"The terrible Depublicans. They have spent this mighty nation into the poorhouse. All is lost. Your empire crumbles even as we speak. It is the fall of Rome all over again."
"Master Chiun, I have a proposition for you," said Smith.
"What proposition could interest a Master of Sinanju that does not include gold?" Chiun asked suspiciously.
"This one does include gold."
"Speak!"
"Find the submarine. Return it and its crew, and the gold is yours."
"I cannot. It involves service without a valid contract or payment."
"You do not understand. I am telling you that if you recover the submarine, the gold is yours free and clear. Without obligation."
Chiun's eyes narrowed. "No further service will be required?"
"No. And once the mission is successful, we will negotiate another year's service."
"But you have no money, Smith. You admit this."
"A temporary situation. Once it is resolved, another shipment of gold will be made."
Chiun had been stroking his beard in agitation. He stopped. His beard trembled. His whole head trembled.
"Double the gold?" he whispered.
"Exactly."
Chiun clamped a hand over the telephone mouthpiece. "Remo, did you hear? Smith has offered to double the gold!"
"That's not what he said. He's suckering you into recovering the gold for nothing."
"But I get to keep the gold."
"No skin off Smith's nose. He considers the gold lost. He can't lose. If you find the sub, he gets what he wants. If you don't, you've wasted your time for a promise."
"And if Smith does not recover this foolish submarine of his, there may be no more gold. Ever."
"Like I care," said Remo, face intent on the TV screen.
The hand came away from the mouthpiece, and Chiun said, "It is a bargain, Emperor Smith. Instruct me."
"The North Korean angle is the only lead we have. Go there. Learn what you can. And whatever you do, please do not embroil the U.S. in a war with North Korea."
"I will serve you well, Smith. For this may be the last time Sinanju will be honored to serve the modern Rome."
Chiun hung up, dancing. "Did you hear? A year's worth of gold, all mine for a day's service. Perhaps two."
"If you find the submarine."
"How large is a submarine?"
"Maybe three hundred feet long and forty high."
"How difficult can it be to find something that large and ugly?"
"If it's in your attic, none. If it's at the bottom of the Pacific, you could spend the next ten years of your life trying to earn a year's supply of gold."
"You are trying to ruin my triumph."
"Don't count your ingots."
Eyes squeezing to suspicious slits, the Master of Sinanju approached the TV screen that had so mesmerized his pupil. "Why is that woman talking to her glove?" he demanded.
"It's not a glove. It's a hand puppet. See? It talks back."
"And this amuses you, indolent one?"
"So sue me. I used to watch this show back at the orphanage. It's a good memory."
"I am going to pack. You should pack, too."
"Not me. I'm taking off after lunch."
"To where?"
"Nowhere."
"A suitable destination for a rootless American. But I need you."
"I don't work for Smith."
"And neither do I. I am working for me. As are you."
"Who says?"
"Did you not hear? Smith is broke."
"So?"
"Your credit cards are no longer good."
"I have money."
"Enough to carry you to nowhere?"