Sammy Kee searched for some chink in the walls, and found none.
He had gotten some of what he'd returned to Sinanju for. A videotaped confession of the Master of Sinanju's service in America, and a nearly complete account of the workings of a secret arm of the United States government, known as CURE. For a moment, Sammy Kee's half-forgotten journalistic instinct had taken over. It was the story of the century. Any television network would pay a small fortune for it.
And so Sammy Kee had quietly followed the American named Remo after he'd stormed away from the town square of Sinanju. If only he could get more. Who was this Remo? What was his last name? How had he come to be chosen to be the next Master of Sinanju?
Sammy wondered if he knocked on the door and asked to borrow a cup of rice, could he get Remo to talk directly to the camera, maybe trick him into an interview without Remo realizing it.
No, too risky. He had to get this new tape back to Colonel Ditko. Maybe it would be enough to satisfy him. And he was afraid to linger much longer. But Sammy was also a journalist, and to him, the story was everything.
But hours passed, and Remo did not reappear.
What was he doing in there? Sammy Kee wondered. Colonel Ditko was waiting for him back along the road. He was almost certain he had enough footage. But what if Ditko sent him back for more? And there was the body of the boy whose skull Sammy had crushed with a stone. What if someone missed the boy?
Crouching in the rocks, the chill winds of the Yellow Sea cutting through the paper of his costume, Sammy Kee grew impatient.
And so, he made a terrible mistake. He knocked on the plain wood door.
Remo answered it. He took one look at the dragon dancer and said, "Tell Chiun I'll see him later."
Sammy asked, "Can you spare some rice?" in Korean. He pressed the trigger of the video camera.
"Rice?" Remo looked puzzled. "I don't-" Remo's hand drifted out so suddenly that Sammy Kee didn't notice it. His dragon head went sailing into the air. Looking into the viewfinder, Sammy only saw Remo's face. It twisted in anger.
"What the ding-dong hell?" Remo yelled, lapsing into English.
Sammy Kee felt the videocam leave his hands. The electrical cable drawing the power from his belt battery pack snapped. Sammy's hands were suddenly numb. He looked at them. They were stuck in the stricture of holding the camera. But the camera wasn't there.
"Who the hell are you?" Remo demanded.
"Don't hurt me! I can explain," Sammy babbled in English.
Remo grabbed Sammy by the shoulder, tearing off the top of the beautiful dragon costume. Underneath, he saw Sammy's dirty peasant clothes.
"You're an American," Remo said accusingly.
"How did you know?" Sammy asked.
You smell like an American. Everyone smells like something. Koreans smell of fish. Americans smell of hamburger."
"I admit it. Don't hurt me!"
"Smith send you?"
"What?"
"Smith," Remo repeated angrily. "He sent you, right? You're here to spy for him, to make sure I come back to the States after ... after . . ."
Remo didn't complete the sentence. The very thought of Smith sending a spy all the way to Sinanju to monitor Chiun's dying was too much, even for a cold-blooded tightass like Smith.
"Come on," Remo said, yanking Sammy Kee along.
"Where are you taking me?" Sammy wanted to know.
"Don't talk. Don't say a word. Just walk."
Sammy looked back in the shadows of the open door, a small figure stood in a forlorn posture, her face concealed by a impenetrable veil. She waved farewell timidly, but Remo didn't notice the gesture. His eyes were on the road ahead. The beach road leading back to the village.
The Master of Sinanju was troubled. He had tricked Remo into declaring himself as his true heir. But at what cost? Remo had been very angry. It made Chiun heavy of heart. And so Chiun had retired to his beautiful house, deciding in his mind that he would not go to Remo, but would instead wait for Remo to seek him out.
And if the Master of Sinanju expired before Remo's anger had subsided, then that would be on the head of Remo Williams.
Pullyang, the caretaker, entered upon knocking. "He returns, O Master," Pullyang said as he bowed.
"His face?" asked Chiun.
"Full of wrath."
Chiun looked stricken, but he said, "I will meet with him."
"He is not alone. One is with him."
"Which?" asked Chiun. "Speak his name."
"I am told this person is not of the village."
"This too, I will deal with." And Chiun was puzzled. Remo barged in without knocking. Chiun was not surprised. But he was surprised when Remo threw down a Korean whom Chiun did not recognize.
"If this is a peace offering, Remo," Chiun said, "it will not do. I have never seen this wretch before."
"Forgive me, great Master of Sinanju," pleaded Sammy Kee, falling to his knees.
"But I will consider your offering," added Chiun, who enjoyed proper respect.
"Smell him," Remo said. Chiun sniffed delicately.
"He smells of excrement," the Master of Sinanju said disdainfully. "And worse, the dreaded hamburger."
"A present from Smith," Remo said, holding up the video camera. "He was spying on us."
Chiun nodded. "Emperor Smith is concerned that the line of succession is being transferred correctly. The mark of a wise ruler. I would not have credited him so. Too bad his contract is with the current Master of Sinanju, and not the next one."
Chiun addressed Sammy Kee.
"Return to your homeland and inform Emperor Smith that the Master of Sinanju lives yet. And that Remo will not be returning, having agreed to take my place as the head of my village."
Sammy Kee trembled in silence.