"I don't care," Remo said. "I'm not wearing a kimono."
"If you had read the histories, you would," Chiun said.
"What do the histories say about kimonos that's of any help?"
"The histories say that only pale pieces of pigs' ears refuse to wear the kimono."
"Where does it say that?" Remo asked. "I'm the first white Master ever."
"It says it in the latest history of Sinanju, called 'The Persecution of Chiun' or 'How Benevolence Is Never Rewarded.' "
"Skip that. What about this guy?" Remo said.
"The Inuti are like that. They once had great emperors. It is manhood training he used to resist your pain. Don't worry. The Inuti are a reasonable people," Chiun said.
"Meaning that they paid their assassins," Remo said.
"In goats and goat products. But at least on time," Chiun said. He reached into the vest pocket of the diplomat's three-piece suit. With a gentle working of the nerve endings around his solar plexus, Chiun brought the director general of IHAEO back to consciousness.
"You are Inuti," said Chiun, who had told Remo before that to know the tribe of an African was to know the man. Unlike whites, Chiun had said, Africans had a history and loyalty to their villages. No proper African would defy his father as Remo defied Chiun.
Ndo smiled. It was a cold smile because pain was still in his body but it was a smile of triumph.
"We are Sinanju," said Chiun.
Ndo had heard the tales of the dreaded ones from the Orient who had served the ancient kings of the Inutf.
"What does Sinanju care about bugs?" asked Ndo.
"What cares about what Sinanju cares about," said Chiun.
"Whereas I respect the House of Sinanju, my hands are not my own," Ndo said. "I have obligations, commitments. What can I do for you other than this?"
"When Sinanju wants something else, it will ask for something else," Chiun said. "Tell me, Inuti, do you think that your ancient conquest of pain is enough to build the wall that stops Sinanju?"
And with that he held before Ndo his Ga, the little wooden statue. Ndo was fast but his hands were like great slow muffins compared to the speed of the long fingernails. Ndo reached but the statue was out of his grasp.
Slowly Chiun broke off Ga's right leg. Ndo wept. "Ga's manhood is next," Chiun said.
"No," cried Ndo. "Do not. My seed will die with it."
"So, Inuti, we understand each other," said Chiun. Ndo offered to make Chiun the wealthy director of any agency he wished but Chiun's answer again was: "Sinanju cares about what Sinanju cares about."
"You mean we all have to go into the bush to look at bugs? There will be a revolt."
"There will be the glorious vindication of Dr. Ravits' work," Chiun said.
"Dr. who?"
"One of the scientists," said Chiun.
"I don't know them. Who heads his department?"
"Dara Worthington," Remo said.
"I don't know her. Who is her director?" Both Remo and Chiun shrugged.
"Give me Ga and I will find out," Ndo said.
"You will find out because I have Ga and will keep him until you do," Chiun said.
Ndo looked at the old Oriental, then dropped his eyes and nodded.
As he waved the police away and told them it was all a misunderstanding, he heard the two men from Sinanju talking. They were arguing about kimonos and Ndo knew he never wanted to see a kimono again in his life.
Chapter 7
Waldron Perriweather III watched the news on television, heard the commentators talk about the good work of IHAEO and its fight to prevent famine; heard what was billed as the final battle against the evil Ung beetle.
He stormed into the laboratory on his estate and promptly passed out from the DDT. When he recovered he asked just how much DDT his entomologist was using now and when he was told, he commented that surely everything must be ready by now.
"Not yet, Mr. Perriweather, but soon," the scientist said.
"Just let me know when everything will be ready," said Perriweather.
He had his lawyers find out certain things about the demonstration IHAEO was going to mount to show the world how it was fighting against famine.
When he learned the demonstration would be outside, in the fields of central Africa, he muttered a small "damn" under his breath. "Still," he mumbled, "sometimes it can work outside. We'll see."
Nathan and Gloria Muswasser did not want to see millions of man's fellow creatures poisoned painfully to death. They could not bear to wait around for another injustice before the inalienable rights of all creatures ware, protected under the law.
They would strike now. They loaded the barrels of TNT onto the rented truck and drove it to the front gate of the IHAEO laboratories in Washington, D.C.
"Order by two of your new members. Part of their great new breaththrough," Nathan called out to the guard. They delivered the TNT to the crates being loaded for the Ung-beetle demonstration in central Africa.
They did not stay to see the barrels loaded but turned the truck around quickly and drove away. They drove for twenty minutes and then Gloria said to Nathan:
"Do you make the phone call or do I?"
"I don't know. This is my first time. I feel so relevant," said Nathan Muswasser.
"The hottest place in hell," said Gloria Muswasser, "is reserved for those who in a time of crisis do nothing. Or something like that."
"I'll make the call. You're too nervous," said Nathan. He went into a telephone booth near a diner and dialed a local television station.
The paper he held trembled in his hands. Finally he was doing something for the world.