"I am ashamed to admit it, Little Father."
"And you should be ashamed," Chiun admonished. "This man was not white, was he? For if he was white, my shame would know no depths."
"I think he was Chinese."
Chiun shook his head sadly. "Almost as had. Are you certain he was not Korean?"
"The eyes were not Korean. I'm sure of that. His voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it."
"You knew him?"
"He wore a mask. The funny thing was, even so, I thought I recognized him."
Chiun cocked an inquisitive head. "You recognized the eyes, or perhaps the lips?"
"I don't think so. If you want the truth, I thought I recognized the mask."
Chiun waved a dismissive hand, saying, "Any idiot may wear a mask."
"This was special," Remo countered. "It was molded to his facial contours. Doesn't make sense, does it?"
"You seldom do."
"There's more."
Chiun lifted thin eyebrows and Remo launched into a long recitation of all that had happened to him since he encountered the black limousine. He went into great detail regarding the mystery of the garage, and then told the Master of Sinanju about the impossible footprints.
"Can you explain any of it?" Remo concluded.
Chiun's eyes grew narrow and steely. He said nothing for many uncomfortable minutes.
"I am not making this up, Chiun," Remo said to break the silence.
"You are mistaken," Chiun said solemnly.
"About what?"
"About everything."
"Those footprints are still there," Remo pointed out.
"You are mistaken," Chiun repeated. "You saw no such thing."
"Who are you to tell me what I saw?" Remo asked testily.
"What you saw is impossible," Chiun lectured. "Therefore, you could not have seen it."
"Which are we talking about-the tire tracks or the footprints?"
"All of them. I do not understand this vanishing car of yours, but no one leaves such footprints. No one living, that is."
"Are we talking ghost?" Remo asked suddenly.
"No, we are talking the dead. And the dead do not walk."
"I saw what I saw," Remo said stubbornly.
"And I say to you what I say to you-do not disturb my sleep with such trifles."
"What's sleep got to do with anything?"
"Sleep," said the Master of Sinanju, "has to do with everything." He got up without another word and padded into his room.
Remo reached out and shut off the VCR. He wondered what the heck was going on.
After a few minutes the smell of incense drifted from Chiun's bedroom. From within, Remo heard the quavering sounds of his master singing. He recognized the old Korean prayers, though not all of the words were understandable. These were very old prayers handed down from the early days of Sinanju. They were prayers beseeching the protection of the village of Sinanju from the great Void.
They made Remo shudder.
He decided to do something about the situation. He went to his own bedroom door and flung it open.
"Rise and shine!" Remo called. "Time for answers."
The Chinese man was seated on Remo's sleeping mat, his head bowed as if in meditation.
He turned at the sound of Remo's voice and reached out for his knapsack, hugging it close to him. He slid around on the mat so Remo couldn't see his face.
Noticing the man's back, Remo frowned. "Do I know you?"
"I do not think so. Not know you."
"There's something familiar about you."
"I do not know you."
"You wouldn't by chance have been driving a black limousine this afternoon, would you?"
"Black limousine!" he said excitedly. "Where you see black limousine?"
"Back at the safe house. What do you know about it?" "Nothing," Zhang Zingzong said quickly.
"Oh, bullshit!" Remo retorted. "You know something."
"Know nothing."
"No, it couldn't have been you. You're too tall," Remo decided.