"They were tomhs and they were broken into almost immediately, within a few centuries," said Chiun. "This country you so love, how old is it? A few hundred years?"
"I know what you're getting at, little father," said Remo. "Sinanju is five thousand years old, older than Egypt, older than the Chinese dynasties, older than buildings. I know that."
"You know, and you don't know. You don't know what is alive today at Epcot Center."
"Mickey Mouse? You tell me," said Remo. He knew the Master of Sinanju liked Walt Disney, along with one other American institution, and that was just about it for whites and America.
"What endures today more unchanged than the very rocks of the earth? What is more unchanged than precious jewels that time wears away in infinitesimal amounts? What is more unchanged than great empires that come and go? What is that which defies time, not just delays it for a few millennia?"
"You playing games with me, little father?" He looked at the dark television screen. No wonder he wasn't bothered by what was showing.
"If life is a game, I am playing games with you. Something is going on in this room, this very room, more lasting than anything you have seen."
Remo cocked an eyebrow. Whatever Chiun was getting at, it was the truth. Unfortunately it was opaque as the rocks he'd been talking about, and Remo knew that the harder he tried, the less he would understand it. That was one of the secrets of Sinanju, that effort and strain really worked against a person's powers.
One had to learn to respect them and allow them to work. All the great geniuses of mankind understood that. Mozart could no more tell where a symphony came from than Rembrandt could his miraculously inspiring lighting.
The average human had powers he had ignored since the day he started to rely on tools. Spear or guided missile, every dependency on a tool caused the death of those powers. So today when someone discovered little parts of it, they called it extrasensory perception, or some extraordinary act of strength like a mother being able to lift a car by herself when her baby was underneath it.
The truth was, she always had that power, and so did everyone else, except they did not know how to gain access to it, except in extraordinary situations when the body took over.
Sinanju was the way to the full use of man's power. Remo was no more extraordinary than anyone else. He simply knew how not to let his mind interfere with his intelligence.
Ordinarily.
When Chiun was not staring at him. When Remo was not so depressed. On other days, and at other times.
"I give up. I don't have the foggiest what's going on in this room."
"Perhaps it is not going on now," said Chiun. "Now that you have given up."
"What are you talking about? Just tell me," said Remo.
"Are you breathing in gulps of air, without thinking? Are you letting your nervousness and body decide how to breathe instead of your essence? Are you gulping air?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then just as perfectly known as it was to the first Masters of Sinanju, beyond the pitiful recorded histories of the world, so it is known to you undiminished. No one time will wear away your excellence. No little war will end your skills as some empires have ended. No thieves can enter as they have in the pyramids. You have the only thing that will last all the days of your life. The skills that I have given you."
Remo looked at his hands. They were thinner than they were when he began, decades ago. But they had knowledge now and sensitivity he could not have even imagined before.
"You're right, little father," said Remo.
"So let us leave this temporary country you happened to be born in, and once, just once, serve Sinanju, whose treasures you lost."
"I didn't lose them, little father. They were stolen," said Remo. Chiun headed for the door.
"We're missing Sea World and Future World while you deny guilt," said Chiun.
"There was this thing that could have melted the polar ice cap. I am sorry that the collected treasures of Sinanju were stolen, but I didn't steal them. That Korean intelligence guy stole them. Not my fault someone killed him before he told you where he put them. It was his trick to get you to work for North Korea."
"Exactly. Your fault," said Chiun.
"How is it my fault?" asked Remo.
"If you had been willing to serve other countries, North Korea never would have had to steal our treasures to get our services."
"That's like blaming the people who won't give in to the terrorists for what the terrorists do. It's nonsense."
"We have never recovered the treasure. Five thousand years of treasure. Gone. Your fault."
"You didn't spend it anyhow, little father. It sat there for five thousand years. Tribute from Alexander and the Mings. How many thousands of mint-condition Roman coins lay in that house? And stuff that isn't even valuable nowadays. A chunk of aluminum from 1000 B.C., when it was a rare metal; hell, a case of soda would be worth more today. "
Remo was feeling good again. And so was Chiun, seeing Remo come back with his usual ingratitude. He was healthy again. As they walked out to the road that would take them to Epcot Center, Chiun told Remo of the wonders of the world and emperors yet to be served, of treasures they could exact, of tricks they could use to manipulate the wisest leaders. There was a great new day waiting out there for the services of Sinanju, but first, Chiun wanted to see Future World.
Smith arrived at the condo and found Remo and Chiun were out. He had to wait until evening. When he noticed the unmistakable smooth movement of Remo and Chiun's walk, it was getting dark.
"I'm glad you're back, Remo. We don't have much time," said Smith.
"Yeah, I want to talk to you about that, Smitty. I'm afraid this is the end of the line."
"Stop joking, Remo. America has been penetrated by a Russian no one's been able to stop. The world's going to end. "
"That's what you said when the treasure of Sinanju was stolen. Five thousand years of Sinanju tributes stolen, and almost none of it recovered," said Remo.
Chiun was so pleased he almost cried. Of course, Remo was breaking the basic rule in dealing with an emperor. One never told an emperor the truth. One allowed an emperor to find the truth one presented. An emperor was never wrong or to blame. An emperor was the person who could take the right course when that course was laid out clearly for him.
Remo should have learned the proper good-byes. Chiun would show him. Remo would need them now that they would be servicing many clients. The long years of serving the mad emperor Smith, who had never used Sinanju to seize the American throne called the presidency, were over now.
Chiun chose the most florid of laudations to lay at the feet of Harold W. Smith, who had already gone down in the histories of Sinanju as the mad white emperor in the land discovered by Chiun.
It took twenty minutes to deliver them, and at the end, Smith thanked Chiun, and then said to Remo:
"What are you waiting for? We've got to start the briefing. This is a complicated matter."
"Smitty, when Chiun told you the glorious name of Harold W. Smith would live on in the histories of Sinanju, eclipsing Alexander, Augustus of Rome, and the great pharaohs, he meant good-bye. It's good-bye for me, too."
"But you can't. Not now."
"Now's as good a time as any, Smitty. I think I've done my job for America. Good-bye."
Smith followed the two of them into their condominium. It was on the ground floor and had a small screened porch facing the water fountain. The spray masked sounds more effectively than any electronic device.
"Which country are you going to serve? You can tell me that at least," said Smith. The problem here was that in his heart, Smith knew Remo was right. Remo had done more for the country than any single man ever had. He had done it year after year after year. He never flagged and he never failed. And what had America given him'? There had to be a time when it all stopped, even for a patriot.
Remo answered that he did not know which country they were going to.