The General Secretary shrugged as if to say: I just want to keep this friendly. But he said: "I will get to the point. As I hinted over the phone, I know all about CURE."
"Cure?" the President asked, trying to sound calm. "The cure for what?"
"I mean CURE, as in all capital letters, CURE. The secret American agency whose existence demonstrates that the U.S. Constitution is a sham, a piece of political fiction."
The President knew it was all over, but he decided to play the hand out.
"Knowledge is not proof," he said pointedly.
"No," the General Secretary admitted, tapping the Play switch on the video recorder. "But proof is proof. Allow me to entertain you with this. It was filmed in the People's Democratic Republic of Korea." And when the President looked perplexed, he added: "North Korea. More specifically, in the modest fishing village known as Sinanju. I believe you have heard of it." There was that grin again.
The video screen came to life. And there was the Master of Sinanju. The President recognized him. Chiun had personally guarded the oval office during a recent threat to the President's life. It was impossible to forget Chiun.
Chiun spoke in Korean, and at first the President was relieved. No matter what secrets Chiun spilled in Korean, they would have less impact shown over U.S. television, even with subtitles.
But then an American appeared beside Chiun. The President knew he must be Remo, CURE's enforcement arm. As Chiun spoke to a crowd ofvillagers, Remo interposed comments, some in Korean, but others in English. Remo had to ask Chiun for the proper Korean words for "Constitution."
"Here is a complete transcript of what they are saying."
The President took it wordlessly and glanced at the first few pages. It was all there. America's greatest security secret, and it had been handed to him by the Soviet General Secretary.
"We know all about it," said the General Secretary. "About Master Chiun, Remo, and Emperor Smith."
"If you call him emperor, you can't know it all."
"We know enough."
And the President agreed. Looking up from the transcript, he had deep pain in his eyes.
"What do you want?"
"It is simple. It is fair. For more than a decade, America has had a secret weapon to handle its domestic affairs."
"That is our right," the President bristled.
"I will not disagree with you. The question of the illegalities of this enforcement arm of yours is your political problem. We in Russia have had similar arrangements in the past, our KGB, and before that the Cheka. But my country is concerned over the use of this CURE apparatus in international affairs."
"Specifically?"
"Specifically, we do not know. We have no proof yet that your CURE has operated on our soil. But there have been many strange incidents among agents of our foreign service. Projects mysteriously abandoned. Agents killed in odd ways. Others who disappeared. We have never been able to account for these failures. I will not ask you about them now. Most took place prior to my regime, and they belong to the past."
"What do you want?" the President repeated.
"Before I place my demands before you, let me point out to you that you have been employing an agent-I refer to the illustrious Master of' Sinanju-who comes from our sphere of influence. You have made numerous secret submarine landings-according to this tape and another in our possession-in North Korean waters. Communist waters."
"No comment."
"Good. You understand the political damage of that revelation alone and apart from the business of CURE. Then understand I am only asking for what rightfully belongs to Mother Russia."
"Belongs-!"
"We want the Master of Sinanju. We want CURE erased from existence. And we want this Remo person."
"So you can meddle in international affairs? This is blackmail."
"No. We merely want an advantage that America has enjoyed in secret for many years. Now it is Russia's turn."
"Blackmail."
"Such a harsh word. I prefer to call it parity."
"Remo is a patriot. He won't work for you. And I can't turn him over to you. That would be a deed more politically damaging than if the world sees that tape."
The Premier considered.
"Abandon CURE. Give us the Master of Sinanju. And let us negotiate with this Remo. If he turns us down, what would you do with him?"
"Remo would have to die."
"So let it be that way. Our mutual problem is solved."
"I can't turn CURE over to you. It would be a knife at America's throat."
"I understand your fear. Let me quell it. I do not want the Master of Sinanju to enforce our political will in your hemisphere. I wish to use him as you have, to make our system of government work in spite of its flaws. Crime is growing in Russia. Drunkenness, laxity in the work force. These are Russia's deepest ills. You know that I have been trying to solve them."
"Yes, I know."
"Then you can sympathize with my plight. The plight of Mother Russia. We want a dose of your CURE, too."
The President's mind worked furiously. He wished he had his advisers here now. But if he did, they would have to die after advising him. He was all alone in this one.
Finally he said, "I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."
"Not exactly. If you'd like I could draw up a treaty assuring you that Russia would not employ the Master of Sinanju outside of the so-called Soviet bloc for a grace period of, say twenty-five years. Surely that is a greater period than the lifespan of the current Master of Sinanju."
"Who would draw up the treaty? You? Me? We can't trust anyone else with the knowledge."
"I see your point," the General Secretary said. "Then let us trust to a handshake."
"I have no choice," the President said stiffly, rising to his feet. "I will issue the directive to disband CURE immediately. Give me a day to work out the details. The rest is up to you."
The General Secretary shook the President's hand warmly, and grinned.
"And our representative will approach the Master of Sinanju about new employment. As they say in your country, it is a pleasure doing business with you."
The President mumbled something under his breath that the Russian leader took to be some informal acknowledgment, and he nodded even as he made a mental note to ask his official English tutor the meaning of the colloquial American phrase "Up yours."