Remo did not speak that way to Chiun even in jest, and
Chiun said: "You speak that way to the Master of Sinanju?"
"Sinanju? What is that? A suburb of Hong Kong?"
Chiun looked hard at the man who had Shiva's face and Shiva's vibrations but was strangely unlike Shiva, and he thought to speak in anger, then he thought to remain silent. He would wait.
The man at the door took another step into the room. He was balanced on the balls of his feet and his hands had risen slightly toward his hips. It was the prelude to attack, and Chiun did not want him to attack.
He had come to love the destroyer he had created; he had come to a grudging respect for the country which paid his wages.
But he was the Master of Sinanju, and a village depended upon his life. He loved Remo, but if Remo attacked, Remo would die. And in that secret part of his heart, where he kept a love he never spoke, Chiun would die too. And he knew that never again would he create a destroyer.
The man who thought he was PJ Kenny sized up the old man. His brain told him to move in, to throw one blow, and it would all be over. He was too big, too young, too strong. His brain told him that.
But his instinct told him something else. It called something from deep inside his memory and he remembered a voice once telling him that "one should consider the bamboo. It is neither thick nor sturdy. Yet, when come the winds that fell the trees, the bamboo laughs and survives."
This old man in front of him was the bamboo. He could feel the vibrations; they were strong and strange, and he knew the old man felt them too, that those vibrations would add up to a fight that PJ Kenny would never forget. If he survived it.
He rocked up onto his toes. Then he heard a sound behind him, and he wheeled and faced the door, somehow totally unconcerned about any need to protect his back against the old man. The door pushed open and Maggie stepped in.
She was wearing a light blue dress with nothing under it, and Remo took her by the shoulder.
"I thought I told you to wait."
"I was worried," she said.
"There's nothing to worry about. Now go back to the room." He moved to usher her out and he felt her small shoulder bag slap against her leg. There was more weight in it than there should be; he gauged the weight as just about the right amount for a .32 calibre automatic.
He marched her out into the hall and called over his shoulder, "You wait here, mister." Remo walked Maggie back to the room and pushed her inside roughly. "Now you wait here, this time," he said, and his voice allowed no appeal.
He slammed the door angrily behind him and started back down the hall to Room 2527. He wondered if the chink would still be there, and somehow he knew the chink would be there.
He was there, standing still as a statue, waiting, the wisp of smile playing around his mouth. Remo closed the door behind him and suddenly was moved by pity for the old man. He was so old.
"All right, old man, you're coming with me," Remo said.
"And where are we going?"
"That's none of your business. But when your friend Williams finds out, he'll come after you. And then I've got you both."
"You have always been a master of logic," the old man said. He smiled, remembering that beautiful passage in the Western Bible where God orders Abraham to kill his son.
Chiun was not Abraham; he would not have refused. He was glad that the Gods had heard his prayers and that he would not have to kill Remo.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In the lobby, Remo steered Chiun through the phalanxes of gunmen and bodyguards, who looked at the unlikely pair with curious eyes.
Since last night, some of them had obviously gotten word that PJ Kenny was in the hotel and some surmised that this dude in the tennis shoes might be him, because they took great pains to avert their eyes and look elsewhere when Remo and Chiun passed.
The old man allowed himself to be led quietly outside, which was good for him, Remo told himself. Remo got behind the wheel of the Porsche and began driving off toward the edge of the city and the road that twisted up to Nemeroff's castle.
Next to him, Chiun chuckled.
"What's so funny, old man?"
"It is a lovely day for a drive. I thought we might go to the zoo."
"If you think this is a pleasure trip, you're in for a surprise," Remo said. "As soon as Williams comes for you, zzzzt. The two of you get it."
"What have we done to deserve such a fate at your hands?" Chiun asked.
"Nothing personal, old man. My boss, Baron Nemeroff, says you go, so you go. That's it."
"And of course, like a good assassin, you must do your duty?" Chiun asked.
"Of course."
"Good," said Chiun. "I believe you have more character than Remo Williams. He is always letting sentiment interfere with his work."
"That's too bad for him," said the man who thought he was PJ Kenny. "There's no room for sentiment in this business."
"How true. How true. And what weapons have you reserved for our demise?"
"I haven't decided yet," Remo said. "Generally, I work with my hands."
"Very pure," Chiun said. "Purity is the essence of the art. I never liked this Remo Williams anyway. May I give you a hint as to his weakness?"
"Hint away," Remo said.
"Hit him in his gross American mouth."
"Can't take it in the face, huh?" Remo said.
"Probably his mouth will be filled with all kinds of forbidden foods. Sweetness’s and alcohols and meats with blood."
"Nothing wrong with those things," Remo said. "What else would he eat?"
"Why not rice? Why not fish?" Chiun asked.
"Hey," Remo said. "I had that last night for dinner. It wasn't very good. I don't even know why I ordered it."
"You would think so, my son," Chiun said in disgust. "Tell me of the assassin's life. Is it rewarding? Why do you do it?"
"I do it for the money. It's just a job."