"Viciousness and discord have run rampant. We must move quickly lest the sheriff come with all his white viciousness. You are, after all, a racist country."
"I don't know if I could lift the trunks," said Smith.
"You must. You don't expect a Master of Sinanju to carry them himself, do you? What will the world think of you hiring an assassin who carries his own baggage? Quick. Quick. I will help, but don't let the world see."
The help Smith got was an occasional long fingernail balancing a trunk on Smith's shoulders. The chests filled the back seat of the car and the car trunk itself. Smith could hardly see well enough to back out of the driveway. "What happened in there?"
"Someone kept trying to phone me," said Chiun, smoothing out his gray traveling kimono.
"What does that have to do with killing? How can a phone call create rotting bodies?"
"Ah, that is Remo's fault," said Chiun.
"Remo's returned?" asked Smith, feeling a wild sense of panic creep up on him with every bizarre and inexplicable answer from the Master of Sinanju.
"No. That is why Remo is responsible. If he were here it would be his job to take care of the bodies. But he is not here. And why?"
"Well, I think he has some problems. He has gone off on his own."
"Eeahhh," wailed the Master of Sinanju.
"What's the matter?"
"The Master's disease. It happens every fifteenth generation."
"But that's for Koreans, isn't it?"
"Remo has become Korean in his soul, even though he may not respect that fact," said Chiun. "And now the Master's disease."
"What is it?"
"I should have known. Does he think now that he alone provides justice for the world?"
"Something like that, yes," said Smith, making sure he kept the proper speed limit on the narrow winding road through the beautiful countryside of Bucks County. Behind him he heard the wail of police sirens. He had gotten to Chiun just in time. They couldn't afford the attention if an entire police department were wiped out. That would be too much to cover up, even for CURE.
"This is a very crucial time. Remo must be allowed rest. Above all he needs rest, and he needs me. He needs me most of all."
"Is there any way we can use him for a mission at this time? It's vital."
"Ah, a vital mission. They are the most important, but Sinanju, which has served you so well and faithfully, must reorient its basic unity with the cosmos. Remo must meditate. He must breathe properly. He must rethink himself, and then, after the visitation, stronger, we will come back to carry the standards of Emperor Smith to final and ultimate victory."
The long fingernails fluttered as Chiun spoke. "We need someone now. Can we use you?"
"I am always of service, ready to bring your glory to its ultimate brilliance at your every whim."
"Good. Then I think you should know we have a target who will be coming to America, we suspect possibly in the vicinity of New York. I want you placed in New York City now-"
"It would be the wrong time to leap to your very whim. We must get Remo well again before we go on."
"How long will that take?" asked Smith, who remembered he had a back problem that doctors had pronounced incurable until Chiun, with less than three seconds of manipulation, blessedly cured it forever.
"A rapid fifteen years," said Chiun.
"We don't have fifteen years. What can we give you to get your services, services I might remind you we are this very moment paying for in gold tribute to the village of Sinanju, gold that is delivered on time when you want it."
"And we are here for you. Forever to sing your praises. Only in your service has Remo's mind been injured. Yet we humbly accept that harm as part of our service to you."
"Remo is now gallivanting around the countryside with a man I ordered executed-"
"One you have certainly paid to have executed," said Chiun. "And it should be given you."
"And Remo is eliminating people we have not asked him to."
"For nothing?" asked Chiun, in horror.
"Yes. Remo doesn't care about money. You know that."
"It has come to this. He has taken the wisdom and skill of Sinanju and become an amateur. Oh, how the world has cruelly vented its scorn upon this lowly head in your gracious service, O Emperor Smith."
"Well, I am glad that for the first time we have agreed on something, Chiun," said Smith. "In this disaster, at least that is a blessing."
He wondered if the sheriff's car would be following them. He wondered how many other reasonless killings this aged Oriental had committed, only to have them hidden by Remo.
He wondered if he could keep things together enough to save America one last time. He felt tired. His body and mind were telling him to toss it all in, maybe drive off the road into the river along which the road ran. Let the water come in cold and dark and final and give him some peace at last.
And then without even being aware, Harold W. Smith felt as bright as a summer morning, fresh as his orange juice, and more chipper than anytime since the morning of his tenth birthday.
He saw Chiun remove his long fingernails from behind his neck, and Smith's neck was still tingling.
"You were letting the tiredness of your body make your decisions," said Chiun. "Now how does the world look?"
"Difficult."
"For the great emperors it is always difficult."
"'I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you I'm not an emperor. I guess not. There is a difficult problem. And I can't reach Remo."
"All problems are the same. They just have different faces and times," said Chiun.
"You mean you may have run up against something like this in the histories of Sinanju?"
"I guarantee we ran up against it in our history. The question is, will I recognize it? You see, our histories are our strength. That is what Remo must learn. He would know what he is experiencing now if he had properly revered our histories."
"He didn't like that part of the training, I take it," said Smith.
"He called it an ugly name," said Chiun.