"I am done." said the General Secretary, and hung up. Sweat poured off his brow like water from a faulty playground bubbler.
Remo Williams barged into the office of the General Secretary and stopped dead in his tracks. "Chiun!" he said.
Chiun was standing over the Russian leader, holding the man down in his seat with a single delicately curved fingernail. The Master of Sinanju no longer looked wan and tired. Life blazed in his hazel eyes. And at Remo's unexpected entrance, surprise.
"Remo," he squeaked. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to rescue you."
"I need no rescuing. Who guards the gold of my village?"
"Smith."
"Phtaah!" Chiun spat. "We must hurry home then."
"What about your contract with Russia?"
"This fool Russian did not read the fine print. Sinanju contracts are nontransferable. Clause fifty-six, paragraph four. Since Master Tipi's unfortunate servitude, this has been standard in all Sinanju contracts. Which you would have known had you bothered to read the scroll I left for you."
"You were coming back all along?"
"Of course."
Remo's face wore a puzzled expression. "I don't understand this."
"What else is new? Here," he said, tossing Remo two mangled blobs of black plastic. "The tapes this Russian used to blackmail Smith."
Remo caught them. "They're no good anymore. But this guy still knows everything," Remo said, indicating the General Secretary.
"He has graciously consented to accept the gift of amnesia, as administered through the kind offices of Sinanju," Chiun said, twisting his fingernail suddenly. The General Secretary jumped in his seat.
"Now all we have to do is get out of Russia alive." Chiun made a snorting sound. "Passing through borders has never been a problem for Masters of Sinanju. All nations are happy to give us diplomatic immunity."
Remo turned to the Soviet General Secretary. "You got a problem with that?"
The General Secretary had no problem with it whatsoever. In fact he was more than eager to order his private plane to take them back to Pyongyang-if only the damned People's Phone Lines would clear.
Chapter 18
The Master of Sinanju and his pupil sat on opposite sides of the airplane during the flight back to Pyongyang, North Korea. Representatives of the government of the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, were on hand to greet them and arrange a helicopter flight directly to Sinanju.
During the short hop, Remo broke the strained silence.
"You seem to have recovered awfully fast," he said.
"'Of course," said Chiun. "I am the Master of Sinanju."
"I thought you said you were dying."
"I never said that. Your American doctors said that. And what do they know?"
"Wait a minute," Remo said accusingly. "You specifically told me that you were dying."
"Never. I merely pointed out that I was in my end days, which I am. I have no more days left to my life than those which lie before me, which are many fewer than the years I have lived before this."
"How many days would that be?" Remo asked suspiciously.
"Who can say? Twenty, perhaps thirty years."
"Years?"
Chiun put on a hurt expression.
"What is the matter? Are you disappointed in that? Are you so looking forward to becoming the reigning Master of Sinanju that you can't wait for me to be put into the cold ground?"
"I thought I was the new reigning Master of Sinanju."
Chiun looked shocked. "Without a proper investment ceremony? Are you mad? You know these things must be done correctly."
"I'm confused."
"You were born confused," said Chiun. "Look! There is our village below. And there is Smith waiting for us."
The helicopter touched down in the square, sending up waves of dust. Remo and Chiun emerged and the machine lifted skyward.
Smith trotted up to greet them. He was still clutching his briefcase. His ruined jacket was fastened in front by bone needles.
"Remo. And Master Chiun."
"Hail, Smith," said the Master of Sinanju. "My village is well?"
"Yes, ofcourse."
"It's all over, Smitty," Remo said. "The Russians have backed down."
"They have? That's wonderful. For America."
"And I'm staying here. I'm going to be the next Master of Sinanju."
"Do not get ahead of yourself, Remo," Chiun warned, handing Smith the contract scroll which he had recovered from the Soviet General Secretary with a studied lack of ceremony.
"Master of Sinanju?" Smith said blankly.
"Clause fifty-six, paragraph four," Chiun said. "Should a client ever sell a contract to another emperor, said contract is immediately null and voic. Sinanju is not for sale. Only its services are. You may keep this document for future reference, in case an American emperor two or three centuries from now requires our services and needs to know terms."
"I guess you can go home now, Smitty," Remo suggested.