"For which you should fall to your knees before me."
"It has also robbed me of my dreams."
"Dreams are for those who sleep," Chiun said joyously. "You have been awakened, Remo Williams. Rejoice in that." His arms lifted in benediction.
"Once I dreamed of a house such as this," Remo said quietly.
"Which you now have-thanks to Sinanju."
"And a wife."
"Take as many as you wish. But keep them in the attic, for they will undoubtedly prattle and complain all day long."
"And children."
Chiun touched Remo's knee tenderly. "You have a daughter. True, this is not exactly a cause for rejoicing, for if the lean times come again, she will be among the first to be sent home to the sea. For as you know, in times of approaching famine, the female babies are always drowned first. The males only after the famine has struck. This way-"
"A daughter born to me by a woman who will not have me because the work I do is too dangerous," Remo interjected. "A daughter I haven't seen in years."
"When you have a son, it will be different. We will train him together, you and I."
"How can I have a son if there is no pleasure in sex for me? How can I have a wife or a family with the work we do, the dangers we face?"
"These are problems each Master must solve in his own way," Chiun said with a dismissive wave.
"But what is my way? I feel empty. I met a woman today, at the rice store. She was interested in me. But I had to walk away from her. She saw me do stuff. And you know how Smith is about security."
"This is bad," Chiun grumbled.
"You understand?"
"Of course. This means I will have to buy the rice from now on. Oh Remo, how could you be so careless?"
"Somebody stole my car," Remo said, annoyed.
"An unworthy excuse. You could have walked the fifteen miles home."
"I walked away from love because I knew it would be too much trouble," Remo said with intensity. "I walked away because I knew the sex would be boring. I need someone to fill the emptiness in my life, and I walked away. Don't you see? I've given up."
"Do you think a woman could fill that void?"
"If I stop believing that one could, I lose my dream."
Chiun considered. "I might be able to show you how to enjoy sex once more."
"For a price," Remo and Chiun said together. Neither man laughed.
"I'll make the call," Remo said instantly.
He got to his feet, but before he took a single step, the phone rang.
Frowning, Remo picked it up. It was either Harold W. Smith or an insurance salesman, he knew. He hoped it was the latter. Smith was a really dull conversationalist.
"Remo," Harold Smith said peevishly. "I need you. At once."
"You have me mistaken for the paper boy." Remo slammed the receiver down. It rang again before he could dial the eight-hundred number.
"Cut it out, Smith!" Remo snapped, hanging up again. This time it ran again instantly. Remo hung up again and the phone kept ringing.
"How are you doing that?" Remo demanded hotly.
"Phone trap."
"What's that?"
"A lever on the side of my telephone," Smith explained. "It prevents the connection from being severed at your end. The phone company uses them to trace obscene phone callers. "
"So you're going to hold my phone hostage until I do what you say, is that it?"
"I have an assignment for you," Smith said, his voice like lemons being tortured of their inmost juices.
"Stuff it!" Remo said, pulling the phone cord from the wallboard.
"Auugh!" cried the Master of Sinanju. "My reward!"
"Damn!" said Remo, suddenly remembering why he had gone to the telephone in the first place.
"For that," Chiun cried, flouncing toward the door, "you will suffer from a lousy sex life to the end of your miserable days!"
"Where are you going?" Remo called after him.
"To see Emperor Smith. I will have him place the telephone call. I should have considered this in the first place."
"Don't forget my ten percent," Remo called over the sound of the slamming door.
Chapter 3
Zhang Zingzong was holding a pair of queens.
He took a drag on a Panda, expelling smoke out of the side of his mouth. He had lost all his pocket money to the corpulent dealer in the first ten minutes of the poker game. His traveler's checks had gone next. The last one lay in the pot.
Zhang Zingzong eyed it narrowly, his heart racing. The checks had gotten him as far as New York's noisy Chinatown, where he blended in with these alien Chinese who spoke Mandarin in Hong Kong accents or no Chinese at all.
A waiter at the Golden Pagoda restaurant told him where to find the poker game when Zhang Zingzong doubled his tip. It proved to be in the back of the very same Division Street restaurant. Zhang had only to flash his travelerr's checks to be admitted.
Now, scarcely an hour later, his throat burning with a combination of anxiety-produced heartburn and pepper chicken, Zhang looked from his two queens to the last traveler's check, without which he would starve, even in Chinatown.