Chiun raised his heel and ground the cyanide capsule under his foot. "Do you think I will have it said of me by future generations that an emperor under my protection was forced to take poison? Oh, the shame of it."
"Sorry," said Smith. It was the only thing he could think of to say. He tried to rise, but his legs were wobbly under him, and then he felt himself being lifted into Chiun's arms as if he were a baby.
At the Seagull Motel, Chiun told the clerk, "We do not wish to be disturbed."
"Just a minute, there. You got to register like everybody else," the clerk said.
Holding Smith in one hand, Chiun used his other hand to rip the stairway railing from the banister. He tossed it onto the desk of the clerk.
"On the other hand," the clerk said, "you can register in the morning."
Inside the room, Chiun placed Smith on the bed and then began probing his body with his long-nailed fingers. After several minutes, he stood and nodded.
"There is no serious injury, Emperor," he said. "With rest, your body will return to the same despicable condition which is its normal state."
Chiun looked around the room, distaste evident on his parchment-like face, and suddenly Smith realized that Chiun did not know about Remo. How could he tell him? He reached deep down into his reserves of rock-hard New England character and said, "Master of Sinanju, Remo is dead."
For a moment Chiun did not move. Then he turned to face Smith. His hazel eyes flashed in the glare from the bare overhead light. "How did this happen?" the old Oriental said slowly.
"In a plane crash. Someone at the ashram over there . . ." He tried to point across the street but was unable to move his arm because of the pain. " . . . over there told me," he said.
Chiun went to the window and looked out. "That slum is a temple?" he said calmly.
"Yes," Smith said. "Kali, I think."
"Is the statue there?" Chiun asked.
"It was a half-hour ago," Smith answered.
"Then Remo is not dead," Chiun said.
"But I was told ... The crash . . ."
Chiun shook his head slowly from side to side. "Remo must yet face death," he said. "That is why I went to my village."
"Why?" Smith said. "I don't understand."
"I went for this." Chiun reached into the sleeves of his robe and pulled forth a tarnished silver ring.
"For that?" Smith said.
"For this."
Smith reddened. It had cost untold thousands of dollars and threatened all kinds of security to send Chiun to North Korea, and he had gone there to bring back a silver ring worth twenty dollars at a generous pawnbroker's.
"For just a ring?" he said.
"Not just a ring, Emperor. The last time it was worn, it gave a man like Remo the strength to do something he had not the courage to do before. Remo needs that courage because he faces that same adversary."
"A. H. Baynes?" Smith asked.
"No. Kali," Chiun said.
"Chiun, why do you think that Remo's alive?"
"I know he is alive, Emperor."
"How do you know?"
"You do not believe the legends of Sinanju, Emperor. No matter how many times you have seen them come true, you believe only in those ugly metal cabinets you have in your office. I could tell you, but you would not understand."
"Try me, Chiun. Please," Smith said.
"Very well. Remo came to me a dead man after you brought him into the organization. Did you ever wonder why I deigned to train a white when it is well-known that whites are incapable of learning anything important?"
"No," Smith said. "Actually, it never occurred to me to wonder about that."
Chiun disregarded the answer. "I did it because Remo fulfilled one of the oldest prophecies of Sinanju. That someday there would be a dead man that would be brought back to life. He would be trained and would become the greatest Master of Sinanju, and someday it would be said of him that he was not just a man, but the rebirth of Shiva, the Destroyer god."
"And that is Remo?" Smith said.
"Such is the legend," Chiun said.
"If Remo is this Shiva god, why doesn't he just armwrestle with Kali and beat her?"
"You scoff," Chiun snapped, "because you choose not to understand, but I will answer anyway. Remo is still just a child in the way of Sinanju. The power of Kali now is greater than his power. That is why I brought this ring. I believe it will make him strong, strong enough to win and to live. And someday he will be Sinanju's greatest Master. Until that day, I continue to teach him."
"Because of that, you know he's not dead?" Smith said.
There was utter disgust on Chiun's face, the countenance of someone trying to teach calculus to a stone. "Because of that," he said simply, and turned away. It was too much for Smith. Sadly, he felt that Chiun was deluding himself, holding on to the slim hope of some legend because he refused to face the hard fact that his disciple, Remo, was dead. But all things die. Didn't the old man know that?
"I have to call the police," Smith said. "I have to get them to round up everybody at that ashram."
"No," Chiun said.
Smith walked to the telephone, but Chiun took his arm and led him back to the bed.
"We will wait for Remo," Chiun said coldly. "This battle belongs to him, not to the police."
Harold Smith decided to wait.
Chapter Twenty-three
Remo held Ivory's hand as they drove from the airport back toward downtown New Orleans. For him, the miracle was not that he had survived the explosion on the plane, but that he had found Ivory after it was all over.
During the panic-stricken seconds right after the blast, the scene in the Air Asia plane was a horrible vision. Remo had felt his seat belt come undone and his body being tossed into a group of hysterical passengers who were trying, illogically, to undo their seat belts to free themselves.