Robert Dastrow sat in his fixit shop, the perspiration pouring from his forehead. He wiped his hands several times on his slacks, and to take his mind off his worrying he played with his personal cyclotron for half an hour. But even that didn't help. He had finally come up against something he couldn't understand. This time he didn't know how things worked.
He had seen the reactions of Remo and Chiun, so he knew these were no ordinary men. But he realized they weren't mystical either. These two had perfected optimal use of the human body. Normally, less than ten percent of human physical potential was used in lifting and running. These two had somehow learned to use it all and maximize their power.
Everything Dastrow had done was done right. You examined something and then you fiddled a bit and then you knew how it worked. He had examined Remo and Chiun on the stage at the Save benefit performance. He had readouts that would have shamed an internist. Physically he knew exactly what they could do. They could do almost anything.
Then he did the fiddling. He tried them with guns, knives, and explosives, and that didn't work. So instead of fiddling some more he used what couldn't be dodged. A massive amount of water pressure, and the trap baited by triggering the patriotic urge of one of them.
It had worked perfectly even though it hadn't worked at all. They were better than he had thought. It was then that Robert Dastrow panicked and used a full court press.
He not only drew one of them to the atomic site, but he worked on what he had found out from Debbie Pattie. It was merely a tinkerer's kick at a machine. He was trying several things at once.
And so he waited, watching the clock and waiting for his machines to tell him that at least one of the enemy was dead. But the word didn't come. He made himself a peach milkshake with sweet marshmallow sauce and fruit sprinkles. He drank down the sweet goo, licking the faint pink mustache delicately from his lips. He had two more while waiting for Nevada to blow up. Instead of explosions he saw his machine answering someone, and then a red light when the machine indicated that it had a question from a caller it couldn't answer.
Robert picked up the phone, pressing a button for a fast review of the conversation. It was Chiun, the Oriental part of the two-part team.
"Here," said Dastrow. He tasted the residue of peach and marshmallow sticking to his teeth. He sucked it down his throat and rubbed a hand over his lip to gather the last traces of sweetness.
"Are you the voice that spoke to me from the walls of my motel in Booree?" came the high squeaky voice of the Oriental.
Dastrow checked his machines. The Oriental was no longer in Booree, but in Lockwood, Nebraska, less than an hour's drive away. That was a good sign.
"I have come to where you suggested. We have come for our payment. But I am afraid I am going to need more money."
"I don't know where you come from, sir, but when I make a deal, it's a deal."
"We too make a deal that is a deal. We have four thousand, five hundred years of deals that are deals. We have a tradition that I have told you to examine. "
"Yeah, well, I have found you mentioned."
"Found us mentioned? Found us? Before your little bud of a country was born, we were. When Angles and Jutes scrambled over the barren cliffs of England, we were. When czars were just a future dream of some barbaric animal-skinned tribes, we were. We were before Rome set one stone to another, and you in this town of Lockwood which has barely cut the first layer of its earth dare tell me you found us mentioned."
"You've been around a long time. But I've problems too. I'm not just a voice that comes from a wall, you know. That's a device I use. I need people to work for me, at prices that are sound and reasonable."
Dastrow looked over at his monitors. Why hadn't the bomb gone? Hadn't the white man, the only thing keeping the yellow man in service to Dastrow's yet unknown enemy, gone for the trap? He had to go after all. Dastrow had found out that the organization the white man served was supposed to save the country. Couldn't locate it because they had even more electronic baffles than he did at this point. But it was clear that was how he worked and why he worked, and when Dastrow set a trap, just like a mousetrap it always worked.
But the bomb had not gone off. It was all but certain a bomb had to be able to destroy one of these two. After all, they were flesh. And nuclear blasts turned flesh to vapor.
But it hadn't gone off.
"Ah, but I have good news. I bring you my son, who has seen the light. We have truly been betrayed in the contract with our current emperor."
"Who is it then?"
"Will you pay for both of us? We do not come separate, but let me assure you the quality of the work is more than doubled. And your glory and your life will shine for many ages."
"How do I know it's not a trap?"
