"Can't help it. This unit is pretty worn out. Can't figure out why. It's supposed to be for backup only. Am I right?"
"That's right."
"Well, you must have bought this baby used. It's worn down to nothing."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Mikulka. "What about our power? We have patients."
"No problem. Give me a minute to throw the circuit breakers on the mains."
Mrs. Mikulka felt her way back up the stairs, wondering what she would tell Dr. Smith when he returned.
Then the lights came back on.
Behind a concrete wall in the basement, not far from the faulty generator, a secret bank of computers resumed their operation, awaiting transmission of the CURE access code.
When, after several minutes, no signal was received, the computers resumed normal operations, searching nationwide data links for signs of potential criminal activity, as they had for over twenty years of continuous operation.
Chapter 15
The Russians arrived exactly at sunset. Five Chaika automobiles led by a Zil limousine pulled to a halt at the edge of the village of Sinanju. The people of the village, seeing uniformed men bristling with weapons emerge from the cars, scattered to their huts in fear.
Remo saw the Russians coming down the rocks, one in KGB green, the rest in black uniforms like none he had ever seen before. He ran to the treasure house and burst in.
"Chiun. I'm not letting this happen," Remo said. Chiun handed a freshly-rolled scroll to the caretaker, Pullyang, and waved for him to leave.
"You do not have to let anything happen, egotistical one," he said quietly. "It is happening without you."
"We'll fight them, Little Father."
Chiun shook his head wearily. "I cannot fight them."
"Then I'll do the fighting. There's only about a dozen of them. Piece of cake."
"Yes," said Chiun. "You could easily best the dozen. But what about the next dozen? And the two dozen who will show up at my village when the others do not return? And the legions who will surely follow. We are safe from the dogs at Pyongyang, but they are vassals to the Russian bear. The bear will keep coming until he has filled his stomach. No matter how many Russian corpses we pile in the village square to show our might, in the end my village will be lost." Chiun shook his head sadly. "No. This way is better."
"Bull!" said Remo.
"Once before, a Master of Sinanju was in service to an emperor, and when that emperor lost a war, his goods became the property of the conquering emperor. This calamity would not have happened had not the Master of that time, whose name was Tipi, been away at a crucial time. Have I told you that tale, Remo?"
"Screw the story. If I'm stuck in Sinanju, you're staying here,too."
"You have made up your mind?"
Remo folded his arms across his chest. "Definitely."
"Very well. Then bring me the sword of Sinanju. Quickly. Before the Russians are knocking at this door."
Remo took the sword, a two-handed weapon with jewel-encrusted hilt and a seven-foot blade, from its place of honor on one wall. He brought it to Chiun, offering it flat in his palms, blade turned inward.
"I do not wish to hold it," snapped Chiun. "It is for you. Now, quickly, strike off my head," and the Master of Sinanju bowed his head, giving Remo a clean opening to the back of his wattled neck.
"No," said Remo, horrified.
"Do it!" commanded the Master of Sinanju. "If you wish to spare me the pain of exile, then spare me the shame of willfully violating my sacred duty. And grant the Master who has made you whole a clean death."
"No!"
"Why do you hesitate, my son? With one stroke, you would cut yourself free of your obligations to me, and to my village."
Remo dropped the sword. He was in tears.
"You could return to the land of your birth ... with the maiden Mah-Li, if that is your wish."
"I can't. I love you."
"But not enough to grant me release from an odious responsibility," said the Master of Sinanju, lifting his face to meet Remo's streaming eyes.
"I'm sorry, Little Father."
"So be it," said Chiun, rising to his feet like a time-lapse film of a sunflower growing. "I go now to meet my future clients. I will expect you not to interfere."
"What about the investment ceremony?" asked Remo.
"There is no time. I will dispense with it. Consider yourself the new reigning Master of Sinanju."
"I'm not sure I'm ready," Remo said weakly.
"And I am sure you are not," said the Master of Sinanju. "But fate has decreed it otherwise. But you may take comfort in the story of the Master Tipi. I have placed the scroll describing his career under his new emperor beside my throne. It was not so terrible. He, too, was in his end days."
And Chiun went out of the house of his ancestors without a backward glance.
Colonel Viktor Ditko waited in the square of the village of Sinanju, surrounded by a crack team of black-clad Special Military Purposes Unit soldiers. Spetsnaz commandos. A cross between the American Green Berets and the old Nazi Stormtroopers, they were the most vicious soldiers in the entire Soviet Army. And Colonel Ditko was prepared to unleash them.
The word had come from the Kremlin. He was to personally take possession of the Master of Sinanju at sunset, and bring him instantly back to Russia.
When Colonel Ditko saw the crowd of villagers scatter like frightened pigeons, he was surprised to see an elderly Korean being escorted into the square by another. He recognized the younger of the two as the one in the original tape made by Sammy Kee, but not the other, who wobbled as he walked.
Then, with a shock, he realized it was the Master of Sinanju himself. He looked older, shrunken and feeble in his funereal black robes.
"What is this?" demanded Ditko of the Master of Sinanju.
And the Master of Sinanju replied in excellent if haughty Russian.
"This is the Master of Sinanju, Soviet dog. What are you?"
"I am Colonel Viktor Ditko. I have come to take you to my country."