."
"He'll put his entire computer system to work tracking us down," Remo said.
"Let him."
"Look, if you won't let me call him, at least tell me where we're supposed to be."
"In a certain city."
"Does this certain city have a name?" Remo wondered.
"Yes."
"What's it called?"
"Miami."
Remo blinked.
"This Miami?"
"Do you know of any other Miami?"
"No," Remo admitted. "But that doesn't mean anything. I've been to three Daytons and five Quincys in the last five years. There might be another Miami tucked up there in Alaska. Smith happen to say Miami, Florida?"
"He said Miami. I took him to mean this very Miami."
Remo's dark eyes took on a puzzled gleam. "So we're hiding out in the place he told us to go?"
"Exactly."
"Any particular logic to that?"
"Yes."
"Care to enlighten a colleague?"
"If such a person existed, I would."
"Har de har har har. How about telling me?"
"Wisdom bestowed upon a monkey is wisdom squandered. But Cheeta Ching will soon be on, so I will tell you in return for silence."
"Deal."
Chiun hit the volume control, silencing the set. The local news was on.
He turned on his mat. Remo brought up his mat. He assumed a lotus position identical to Chiun's own. Their eyes-unalike except for a similar deep confidence-reflected one another. Otherwise they were as different as two people could be. Chiun was tiny, and looked frail in his garish kimono. Remo was tall, lean, and wore a white T-shirt and brown chinos. His hair and eyes were almost the same shade as his pants.
"I am the Master of Sinanju," said Chiun in a low voice.
"True," said Remo agreeably.
"You are a Master of Sinanju."
"Also true."
"Together we are the only true living Masters of Sinanju, the greatest house of assassins in the history of this planet."
"No argument there," agreed Remo.
"We are the best. I am the very best. You are somewhat less than the best, but good nonetheless."
Remo brightened at the rare compliment. Chiun, seeing that he had overpraised his pupil, instantly amended his rash judgment.
"At least adequate," he said. "Better than most monkeys."
"Cut to the chase," grumbled Remo.
"Smith has hired us because he wished the best. Without us his silly organization, which he continually harps does not exist-"
"Officially exist," Remo corrected.
"Without us, his organization would be toothless. For over twenty winters we have served him. In harsh times and glad times. Yet now he argues over tiny matters. Insignificant details in our new contract."
"Like what insignificant details?" Remo wanted to know.
"Such as gold."
"Since when is that insignificant?"
"Since he refuses to acknowledge its importance."