"Fool, we have been doing business for four thousand, five hundred years. Certainly that was enough time to betray a client, to break our word. Did you not check us out? Do you hire assassins willy-nilly?"
"I've checked you two out better than any men I've worked with. You've got to admit I have reason to be leery. After all, I tried to kill you, you know. I almost did it with the white guy."
"That's business. We are professional assassins. Do you think after four thousand, five hundred years we take it personally when someone tries to kill us? You know how things work. Can you possibly conceive of us betraying a client and history not revealing it once? Not once. Or were you lying to me when your voice came from a wall? Do you wish to hire us or not?"
"There was too much to read all at once. I fed it into a computer, but I wasn't looking for betrayal," said Dastrow.
"Look for it," said Chiun. "I will wait."
Dastrow always had all his information stored in a huge data base from which he could retrieve bits and pieces whenever he wanted. The problem was that the information on Sinanju went in with the rest of the world. And unable to isolate Sinanju at first, he saw centuries upon centuries of betrayal by everyone, but not one betrayal came up marked "Sinanju." In all the histories of corporations, countries, and leaders there was not one bit of evidence that Sinanju had ever failed a client, although there were many stories of gratitude by pharaohs and tyrants and other rulers toward the assassins from the little village on the West Korea Bay.
It made sense. The one thing of value in a dynasty of assassins was, necessarily, Sinanju's reputation. Otherwise they would be counted among the thousands, millions of petty killers throughout the ages who had killed or were killed.
So that was how it worked. It was an unbroken line through history. They naturally had to keep records, and as they grew, their records made them more knowledgeable about how the world worked.
And if the Oriental were going to double-cross him, would he really be bargaining so hard for an increased fee? "I won't go double for two," said Dastrow. "The younger one obviously lacks the experience, skill, and general worth that you've accumulated working around the world. After all, you are the teacher, aren't you?"
"Yes," said Chiun and then spoke to someone nearby. "He made us a good offer, Remo. He understands us."
"I didn't hear him say yes," said Dastrow.
"He's emotional, but he'll get over it. He's still attached to the one he works for. You must know how we work by now."
Dastrow said he did. He gave them directions to his Grand Island laboratory. Actually, he did not know for certain how they worked. After he had made the deal with Chiun, he had picked up the return of Remo and Remo going into the shower. He was so shocked at Remo's survival that he thought he'd fouled up his bugging of their hotel room because he stopped hearing anything. But when the sound resumed as they left the room, Dastrow realized that physically they did what countries might do electronically. One of them, probably the Oriental, had sent out countering sound waves so that their voices could not be heard by electronic ears.
He was sure this was so because the first readout of their reactions showed they could by extension have just such powers.
Dastrow made himself another peach milkshake, and when he saw the two assassins arrive he buzzed them into his underground laboratory:
"Greetings, Master of Sinanju and pupil," said Dastrow. "I guess this just about makes me the most powerful man in this country."
He held out a hand, and promptly Remo caressed it into jelly.
Dastrow screamed. It was worse than the bullies back in high school.
"You lied. But Sinanju never lies. There are no records in four thousand, five hundred years," wailed Dastrow.
"We lie all the time, jerk," said Remo. "What do you think? We go around killing people and then recoil at a fib?"
"We don't lie," said the Oriental. "This was a tactic used by a Master We during the later middle kingdom of the Tang Dynasty. It is not a lie."
"We lied to him, little father. We lied through our teeth."
"What about your reputation? What will happen to your reputation?" sobbed Dastrow. His right hand felt as though it were melting. He would do anything to stop the pain.
"It'll be fine. We kill anyone who badmouths us. Reputation is great. You didn't find anything in almost five thousand years. That means no one lived to tell about the double crosses, the sneaky deals, the two-faced lies we've told."
"He lies," said Chiun. "He just likes to embarrass me. This is not lying. It is a legitimate strategy in defense of an embattled employer, turning down even more money than we were paid. And so it will be recorded that despite blandishments of all kinds and threats of death, the House of Sinanju stood by a poor and beleagured client, because Sinanju kept its word. "