"I don't believe that crap about our destinies being entwined."
Chiun sniffed derisively and said nothing.
Uncle Sam Beasley was still visible through his celldoor window when they passed him.
"I'm sure glad he's on ice again," said Remo.
Chiun nodded sagely. "Agreed."
"I'd wring Purcell's neck with pleasure, but I couldn't bring myself to take out Uncle Sam himself."
When they reached Harold Smith's cell, Remo knocked twice.
Smith had been lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling in a posture that was almost identical to Jeremiah Purcell's. At the sound of Remo's knock, he started and rolled off his cot, fumbling for his glasses.
"Remo! " said Smith when he came to the window.
"Bad news, Smitty."
"Remo," Smith repeated, his voice low and wondering. His eyes searched Remo's face.
"By the time we got to your house, the IRS had seized it," Remo explained. "It's locked up tight as a drum. None of the neighbors knew where your wife went."
"She was here," Smith said softly.
"Here?"
"Last night she came to me. I sent her to her sister's."
"That's a relief."
Smith's voice became low and forceful. "Remo, she told me something incredible."
"Yeah?"
"Why do you regard Remo so strangely, Emperor?" Chiun asked.
Smith's voice dropped to a hiss. "Remo, I know who your father is."
"Since when!" Remo exploded.
"Since last night."
Remo and Chiun looked at each other.
"Look, Smitty," Remo said. "This has been a strain on all of us. Why don't you just take a long nap and we'll come back?"
"No! Remo, I want you to open the door."
"What about your alibi?"
"I may not need one. Now, open the door. Please."
Harold Smith's eyes and voice were so beseeching that Remo felt he had no choice. He undid the latch.
When Smith stepped out, he threw out his long arms and gave Remo a stiff, awkward hug. He buried his gray head in Remo's hard shoulder.
Remo looked over Smith's trembling shoulder to the quizzical features of the Master of Sinanju. Chiun shrugged. Remo gave Smith a vaguely distasteful pat on the back.
"It's all right, Smitty," Remo said gently. "We're glad to see you, too. You can let go now. Okay?"
Smith stepped back, cleared his throat and looked Remo Williams dead in the eye. "When the woman you saw in the cemetery told you that you knew your father, she was exactly right. I have no idea who she really was or how she knew this, but she was correct."
"Yeah..."
"Your father is someone you have known for a very long time."
Remo blinked. His lean forearms trembled briefly. He willed them to be still.
"Someone very near to you for most of your adult life."
Remo's eyes flew wide. He turned.
"Little Father!" he said wonderingly. "You?"
"Never!" snapped Chiun. "I would sooner sire a monkey than one such as you."
"You don't mean that. You can't."
"You are not my son, Remo Williams," Chiun flared.
"He's right," said Smith. "Chiun is not related to you."
Chiun lifted his wispy chin defiantly. "I would not go that far. There may be some Korean blood in him. Possibly three drops. Small ones."
Remo's brow was furrowed up. "If it's not Chiun, that only leaves..."
Harold Smith adjusted his tie primly. Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes. That only leaves me, Remo. I am your father."
"Not a chance!" Remo said hotly. "I'd sooner have Richard Nixon for a dad."
"Remo. My wife explained it all to me."
Remo frowned sharply. "How would she know?"
"She's your mother."