As Emperor Smith had explained, the numbers that he gave Chiun would activate another machine that would not let people listen in. How wise that was, especially for a fool who if he did not act soon against the President, would be too old to enjoy the pleasures of the throne.
Suddenly there was a ringing on the other end. And the voice that answered was that of Smith. Chiun had done it. He had mastered the machine with the codes, the codes of the Americans.
"I have done it," Chiun said in triumph.
"Yes, you have, Master of Sinanju. What can I do for you?" Smith asked.
"We have great dangers, O wise Emperor."
"What's the problem?"
"There are times when Remo is at his height. And times when he is not, when he is low. Never so low that he is a bad product; that I can assure you. But I am looking out for your longer-term interest, Emperor Smith."
"What are you saying?"
"Not that you will not be protected. I will always be here for you. Your tributes to Sinanju are sufficient and do glory to your name."
"I am not increasing the payments," Smith said. "As you know, we have enough difficulty smuggling them into Sinanju as it is. The submarine trips are almost as costly as the gold."
"May my tongue wither, O Emperor, if I ask for another payment beyond your generosity," said Chiun, making a mental note to remind Smith at the next negotiation that if the delivery cost was almost as much as the tribute itself, then the tribute was obviously too small.
"Then what is it?" Smith asked.
"To further enhance your safety, may I suggest that Remo perform in the traditional manner of all Masters of Sinanju. That is to do more when he is at the level of perfection and to do less at times when your glory would be less well served."
"Are you saying that Remo should take some time off? Because if you are, you won't have a problem here," Smith said.
"How wise," said Chiun, ready with a counterargument should Smith suggest that payments be accordingly reduced. Yet in his inscrutability, Smith said nothing of the sort. He said that Remo deserved a vacation and should take a rest.
"Please be so kind, most enlightened Emperor, to come here to Dayton of Ohio and tell this to Remo yourself."
"You can tell him," Smith said.
Chiun allowed a deep sigh. "He will not listen to me."
"But you're his teacher. You taught him everything."
"Ah, the bitter truth of that," said Chiun. "I taught him all but gratitude."
"And he won't listen to you?"
"Can you imagine? Nothing. He listens to nothing I say. I am not one to complain, as you well know. What do I ask of him? Some concern. To keep in touch. Is that a crime? Should I be ignored like some old shoe whom he has worn out?"
"Are you sure that Remo feels that way? I know that he defends you at every turn," Smith said. "I am happy with your service but sometimes we have disagreements and Remo always takes your position. He used to agree with me more."
"Really?" said Chiun. "How have you been attacking me?"
"I haven't. We have had different positions occasionally though."
"Of course," said Chiun. He would have to question Remo about this and find out how Smith had been attacking him. "I ask that you personally tell Remo to rest."
"All right, if you think that's wise."
"Most wise, O Emperor, and if you would confide in me how the position of Sinanju in any way differs from the wonders of your line of correct thought, we will adjust ourselves to your slightest whim."
"Well, there's this problem with your seeking outside work, possibly for tyrants and dictators. . . ."
Chiun let the receiver fall on the two buttons of the cradle. He had seen Remo do that when he wanted to stop talking to someone and it seemed to end the conversation very nicely.
When the telephone rang again, Chiun did not pick it up.
* * *
When Remo returned from Coral Gables to the hotel room in Dayton, Ohio, he saw that Harold W. Smith was waiting there for him, along with Chiun.
He wondered if Smith ever changed the style of his suit. Gray, three-piece, Dartmouth tie, white shirt, and acid expression.
"Remo, I think you should take a vacation," Smith said.
"Have you been talking to Chiun?"
And in Korean from another room came Chiun's squeaky voice: "You see? Even a white recognizes the fact of your cosmic separations."
And in Korean, Remo answered back: "Smitty has never heard of a cosmic separation. Nothing is wrong with me and I'm not taking a vacation."
"You defy your emperor?" Chiun said.
"I don't want to be maneuvered into a vacation by you, Little Father. If you want me to take a vacation, just say so."
"Take a vacation," Chiun said.
"No."
"You said to say so," Chiun said.
"I didn't say I'd do it," Remo said. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You only feel fine," Chiun said.
Harold W. Smith sat rigidly in a chair, listening to teacher and pupil, Smith's sole enforcement arm for the entire organization called CURE, argue in a language that he did not understand.
"Remo," said Smith finally. "It's an order. If Chiun thinks you ought to rest, you ought to rest."
"He also thinks we ought to kill the President and make you President so that he has something of value to show for his time here. Should I do that?"
"Remo, you always turn on the people who care about you," said Chiun.