"Like what?" the President asked.
"I am not certain. But it might interest you to know that the same protestors I told you about earlier are calling for reunification talks to begin with the North."
"Is that bad?"
"Dire is the word I would use. A unified Korea would doubtless favor the political system of the North. If reunification goes as some expect, we would have the first significant Communist expansion in two decades. In addition, we would lose an important strategic ally in the region. As you no doubt are aware, as far as our military is concerned, relations with Japan are not particularly strong at present."
"Really?" the President of the United States asked.
Smith sighed. "I intend to send my people in to the Koreas," he said. "The Masters of Sinanju are undisputed experts of the Korean political scene, and have been since time immemorial. Since it is his homeland, Master Chiun is infinitely suited to dealing with the current tensions."
"Whatever you say, Smith," the President said. He sounded distracted. "I told you to stay out," he whispered hoarsely.
Over the phone, Smith heard a door creak shut. He closed his eyes patiently. "I will keep you apprised of any new developments," he said.
While he was hanging up the phone, he heard the same woman's voice as before. It was obvious now that it was not the First Lady. She was singing "Happy Birthday" in a husky whisper. Smith hung up the receiver as the President of the United States guffawed with delight.
Chapter 20
The plain was endless.
There was sky, but it was washed in blood. Like the atmosphere of a planet in the sphere of a red giant sun.
The red Martian landscape stretched out limitlessly in all directions. At some hazy point in the far-distant horizon, the red of the sky swept over the red of the land, creating a muddied seam of blood.
Man Hyung Sun watched the horizon and smiled.
He had visited this place in his mind before. Many times in the past several days. But he had seen it prior to that. In both daydreams and nightmares when he thought he was going mad.
It was not madness. It was real. And unreal.
This thing had been calling to him for months. It knew of destiny. It knew his future. It had even given him some directions on a subconscious level for almost a year prior to this current cycle of events.
Mike Princippi had known of it. He had encountered the thing in America's West. But he had chosen to ignore the sweet, vaporous song. He had forced the images from his mind and had given away the vessel. It had taken Man Hyung Sun much time to search out the former governor in his mind. The thoughts drawing him to this place had not been clear until very recently. Now they seemed so obvious.
The figure was where it had been. Clothed in a haze of yellow fog, it sat upon the endless flat plain. The head and eyes of a man looked up as Sun approached.
"I am weak," the strange, otherworldly figure lamented when Sun crouched down beside it. Puffs of yellow smoke danced around the ethereal shape like thin clouds scudding across a clear sky.
It was the same complaint as always. Sun smiled comfortingly. "You cannot know true weakness," he assured the figure. "For to be truly weak is to be Man. And you are not Man."
The creature thought for a moment. "No," it admitted eventually. "But I am not what I once was. My master has fled to the place of the gods. I am a shadow of his greater self, a fraction of that which he is. Without his energy, I am doomed. Soon I will be condemned to nothingness."
Sun knew that the spirit of this nether region was weak. From what he had gleaned of previous conversations, a battle had taken place at some time in the past. The creature in the smoke had not fared well. Nor had its master, who had abandoned this part of himself to the limitless red plain.
"Your plan goes well," Sun offered consolingly. "The land of my birth is reeling on both sides of the division."
"This I know," said the creature, a great weariness in its voice. It did not get up from the ground. It continued to sit-as eternal as the land and sky around it.
"There will be political upheaval from these events. The United States-the Greece of this era-needs a presence in the South to show strength against the North. That foothold appears to be slipping."
"This, too, is known to me," said the fragile creature. "It is as I have designed it to be. To remedy the situation, they will send my young enemy first."
"What of the old one?" Sun asked.
The strange being shook its head. Puffs of yellow smoke escaped from its neck, falling back into the larger cloud. "The Master will remain behind for now. Only the night tiger of Sinanju will go. I have foreseen it."
Sun knew enough not to dispute the creature's oracular abilities. "It is as you say," he conceded. "Is there something you require of me?"
"Their emperor has attempted to contact the Master. So far the old one has not deigned to speak with him, but his soul is more restless than he admits. His attitude could soon change. Keep him with you so that they do not communicate."
"Can you not see his future, O Prophet?" Sun asked, puzzled.
"I see much," agreed the creature. It exhaled ancient puffs of sickly yellow. "But it is as mud. The clarity is gone. It is ...difficult for me."
"But my future," Sun stressed. "That is clear to you."
"Yes," the being admitted. It seemed drained.
Sun smiled. "I will do as you say. I have another taping today. The old one can accompany me."
Before him, the creature sighed deeply. Its breathing was ragged. "I am not what I once was. Prophesying fatigues me. Leave me now to my waning days."
Although the being shook a substantial hand at Sun, the cult leader lagged. "Um, if you could...?" he asked.
The creature looked up tiredly. Sun still squatted beside it. Its eyes closed, and it nodded in understanding.
Reaching out two humanlike hands, the being pressed its palms against either side of Sun's head.
The explosion of yellow was blinding, brilliant.
The vision came at once.
He was as a king. Riding a cloud from the heavens. The vast domain of Korea stretched out beneath his feet. Beyond it, the world lay waiting.
His future.
The flash of yellow consumed him with a shocking abruptness. Sun shuddered, gasping for breath. He blinked madly, chasing the dancing yellow spots from before his eyes.
As the brightness faded, Sun looked around.
He was back in his closet. Hangers hung from wooden rods beyond the thin film of yellow smoke.
Between his ankles was the strange urn with the Greek carving along its sides. The same urn that had been in the possession of Mike Princippi and given away. The urn he had had his Sunnie followers remove from the Boston Museum of Rare Arts.
The yellow smoke rose in uncertain puffs from the damp powder within the ancient stone vessel. The stink of sulfur clung to every corner of the room.