The chancellor wasn't sure what to do. He had brought no security. His helicopter pilot was the man with the phone. The fat man was shrugging helplessly.
The chancellor stood straight, stiffening his shoulders. "You are trespassing," he said. "I order you to leave this place at once."
"Sorry, Fritz," Remo said. "Not German. I don't do that whole blindly-follow-orders thing. And it sounds like you're in charge. Here's the deal. I'm the first Master of Sinanju in a thousand years who's had to do this on his own, I've got some spooky prophecy dogging me and I'm in the kind of mood you people get in just before you annex, invade or write an opera at someone. So let's get this over with."
The chancellor took a surprised step back. With one hand he steadied himself on the throne.
"You are the Master of Sinanju?"
"Transitional Master for the moment," Remo said. "And the faster I get through here the faster I can transition to Reigning Master. Not that that's going to be all peaches and cream, but it's time to move up and there's nothing I can do about it. So let's get this over with. Where's your guy?"
"Ahh..." the German chancellor said. He glanced worriedly at the defense ministry man.
"That him?" Remo asked. Frowning, he stabbed his thumb at the man with the cell phone.
"No!" insisted the fat man. Panicked, he fell back against the wall, clutching his phone to his chest.
"Calm down, pie haus," Remo said. He turned his attention to the chancellor. "So where is he?"
"We, ah, had someone in mind," the chancellor began.
"I bet. Must've been a real challenge finding a maniacal, bloodthirsty German killer. What did you have to do, look out the window?"
"Actually we had two people," the chancellor said. Despite the cold, sweat broke out on his forehead. "The first was a Swiss. Very good with mechanical devices. He would have presented a real challenge for you."
"Not much of one. That plug got pulled last year." The chancellor blinked dull understanding.
"Oh," he said, his voice small. "We did manage to find another. His skills were different than the one you-than the other one."
"And?" Remo asked, noting the man's fearful quaver.
The chancellor gave a helpless shrug. "Our contestant has not arrived." In German, he barked a question at the ministry man on the other side of the hail. "He has vanished," the chancellor admitted to Remo in English, his voice sinking to low levels of despair. Remo could see the man was telling the truth.
"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" Remo muttered at the cold stone walls of the ancient castle hall.
"Show mercy on we lowly ones, O great and awesome Master of Sinanju," said the chancellor. "Be quick, bitte."
The chancellor's voice sounded strange. Remo looked down.
The German leader was down on his knees, his face pressed to the mossy floor. There was a grunt behind Remo. When he turned he saw the fat man had prostrated himself, too.
"What are you nits doing?" Remo asked.
"We have insulted Sinanju by not finding an assassin," said the chancellor. "Don't you want to kill us?"
Remo frowned. "That what I'm supposed to do?"
"I do not know. In a thousand years my country has never failed to field a champion. I assumed the future head of the House of Sinanju would take our failure as an insult and exact a blood debt from us."
"Maybe," Remo said. "On the other hand, blood debts are a bitch to wash out of cotton fabric."
Frowning contemplation, he turned silently on his heel.
After a long moment, the German chancellor looked up from the ancient stones.
The American was gone.
The chancellor pulled himself to his feet. Nearby, the defense ministry man climbed up on wobbly legs. The fat man's face glistened with sweat. There seemed to be an odd pain shooting up his left arm. Not that it mattered. They were alive.
"Thank God," the overweight man whispered.
Remo stuck his head back around the corner. "Hey, can I hitch a ride back with you guys?" he asked.
He noted the fat man flopping to the stone floor clutching his chest.
"I hope Tubby the Tuba's not driving," Remo said.
HAROLD W. SMITH WAS at his computer in his Folcroft office when the phone rang.
It was still the dead of night on the East Coast. Through the picture window at his back, silver starlight sparkled across the inky black water of Long Island Sound.
Smith had sent Mark Howard home hours ago. It would be several hours before the younger man came back in to work.
Pursing his lips in displeasure, Smith picked up the ringing phone. "Yes," he said with mild annoyance. "I need some help, Smitty."
Smith had almost been hoping that the caller would be the frantic woman from Chiun's village. The Master of Sinanju would not be home yet. When he heard Remo's voice, the CURE director exhaled disapproval.
"I do not like being involved in this," Smith said unhappily, straightening with fussy annoyance in his chair.
"Join the club," Remo grumbled. "I've got a problem, Smitty. The guy Germany was supposed to use as cannon fodder has taken off. No one knows where he is."
Smith breathed hotly through pinched nostrils. Once it was decided that Chiun would return to Sinanju to check into the matter of his caretaker, Remo had hastily called Smith back, turning the phone back over to his teacher. Chiun had given the CURE director an encyclopedic list of people, places and tradition to help guide Remo through the Time of Succession. At first Smith objected, but threats from Remo to quit CURE if he didn't help finally brought him around, albeit reluctantly.
"I do not appreciate being blackmailed," Smith said, restating his earlier objection.
"No kidding," Remo replied. "I missed that the first hundred times you said so."
Smith spun in his chair, staring out at the night. "It is not as if this is a CURE matter," he said, more to himself than to Remo. "If the two of you wish to go off like this, it should be your business, not mine."
"Earth to Smitty," Remo snapped. "I need help." Smith exhaled loudly.
"You say the German assassin has rejected Sinanju's challenge?"
"I'd say chickened out, but your way works, too."
"Chiun informed me that this happens from time to time during this ritual."