Chiun called back, "Do not fall asleep too soon, for wisdom is upon you. Better that you meditate on the truths you have just enunciated."
Remo slammed the door behind him. The entire building reverberated for a full minute after.
THE MASTER REGARDED the closed door with its discordant vibrations for several moments in silence. His parchment face was a mask in which hazel eyes gleamed with an opaque light.
Padding into the meditation room, he ignored the crates of gold that his shrewd bargaining had earned.
Instead, he picked up the telephone and depressed the 1 button as he had seen his pupil do so often. Strange sounds came from the earpiece as the call was routed to a trailer park in Moore, Oklahoma, to foil tracing. Finally the ringing began.
The voice of Harold W. Smith came on the line. "Yes?"
"Hail, Emperor Smith. Greetings from the House of Sinanju."
"Master Chiun. What can I do for you?"
"Remo tells me he has been to see you."
"He has. He is concerned about these . . . er. . . seizures."
Chiun clutched the phone more tightly. "Has there been another?"
"No."
"This is good."
"Remo asked me to consult with one of the psychiatrists here," Smith said.
"That is not like him."
"I know, Master Chiun. But he seems unusually troubled."
"It will pass"
"It is to be hoped. I cannot allow my enforcement arm to be at large if he is suffering from some sort of multiple-personality disorder."
"Fear not, Smith. It is nothing of the sort. Remo is merely going through a phase. It will pass."
"And when it does, will Remo be the Remo we know?"
Chiun compressed his thin, papery lips and said nothing. It was a question he could not answer. Possibly a question without any good answer.
"Remo informs me that the matter of Squirrelly Chicane has been brought to your attention," Chiun said at length.
"I declined the President's request that we bodyguard her. It is not our problem."
"Even if some difficulty befalls her?"
"She is an American citizen exercising her prerogative to travel where she will."
"It occurs to me, O Emperor, that perhaps all Remo needs is a vacation."
"I would prefer that one of you remain on standby. Something may come up."
"Very wise, O Smith. Allow me to suggest that Remo be the one to remain standing by. He does that better than I."
"If you wish to take a vacation, by all means. Go."
"I have some property that I must return to my native village. But I do not wish to squander a vacation doing so, for it will be duty, not pleasure, that compels my journey."
"I fail to understand," said Smith.
Chiun's voice lifted. "Do you not recall in my last contract, the clause numbered seventy-eight?"
"Clause seventy-eight?"
"The clause that allows the Master of Sinanju to take leave when he will. Unpaid leave."
"You mean a sabbatical?"
"If that is the proper word, yes."
"By all means, Master Chiun, take a sabbatical."
"Your understanding knows no bounds."
And the Master hung up. Immediately he began packing. Only one trunk this time. The taxi driver managed it quite successfully, causing no damage and retaining his limbs.
Chiun did not awaken Remo. Nor did he bring his roomful of gold with him. There were things more important than gold. Not many, but a few.
One of the most important things was that Remo not accompany him to Tibet. For he might recognize it, and the consequences of that not even the gods could predict.
Chapter 17
High over the Indian Ocean, Squirrelly Chicane was cramming for her high-profile meeting with the Dalai Lama.
She sat cross-legged on an overstuffed cushion that was in turn placed on an exquisite Oriental rug. She swam in her saffron robes, but Lobsang wouldn't allow her to have it taken in by even the finest of Beverly Hills couturiers. Her maroon lama's miter cast a rhinoceros-horn shadow over the pages of her book, making the words hard to read by the overhead lights.
It was night, so throwing aside one of the window hangings on Kula's private plane wouldn't have helped.
It was a neat plane, Squirrelly thought. Like a flying barge. No wonder Kula called it his skyboat. If Cleopatra had lived in the twentieth century, she would have had one just like it.
They were on the last leg of their flight to Delhi. Or Bombay or wherever it was they were going.
When Lobsang had first explained that they were going to the holy land, Squirrelly had said, "We're going to Israel!"
They had looked at her funny. But then they always looked at her funny. They were still getting used to the idea of a Bunji Lama who was both white and female.