Chapter 17
Remo was hoping that Chiun's gloomy mood would dissipate by the time they reached Charles de Gaulle International Airport. But the old Korean remained somber and silent from the cab to the curb to the terminal. His dour mood was infectious. Remo felt his own spirits sink with every cheerless step.
"Where to next?" Remo asked glumly as they headed to the ticket windows.
"Germany," the wizened Asian replied. He screwed his mouth up, refusing to say more.
"Great," Remo grumbled. "Snails for schnitzel. At least we're trading up the food chain."
He ordered the tickets at the counter, paying with his Remo Bednick American Express card. The two Masters of Sinanju had walked only a dozen feet away from the counter when a squat airport representative with a thick neck and a thicker French accent touched Remo on the elbow.
"Please excuse the intrusion," the man said, "but monsieur has a telephone call. If you would come this way."
Remo shot a glance at the Master of Sinanju. Chiun seemed uninterested. It was apparent he was still worrying about the words of the Russian monk.
"I'm warning you," Remo said to the Frenchman.
"I'm on my way to Germany. If this isn't on the level, I'm gonna throw a bratwurst over the Rhine and holler 'fetch.'"
The confused airport employee insisted he was telling the truth. With a sigh of surrender-the first ever uttered by a foreign national on French soil-Remo followed the man to a private lounge and a waiting telephone.
Remo expected the phone would be wired to sizzle him with electricity or spit poison gas. When he heard the bile-fueled wheezing on the other end of the line, he realized it was even worse than an assassin's booby trap.
"What is it, Smitty?" Remo sighed.
"Remo, thank goodness," said the lemony voice of Harold Smith. "We have been searching for you for several hours. Until you used your credit card, we were unable to find you."
"I'll have to remember to pay cash from now on. What do you want? And make it snappy, 'cause somewhere in Germany there's a killer waiting to zap me, and we all know how patient Germans are."
"Actually I was not looking for you. I need to speak with Master Chiun. Is he with you?"
Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju. The old Korean was at the window of the lounge. Button nose upturned, he was staring out at the plane lights in the night sky, his face a mask of mummified concern.
"He's here," Remo said warily. "But he's not exactly in a chipper mood. I don't know if he wants to talk."
Twenty yards across the crowded lounge, the Master of Sinanju waved an angry, dismissive hand. His back remained to Remo as he studied the night.
"He wants me to take a message," Remo said. Smith cleared his throat.
"There has been an incident in Sinanju. I am afraid Master Chiun's caretaker is dead."
If Remo had even for a moment thought he might have to repeat Smith's words to the Master of Sinanju, he knew for certain in the next instant that it would not be necessary.
Across the room, the old man's head whipped around. Hazel eyes frowned in deep concern. The old Korean flounced across the lounge, snatching the phone from his pupil's hand.
"Speak," he demanded.
"Oh, Master Chiun." Smith did his best to mask his worried disappointment. Although he had called in search of the Master of Sinanju, he preferred to talk to Remo. "I was just telling Remo about your caretaker, Pullyang."
"Yes, yes," Chiun hissed. "What happened?"
"Well, his daughter called here a few hours ago," Smith said. "I believe her name is Hyunsil."
In the French airport lounge, the Master of Sinanju rolled his impatient eyes heavenward. Of course he knew the name of his caretaker's daughter. Just as he knew the names of all the villagers who lived under his protection. What was it in the white mind that made them state the obvious?
"How did my caretaker die?" Chiun pressed.
He was prepared to hear that natural causes or an unfortunate accident had claimed the life of his elderly caretaker. The answer he received startled him to silence.
"According to his daughter, he was murdered." Remo was still standing next to the phone. At Smith's words, he shot a concerned look at his teacher.
The color had drained from Chiun's parchment face. His hand was a knot of petrified ivory as it clutched the black receiver. His wisps of hair shook with vibrations that emanated from the very core of his shocked being.
For a long time he couldn't speak. All words he might have said shriveled and died within the compressing cage of his stunned chest. Hot breath slipped from between his lips.
The phone squawked in his hand.
"Hello? Master Chiun?" came the lemony voice from the line. "Hello?"
Remo gently pressed his hand to the Master of Sinanju's bony shoulder. "Little Father?"
At long last the old Korean found his voice.
"The treasure," he breathed. "Is the treasure safe?"
"I didn't think to ask," Smith said. "The translation program wouldn't have worked fast enough anyway. She hung up the phone too quickly. I could try calling back, although that really is not necessary now that you-"
Whatever else Smith said, neither Master of Sinanju heard. Chiun had hung up the phone. Lost in thought, the old man turned slowly to his pupil.
"I must return to Sinanju," he announced.
Remo nodded. "I understand," he said. "I'll get us two tickets to South Korea. We'll postpone this Time of Succession stuff for later."
"No," Chiun insisted. "You will continue alone. I will deal with whatever has happened in my village."
Remo's face clouded. "That's nuts," he said. "You have to go with me for this."
"You are a full Master of Sinanju, not an infant needing me to hold your hand," Chiun spit. "You will go alone."
Remo felt the world spinning away from him. He shook his head. "Is that even allowed?"
Chiun nodded. "There have been times in the past. Extreme circumstances where the pupil went alone. Usually they involved the death of the Reigning Master before the time of the pupil's introduction to the courts of the world. It is rare, but not without precedent."
Remo shook his head. "I can't do this by myself. I know two languages, English and Korean. I know govnyuk is 'shithead' in Russian, but we've already done the czar, so even that won't come in handy unless we're going to Moscow."
"No, we are not," Chiun said.