"Tell that to Smith," Remo suggested.
Chiun grasped the telephone and brought the ugly device to his parchment face.
"Emperor Smith. The truth here is very simple, O all-seeing one."
"Yes?"
"The idiot Rumpp built his ugly tower on a cursed spot."
"Cursed?"
"All Koreans understand that one does not merely set a building down in any old place. There are lucky places and unlucky places in the earth. Restless spirits roam. Unmarked graves abound. This is why we employ mudangs to seek out efficacious places first."
"Mudangs?"
"He means witches!" Remo called over.
"Oh," said Smith, disappointment in his tone. "I do not think we are dealing with witchcraft here, Master Chiun."
"What other explanation is there? Even your white witches have emerged from their places of hiding to brave the hangman's noose to behold the awesome sight."
"I've been trying to explain about the Salem witch trials!" Remo called over. "Somebody forgot to tell him dunking stools went out with the Spanish Inquisition."
"Master Chiun," Smith went on. "Have you no ideas? This matter is beyond my ability to cope with it."
Chiun stroked his wispy beard, one eye narrowing thoughtfully. "White magic has obviously failed. It is time for yellow magic."
"Yellow?"
"Emperor, I have a certain trunk for situations such as this. Had I known more of this matter I would have brought it with me."
"You require it now?" Smith asked.
"You have it safe, do you not?"
"Yes, along with most of your other trunks."
"It is a sad thing not to be in possession of one's most treasured belongings," Chiun said, voice quavering, "but when one is homeless in a foreign land, one must sacrifice for the good of one's employer."
"I have been in search of a suitable property for you and Remo," Smith said quickly.
"I vote for the Bahamas," Remo chimed in.
"I will sign no contract until this unresolved matter is settled," Chiun said sharply.
"I will have the trunk shipped immediately. Which one is it?"
"The green-and-gold one. And take care, Smith-its contents are very powerful. Allow no lacky to manhandle it."
"The trunk will arrive intact, I promise," said Smith, hanging up without another word.
The Master of Sinanju padded back to his tatami mat. Remo had claimed it. Chiun cleared his throat in warning.
Instead of vacating the mat with alacrity, as was proper, Remo asked a question.
"Why does the green-and-gold trunk sound familiar?"
"Because it is familiar," Chiun sniffed. "Sitter-on-mats-which-are-not-his."
"Huh? Oh, sorry." Remo got up and made way.
The Master of Sinanju settled onto his mat and fixed his hazel eyes on the television screen, his expression expectant.
"Waiting for Cheeta, huh?"
"It should not concern you, offerer-of-false-hopes."
"Are you saying that I fibbed when I told you Smith wanted to be godfather to the brat?"
"I am not saying that."
"Good," Remo said in relief.
"The tone of your lying voice is saying that."
"Bulldookey."
Chiun lifted a gnarled hand. "Silence! Cheeta appears."
In fact, it was the harried face of BCN anchorman Don Cooder that appeared on the TV screen.
"Good evening," he said. "Tonight, all New York is agog as one of its most famous-some say infamous-skyscrapers has reportedly been spectralized."
"Spectralized?" Remo muttered.
"For more on this breaking story, we turn now to our junior anchorwoman, our own fountain of fecundity, Cheeta Ching."
Cooder turned in his chair to face the floating graphic of the Rumpp Tower, which expanded and became the repressed-with-fury face of Cheeta Ching. She was surrounded by ordinary New Yorkers, some dressed for trick-or-treating.
"Dan, I'm standing behind police lines surrounding what may be the Halloween spooktacular of the century." Cheeta stepped aside, disclosing the brassy Rumpp Tower. A scarecrow slipped up behind Cheeta and made a two-fingered rabbit-ears behind her glossy head. Cheeta elbowed him hard, and after he'd doubled over in pain, pushed his head below the camera frame and held it down with one foot.
The other trick-or-treaters moved away with haste.
Cheeta went on with her report, every so often grimacing and jumping slightly as the scarecrow attempted to get out from under her heel.
"Over my shoulder can be seen the Rumpp Tower, where tonight perhaps thousands of residents and office workers are trapped by the latest gambit in the titanic financial struggle between Randal T. Rumpp and his legion of creditors."