Whatever happened, Remo intended to keep it from Chiun for a few days. The Master of Sinanju might be the master of many mysteries, but he was also somewhat unattuned to the Western world. His understanding of the West came only from television soap operas, and he sometimes had trouble telling the difference between a jet and a helicopter. He had often confused whole centuries and cultures, thinking of the Russians as good because their czars paid well and overestimating the importance of a small African tribe because the House of Sinanju had rendered services to them before the time of Christ.
Remo planned to return to the hotel suite, perhaps read a magazine and think in peace, and figure out their next moves.
A frowsy blonde waved at him from the corner. It was the hooker.
"Hi, I've been waiting."
"I thought you were supposed to walk with the money. All hookers do."
"For you, I'd wait."
"There's a rug merchant down the block who could use you. Pays good too. His name's Velspar Rombough Plekostian. Twenty bucks, guaranted."
The hooker's face brightened and she followed Remo's finger.
Well, though Remo, into each life some rain must fall. Because this rug merchant had a sign outside his shop with his name, he would soon be under investigation by a secret agency and plagued by the overperfumed attentions of a hooker.
But then life was never fair, and if Remo hadn't been an orphan and had not been seen in Vietnam by one of Smith's operatives, and if, and if, and if… Life as not fair for Remo Williams, nor was it fair for Velspar Rombough Plekostian, although Remo thought, he liked Velspar's name better.
When Remo entered the suite, he heard the low, whiney conversation of the daytime soaps. Remo was careful not to walk in front of Dr. Ranee Remerow who was talking to Mrs. Jeri Tredmore about Mrs. Tredmore's daughter who was dying of leukemia while about to give birth to a baby everyone believed sired by someone other than her husband, perhaps by Brace Wilson, the noted black nuclear physicist who was torn between working for science or for Black Revolution.
Remo remembered one scene in passing because Dr. Bruce Wilson, the noted nuclear physicist, had been referring to "bofe nuchrons" when he meant "both neutrons." This was somewhat better that Dr. Remerow who referred to netrones and Mrs. Tredmore who twice referred to neuters.
Chiun watched all of this in rapture, and Remo for the first time felt grateful that these shows absorbed Chiun's attention, while Remo thought.
When the last commercial faded into the afternoon movies, Remo strolled casually through the parlor of the suite, looking for the phone to call room service for rice and fish, no sauces, no spices, no butter. Boiled rice and only slightly warmed fish.
"We must talk about your deep troubles," said Chiun.
"What troubles?" said Remo with a casual shrug.
"The trouble that has been bothering you since you returned."
"No trouble," said Remo, as he dialed the base of the table lamp and waited for the shade to say hello.
CHAPTER FIVE
Chum gave the problem much thought. Indeed, he said, they both had a problem. An emperor's fall, if it should be a fall, was a serious thing. People might start thinking, even though they might not say it, that the House of Sinanju was responsible for the emperor's fall, that this Emperor Smith had hired the House of Sinanju and look, there he is, dead.
But this would not be fair because the House of Sinanju had been hired only to train for Emperor Smith. But would people know that? The problem both Remo and Chiun now faced was explaining that the House of Sinanju had been hired only to train personnel and that if Sinanju had been commissioned to serve fully, which it had not, Smith would be alive and well today, ruling peacefully and sublime.
"That's not exactly the problem, Little Father," said Remo.
Chiun looked puzzled.
"What else could be the problem?"
"I don't know what's happened to Smith. I just believe he has been injured or killed."
"Then why not go to the palace and find out?"
"Because I am under orders never to return to Folcroft where you first trained me. I'm not supposed to be connected with that place. I've never been able to get this through to you. Smith's organization is not supposed to exist."
"Congratulations," said Chiun. He sat in a lotus position on the floor while Remo sat on the couch.
"On what?"
"Once again not getting that through to me. I do not understand. Smith is most inscrutable. No palace guards. No concubines. No servants. No treasures. Ah, the mysteries of the West. Smith was a mad emperor whom the House of Sinanju could not save from his madness. That is it. The world will understand that."
Remo got up from the couch and paced. "Only half a dozen people in the world have ever heard of Sinanju and they don't talk, so that's not our problem," he said.
"Then what is our problem? We will always find work. When the world has no more use for artists or doctors or scientists or philosophers, it will still need good assassins. Do not worry. A crazy Western emperor will not hurt our reputation."
"This is going to be very hard to explain, Little Father. But I love my country. Smith was not my emperor. We both served another emperor and that was the country. If CURE, Smith's organization, still serves this nation, then I wish to continue serving CURE."
"On your back," said Chiun. "Quickly."
Remo dropped to the floor and flattened on his back.
"Take the air to the very essence of yourself. Hold. Hold it. Hold the air and live on your will. Emit the air. Live on your will. Your organs slow now. Your hearts slows. Only your will survives. Now. Snap. The air. Snap the air. In far. Out far. Much air."
Remo felt his very mind bathed in freshness and light. He sat up and smiled.
"Do you feel better now?"
"Yes," said Remo.
"It is a good thing. You were beginning to talk the madness of the mad Emperor Smith."
Remo threw up his hands. "Let me explain it this way, Little Father. If there is a new emperor, I wish to serve him. I'm an American."
"I never held that against you. There are some very nice Americans."
"I will serve this new emperor," Remo said. "I hope you will, too."
Chiun slowly shook his aged head.
"First, what right have you to take the gift of the teachings of Sinanju and squander it? What right do you have to take the years I gave you and cast them at the feet of any unknown?"
"You were paid, Little Father."
"I was paid to teach you killing tricks, not Sinanju as I have taught you. What I gave was a gift from many generations of Masters of Sinanju. Before what you call your ancient Rome, we were. Before that mud swamp barbarian village on the Seine, Paris, we were. Before the island people of Britain, we were. When the Hebrews wandered in the desert, we had a home and we knew the discipline of Sinanju. You have been given Sinanju, not because your emperor's coin, or your country, or any contract your mind can conceive demanded it, but because you, Remo Williams, were a vessel worthy to receive it."
Remo stopped pacing. He stood motionless on the rug. He felt the words come hard and felt strange tears form behind his eyes.
"Me, Little Father. Worthy?"