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weaken the mighty bond of my House to one as great and worthy as you."
Smith shot a confused look to Remo. ' Thank you, Master of Sinanju," he said in puzzlement.
Chiun bowed to Smith across the room. "The thanks are mine," he said. "Your name, Wise Emperor Harold, shall be recorded in the histories of Sinanju by my very hand. Rest assured, you will be remembered forever as the greatest and most benevolent of rulers. Great reverence for your limitless beneficence shall grace the lips of Masters of Sinanju long after your earthly form has taken glorious flight into the Void. All hail, Emperor Smith."
Smith seemed more embarrassed now than confused. "Again, thank you," he said, nodding awkwardly. The formality of Chiun's words made him feel as though he should stand or bow or something equally unseemly.
Remo recognized the big kiss-off when he heard it. "Um, Smitty," he said, casting a weary eye at Chiun. "He's telling you he's quitting."
Smith shot to his feet. "Quitting?"
Chiun wrinkled his nose distastefully. "A crude term," he said to Smith. "And inaccurate." He shot a withering glare at Remo. "I assure you that Sinanju does not quit. It moves on. But you need not be concerned, Wise Harold, for only a very small percentage of former emperors have met with foul play. Your safety is virtually assured, though vast oceans separate us."
"But—but we have a contract," Smith sputtered. "Remo?"
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Remo held up his hands. "Don't look at me. I'm not getting into the middle of this again."
"The gold for the unfulfilled portion of the current contract will be returned to you," Chiun assured him.
"Whoa," Remo said, wheeling on Chiun. "You're giving rebates now?"
"Quiet, insolent one," Chiun shushed.
Smith was calculating quickly. "It will take several days to prepare the submarine for your return to Korea," he said. "I assume this is still the mode of transportation you prefer?"
"I do not wish that fat-faced son of Kim Il-Sung to greet me like a weepy maiden at the Pyongyang airport," Chiun sniffed.
' 'Then let your final days in my service end as they began. Here, at Folcroft. I will have your old rooms reopened and I will send for your things in Massachusetts."
Chiun considered. "You are gracious to the end, Emperor Smith," he said with a polite bow.
"And you honor me with your presence, Master of Sinanju," Smith replied. He returned the bow.
"Let's hold the frigging phone for a minute, shall we?" Remo countered, shocked by Smith's easy acceptance of Chiun's resignation. "You're just going to let him up and hi-de-ho out the door?"
"I don't seem to have a choice," Smith said.
"Wisdom flows like honey from your delicate lips," Chiun said, nodding serenely.
"Bulldookey," Remo snapped. "Each one of you thinks you're scamming the other, and whenever that happens I'm the one that always winds up holding the stinky end of the stick."
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"Forgive him, Emperor," Chiun said. "He is crass and does not understand an agreement between his betters."
"Of course," Smith replied. He retook his seat. "I will make the preparations for your departure." And with the promise made, Smith once more began typing swiftly at his keyboard.
"Come, Remo," Chiun commanded. "We shall retire to our rooms." And with that the Master of Sin-anju breezed from the office.
Remo watched Chiun go and then glanced back at Smith. The CURE director was hunched diligently over his hidden computer console.
"Right smack in the middle, every time," he muttered to himself. He slowly pulled the door closed.
Once Remo was gone, Smith peered up over the top of his rimless glasses.
His promise to Chiun of a submarine had been a delaying tactic.
While Smith ordinarily didn't like to proceed on instinct, at the moment his instincts were screaming that something big was happening in Wyoming. This was not the time for hardball contract negotiations.
Whatever Chiun's game was, Smith had to move fast. He had effectively stalled the Master of Sinanju for a few days. He hoped it would be enough.
Smith attacked the keyboard with renewed vigor. Time was of the essence.
Chapter Eleven
Candy Clay was hiking through town on her way home from the movies.
It was late—much later than Candy was supposed to be out alone—but Heidi Lovell's father had gotten called away on an emergency job, so he wasn't able to give Candy a ride home like he'd promised. He left a note on the kitchen table telling Candy that she was welcome to stay overnight if she wanted and that he'd pick up the tab next time the two girls went to the movies together.
But Candy had swimming lessons early in the morning, so even though her father would kill her when he found out, she decided to walk the three miles home. Her father would have to leam that he couldn't treat her like a kid anymore. After all, she was starting fourth grade in the fall.
Arapahoe Street in Thermopolis was quieter than on most nights. Folks were worn-out after the big weekend rally. There was barely any traffic as Candy crossed the street. She saw a sign advertising the upcoming Hot Springs State Fair on the first weekend in May and she was a little embarrassed that she was as excited about the event as she had been when she was
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little. Passing the fair advertisement, she cut through the park toward the west side of town.
There were still signs and banners everywhere left over from the Jackson Cole rally, and when Candy saw his big owlish head staring at her from a poster in Pumpernick's restaurant window, she wondered what the big deal was. Everyone in town seemed to worship the senator. Heck, it was practically a public sin to say you were voting for T. Rex Calhoun.
She wondered what her father would say if she told him that Heidi's dad was voting for Calhoun.
Candy cut across the new construction site at Canyon Hills Road onto Shoshoni Street.
Shoshoni was still mostly wooded, though a few washed-out flecks of light in the distant blackness hinted that two or three new homes had been constructed at the far end of the street.
The city had recently sold this stretch of land to a private contractor, and development was supposed to begin in September.
Candy remembered hearing that there had been a big fight about the Thermopolis city council approving the sale, and now there was an even bigger fight about the lack of streetlights on this stretch of Shoshoni.
The city had a policy of not putting streetlights in wooded areas, and that was going to stand until the new houses were complete.
Candy knew her father had been upset about that decision. He railed about how dangerous Shoshoni Street was and how a lot of high-school kids used the area for a drag-racing strip weekend nights. Over and over he vowed that there was going to be hell to pay the day somebody got killed.