"It has not been easy, considering the condition of the material," said Chiun.
"We knew that, Master of Sinanju," said Smith.
"Speaking of hustlers," said Remo, "what size rubies are you getting, Chiun?"
"There is a difference between accepting tribute and hustling, but I would not expect a racist to understand that. Emperor Smith, who is not a racist, understands this. He understands the meaning of tribute so well that to enhance his position in the grateful village of Sinanju, he may make the tribute three rubies and a diamond, instead of two rubies and a diamond, which is what the Chinese would probably pay. Such is the decency, Remo, of the most honorable Harold W. Smith, director of Folcroft Sanitarium—a man more fit to rule than your president and a man who need but say the word and this injustice of rule could be amended."
Smith cleared his throat while Remo chuckled.
"Getting down to business," Smith said, "we've been lucky. Somehow one of the Divine Bliss converts has defected. He was in Patna and was sent back to help work out what the Blissful Master's followers call some kind of big thing. The man had been elevated to, I think they call it, arch-priest. We're not certain. As you know, our organization works without people knowing what they're doing."
"Right through the top, Smitty."
"I was about to say, except for you and me. Chiun, as you know, thinks I'm an emperor."
"Or a mark," said Remo.
"A fine emperor," said Chiun. "One whose generosity marks him for eternal fame."
"One of the people who provides us with information, without knowing it, works in the newspaper business on the coast and somebody told him of something big, very big about to happen in America, and that only someone as shrewd as the Blissful Master could pull it off. The biggest ever, he said."
"The biggest what?" asked Remo.
"That's what we don't know. We do know that with an army of religious fanatics, it could be almost anything. Which is why we set the meeting at the Rhoda Motel. This Divine Bliss thing, it has so many people around that I didn't trust any of the usual channels. So I set up the meeting for here. Frankly I was a little worried when I saw you in that ditch waiting for me. The Blissful Master had one of his followers, a sheriff, put out a warrant for the defector. Three states. Poor devil was in hiding. We arranged to hide him near you, so you could question him. I'm sure your questioning techniques can get anything."
"The defector? His name Clete?" asked Remo.
"That's his hiding name."
"His girlfriend's name Loretta?"
"Yes, yes. Correct."
"He a big guy? Six-feet-four in bare feet?"
"Yes. You've met him?"
"He wear a Stetson?"
"Yes. That's him."
"Did he have a dish in his mouth and through the spinal column in the back?"
"No. Of course not."
"He does now," said Remo.
Chiun looked upon the blue heavens of New Mexico and the plains beyond. In the racist white man's country, who knew what they would accuse a poor Korean of next?
CHAPTER THREE
"So that's what you were doing in the river bed," said Smith when he heard about the plate incident. "Maybe we should get off the road. They might have the motel staked out. You might be spotted."
"We might also be tailed," said Remo.
"Anything is possible in a racist country," said Chiun, "where nude people invade your privacy."
Behind the gray Chevrolet Nova, a cream and beige Ford with a red bubble light on top and heavy black lettering just above the grill that read "Sheriff" cruised behind them. When Remo turned to look, the sheriff's car whined its siren and picked up speed.
"That may be the sheriff who is working for the Blissful Master," said Smith.
"Good," said Remo.
"Good? My Lord, they've got me with you. You know evasive techniques. I don't. Great. That's all I need, to be arrested in New Mexico."
"You like to worry, don't you, Smitty?" said Remo. "Just give me the outlines of the assignment and stop worrying."
"Find out what that Indian faker is doing with Americans. Find out what this 'big thing' is, and stop it if it's dangerous."
"Why didn't you say that before?" said Remo, "Instead of committing us to a trip to Patna, and all this submarine and side excursion to Sinanju bilge?"
"Because our emperor in his wisdom," said Chiun, "has blessed us with his brilliance. If we are ordered to Sinanju, then to Sinanju we will go."
"There'll be a sub, the Harlequin, at the naval base in San Diego. The captain will think you're from the State Department on a secret mission. He'll assume it's a quiet overture to establish relations with a North Korean faction for eventual diplomatic recognition."
"I still don't understand why we're hitting Sinanju," said Remo. "Other than it being closer to India than to Kansas City, why do we have to make the visit?"
The sheriff's car pulled alongside and a craggy-faced man under a light brown Stetson motioned the car to pull over. He motioned convincingly with a .44, whose barrel looked like a tunnel.
"Don't be shy, Remo. Chiun already warned me that you were thinking of dropping out to visit Sinanju yourself, the home of your training. And you're just valuable enough that we didn't want to lose you. So when this thing came up in India, I thought we could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."
Remo glanced balefully at the back seat, where Chiun, his parched, delicate face set serenely, was a vision of calm innocence. Smith slowed the car.
"Get me out of this thing," he said as the sheriff's car nosed in ahead of them.
"Anyone who'd believe that I would quit you to visit a fishing village in North Korea, a village that has such lousy fishermen it has to rent out assassins to stay alive, anyone who'd believe that could use help crossing a street."
"I can't be arrested," said Smith.
"If this is our sheriff, he's a gift," said Remo.
"That," said Smith, squinting at the man with Stetson, badge, and gun, stepping from the car, "is our man. Probably, I think."
"All right, you there. Out of the car slow, and let's see your hands at all times. Out," said the sheriff.
"You want to see my hands?" said Remo, putting them in front of Smith on the steering wheel and then sliding past Smith with his legs following through the window and out, a one-hand grip on the door post, and the feet touched the ground.