"No. The guards did. They have graciously consented to allow your vehicle to enter these walls." Unhappily, the driver restored Chiun's steamer trunks and got behind the wheel. He drove through the gates, unaware that the splintering sounds under his wheel were not branches, but finger bones. Seated in back, Chiun decided that the guards were not a token of esteem after all. The physical presence of the Master of Sinanju was not necessary to deter enemies. Merely the knowledge that Sinanju stood by a kingdom was enough. Chiun would so inform Smith-after he scolded him for the rudeness of his new and unnecessary guards.
The lobby-reception-desk person was also new. He declined to allow the Master of Sinanju to see Dr. Smith.
"Dr. Smith isn't allowed visitors," he said firmly. "Unless you are family, which I can see you are not."
"What! Smith denies me!" Chiun flared. "I, who have been like a father to him." The Master of Sinanju waited for the functionary's reaction. It was a white expression he had heard used to good effect on daytime television dramas in the days when they were worthy of his attention.
"You can't be serious," the functionary said.
The Master of Sinanju had heard that expression on TV as well. It was usually followed by the laughter of unseen people-the same ones who laughed at every bad joke yet sat silent during the truly humorous portions of certain offensive programs called sitcoms.
Chiun decided that this person was unimportant and glided past him to the elevators. The functionary called out the word "Guard!" once and Chiun listened to the yelling of the converging guards as the elevator door closed on his stern visage. Something was amiss at Fortress Folcroft. Smith had much explaining to do.
Emerging on the second floor, Chiun was pleased to see the same woman holding forth at Smith's reception desk. She was known as Smith's secretary, an odd designation, Chiun thought, for she knew none of Smith's secrets.
"Hail, servant of Smith. Please inform him of my arrival."
"I ... that is ... you haven't heard. I mean-"
"Why do you babble so, woman? Do this!"
"One moment." She stabbed at an intercom button and said, "There is a ... person here who is asking about Dr. Smith. I believe he's a former patient. "
"Yes, I have been expecting him. Allow him to enter, Mrs. Mikulka."
Chiun's parchment wrinkles scattered at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Before the woman could rise from her seat, he hurried to the door and closed it behind him so rapidly it seemed to Mrs. Mikukla he melted through the unopened panel.
"I am Chiun, Master of Sinanju," Chiun announced in a cold voice. "And if you do not present to me a certain document, I will lay your entrails at your very feet."
The fat man sitting behind Dr. Smith's desk lost his composed expression. Tiny globules-that was the only word for them-of sweat erupted from his corrugated brow.
"Yes. Of course. I have it right here," he said quickly.
The Master of Sinanju accepted the proffered document. His hazel eyes glanced over it; then he returned to the fat man.
"What has become of Smith?" he asked, stiff voiced.
"I am Norvell Ransome. I am the new director of Folcroft. "
"And I do not care. Where is Smith?"
"Dr. Smith is ill. I have taken his place by presidential directive, as that letter implies. I was informed by the Harlequin's captain that you had returned to America prematurely. May I inquire why?"
"No, you may not. I will see Smith."
"That is quite impossible right now. As your superior, I must ask you-"
"You are my superior only in body fat, gross one," Chiun snapped.
"I beg your pardon!" Norvell Ransome exploded. Indignation sent spittle spewing out of his round mouth.
"I do not serve you. Only Smith. No Master of Sinanju is permitted to serve a succeeding emperor, lest it be thought that Sinanju arranged the downfall of the first emperor. Now, I ask again: Where is Smith?"
"I promise you that you will see him shortly. And I have not succeeded Smith, as you so quaintly put it. I am merely replacing him until he is well. I believe that gets around your ancestral injunction against succeeding, er, emperors, does it not?"
"One does not get around correct thinking," Chiun sniffed. "One follows it. Now, Smith."
"As you please," Ransome said nervously. "Come with me."
The Master of Sinanju followed the corpulent man to the elevator, up to the third floor, and to a hospitalroom door.
"Please wait here while I see if Smith is presentable."
"Be warned, I will not wait long."
"I'll only be a moment." And true to his word, Ransome returned shortly to open the door for the Master of Sinanju. The man's body reeked. Every pore exuded mingled food odors that each movement renewed.
Chiun drifted to the bedside of his emperor. At a glance, he could see that Smith was dying. The deathliness of the skin. The ragged breathing.
"The doctors say his prognosis is quite good," Ransome purred.
"The doctors are wrong," Chiun snapped. "He is failing. "
"Oh, dear. I sincerely hope not." Ransome's voice was plaintive. "I have a very important assignment for you, which must be undertaken immediately."
"I will honor my contract," Chiun said simply. Ransome's jowly face perked up. "While Smith lives," he added.
Ransome's face sagged like taffy under a heat lamp. "I wish a few moments with Smith," Chiun said.
"Why?"
"Respect. A word you should commit to memory."
"I shall be outside," Ransome said aridly.
After the man had gone, Chiun lifted the oxygen tent and felt Smith's neck artery. The pulse was thready. He noticed the shower cap over Smith's sparse hair and wondered if a brain operation-a barbarism whites practiced because they lacked knowledge of the correct herbs-had been performed on Smith. Pushing the plastic back, Chiun saw no marks of bone saw or suture. Only a plastic bandage on the forehead with the words DO NOT RESUSCITATE inscribed in ink.
The Master of Sinanju removed the Band-Aid before he replaced the shower cap. He laid a bony hand over Smith's heart. Its muscles beat very close to the ribs. Enlarged. There was a gurgle in each beat, indicating damaged chambers.
Chiun laid both hands over Smith's heart. He closed his eyes, moving his fingers exploringly. When he found a certain vibration, he struck. His fist lifted, fell. Smith's body jumped. Chiun's eyes flew open. He lifted one of Smith's eyelids. His expression registered disappointment.
He laid an ear to Smith's heart, and then, his face sad, he replaced the oxygen tent. Solemnly Chiun returned to the corridor.
"He is gravely ill," Chiun intoned.
"He is receiving the best of care, I assure you," Ransome said. "Now, shall we conclude our little get-acquainted session in my office?"