Chiun's face puckered in annoyance. "This is a wonderfully instructive story," he sniffed.
"That's what you said the last thirty times you told it to me," Remo groaned, folding his arms.
"I was referring to Smith in this case," Chiun returned. "Thirty repetitions, and you still do not appreciate the beauty of this legend."
"The beauty of malaria has always been lost on me," Remo grumbled.
"Now," Chiun continued, addressing Smith, "in the days of Alexander, Masters of Sinanju were in service to India, owing to a minor dispute with our preferred client, the Persian Empire."
Remo broke in. "Translation: India offered more money. "
"I do not recall that being recorded in the Book of Sinanju," Chiun said vaguely.
"It's in the appendix."
"And if you are not silent while I finish this story, I will take out yours," Chiun continued in a more reasonable tone. "While the Master of that time served India, that sick Greekling descended upon Persia and destroyed that wonderful empire. The Master of Sinanju heard this news with great displeasure."
"Translation: he was thinking of switching sides again."
"And he approached a sultan of India," Chiun went on, pretending to ignore Remo's outburst even as he added it to the long list of injuries Remo had visited him over the years, "whose lands were threatened by this mad Greekling with the name of Alexander. And this sultan offered the Master much gold to eliminate Alexander. And so the Master chose an emissary and sent him to Alexander with a message. This messenger laid the scroll of the Master before Alexander, saying to him that it would reveal to Alexander his ultimate destiny. But the Greekling flew into a rage when he looked upon the scroll, and slew this messenger himself. It seemed that the Master's message was in Korean, which Alexander could not read." Chiun paused.
"Then what happened?" Smith asked, genuinely interested.
"Sinanju lived happily ever after," Remo inserted.
"For once Remo is correct," Chiun said, casting a baleful glance in his pupil's direction. "Sinanju did live happily ever after, for the messenger that the Master had chosen was sick in the early stages of malaria. By the time he reached Alexander, he was very ill and Alexander's cruel murder was actually a mercy to him. Unfortunately the Greekling also contracted malaria, and so he died, with none being the wiser."
"I see. And what did the scroll actually say?"
"Two things." Chiun beamed. " 'You have malaria,' and an ancient Korean expression that in modern English translates roughly as 'Gotcha.' "
"Remarkable," said Smith.
"It's twice as remarkable when you stop and consider it has absolutely nothing to do with the guy who caught cold and died," Remo groused.
"I was coming to that," Chiun hissed. In a softer voice he resumed his story. "When I encountered this Bronzini-"
"Hold the phone," Remo interrupted. "You met Bronzini? You were in Yuma? How'd you pull that off-kidnap Smith's wife?"
"I was there as a correspondent for Star File magazine, I will have you know," Chiun said loftily.
"Never heard of it."
"Of course not. They pay a dollar a word. Obviously it is beyond your penny-a-word reading tastes."
"I stand corrected."
Chiun went on. "And when I saw that the former Greekling, Bronzini, had a cold, knowing how frail this Nishitsu was, I resolved to surrender Bronzini to the evil Japanese aggressor."
"Japanese aggressor?" Remo said. "The movie people?"
"No, the invasion army," Chiun told him.
"He's joking, isn't he?" Remo asked. Smith didn't reply.
Chiun kept talking. "I knew that if I dispatched Nishitsu, his forces would kill the children. But if he died of natural causes, it would demoralize his occupation forces. No reprisals would have been undertaken. "
Remo's mouth formed the silent words "Occupation forces?"
"And so it would have come to pass if the plane bearing the nuclear weapons had not appeared."
Smith nodded. "It was fortunate that Bronzini had escaped his prison, for only one of his reputation could have convinced the military not to nuke Yuma."
"Nuke!" Remo exploded. "The Japanese tried to nuke Yuma?"
"No, the Americans," Chiun said.
"You're pulling my leg," Remo insisted. He turned to Smith. "He is pulling my leg, isn't he?"
"It's a long story," Smith sighed. "But every word of it is true. Chiun was instrumental in averting a catastrophe. The President is very grateful to him."
"We will discuss this at another time," Chiun said loftily. "Perhaps when we resume contract negotiations."
Smith winced at the reminder. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Chiun bowed formally. "Please convey my regards to your illustrious cousin Milburn."
"I will if we ever get back on speaking terms again. He was very unhappy that you submitted your story in poem form. He insists that you were given explicit instructions not to do so."
"The man is a philistine not to recognize great literature when it is offered to him at a mere dollar a word," Chiun said sharply.
"I won't tell him that part. He returned your manuscript, and I've promised to rewrite the story myself."
"I will not have my name attached to your drivelous writings, Smith. Put some other name on it. Perhaps Remo will be pleased to lend his name to your work. But be certain that the check is in my name."
"We'll discuss it another time," Smith said, closing the door after him.
"I get the feeling I missed a lot," Remo said after he and Chiun were alone. "You were in Yuma?"
"That is the past now. I wish you to forget it. You are in Folcroft now, where you are safe."
"I gathered that much. Too bad. I wanted to say good-bye to Sheryl. I never really got to know her."
"Forget her," Chiun said quickly. "Why don't you open your Christmas present?"
"You know, I don't have any presents for you."