Then Smith's thin mouth puckered like the frame for a life-saver. Remo was running along the ceiling. Running upside down.
Chiun's hands went to work. In a series of overhand flips he sent the daggers away. They streaked toward the ceiling. He folded his empty hands into his voluminous sleeves.
Remo, seeming to float like a runner in a weightless environment, began to zigzag across the ceiling. Daggers sprouted around his feet. None hit him. He neared the opposite wall.
"This is the most difficult step of all," Chiun confided.
"I would think it would be the easiest. All he has to do is jump."
"No. Jumping is not allowed. Remo is now running against gravity. In the opposite direction. When he reaches the wall, he must run into the direction of gravity, but not so fast that he does fall. He has ascended the dragon. Now he must descend the dragon."
"From a physics standpoint, I don't think this is possible. "
"For American physics, perhaps not. This is Korean physics."
Remo hit the wall. This time, he seemed to backflip into place. He was halfway down before he began to skid.
Remo flailed about for a minute and gave up. He twisted like a cat, landing on both feet. He hit without a sound.
Smith started to applaud. "Very good! Bravo, bravo!"
The Master of Sinanju turned to him with blazing hazel eyes. He forced Smith's hands apart. "Are you mad? He has bumbled this simple exercise and you give him a reward. How will he relearn perfection if he is applauded for failure? Worse, when he does succeed, he will expect greater rewards. I am training an assassin, not a performing dog."
"Sorry."
Chiun folded his arms imperiously and bestowed upon Remo a cold, agatelike stare. Remo walked up dejectedly. "I think I lost my concentration at the end," he admitted.
"Obviously," Chiun said, his voice dripping disappointment. "And in front of Emperor Smith. Smith is very angry with you. He just now explained to me that he may offer me a new pupil, the eldest son of the President. I am considering his offer. I could work with a younger student, one with fewer ingrained habits. A young pupil would not shame me as you just did."
"If I did so badly, who was that applauding just now?" Remo asked.
"Applause? I heard no applause. Did you hear any such noise, Emperor?"
Smith looked uncomfortable. "Ah . . ."
"I heard it distinctly," Remo insisted.
"You must be referring to the sound of your emperor's feet stamping in frustration and anger," Chiun informed him coldly. "That is the only sound you heard-the only sound you deserve."
"Thanks a bunch. Any word on those negotiations, Smitty?"
"Um, nothing has changed. There has been progress, but not real change."
"You know, Smitty, if you're going to lie like that, you should try to get better at it."
"Yes, well ... how are you feeling?"
"Like my old self," Remo said, rotating his thick wrists impatiently.
"You're sounding like your old self too."
"Do not be fooled, Emperor Smith. He still sometimes babbles about how the war was unfair to him and if he could only go back, he would have won it. All by himself. He sounds like that film creature, Dumbo."
"The flying elephant?" Smith asked.
"I think he means Rambo," Remo said hastily. "And I was not babbling, just making conversation. Honest."
"I see," said Smith:
"In fact," Remo said airily, "I feel so much better, I think I'll go for a walk, if that's all right with everybody. I've been cooped up in this gym too long. I need fresh air. "
"What do you think, Master of Sinanju?" Smith asked good-naturedly.
"I think fresh air would be good for Remo."
"Fine. Thanks," Remo said, heading for the door.
"You're not thinking of anything foolish, are you, Remo?"
Remo turned, his hand gripping the doorknob. He smiled tightly and asked, "Who, me?" His face was open and innocent, like a child's.
"Because if you are, you should be aware that I've revoked every credit card under each of your cover identities. "
"Appreciate the vote of confidence, Smitty." Remo's face was still frozen in an icy, ingratiating smile.
"Nothing personal. Just a precaution."
"Do not worry, Emperor," Chiun said expansively. "Remo may sometimes appear foolish, but only Remo. I am not foolish. And I am going nowhere, especially to Vietnam. And Remo thinks too much of his trainer to bring humiliation upon his name. And I say to you now that I give you my word as a Master of Sinanju that Remo will not leave this country except by your leave. Is that not so, Remo?"
"Chiun speaks for both of us," Remo agreed, his knuckles whitening on the doorknob. "What better guarantee could you ask for?"
"I am relieved to hear that. Have a good time, Remo."
"The best. " And Remo was out the door like it had swallowed him.
Remo walked the dark streets of Rye, New York, with his hands in his pockets. The night was cold, but he didn't feel it. The wind rippled his black T-shirt and chinos, but inside he was warm.
And angry.
"Damn Smith for canceling my credit cards," he muttered to himself. That left him without an easy first step. He wondered how he was going to get out of the country, never mind all the way to Vietnam, without money. He wondered how far he could get on foot. Phong had gotten out of Vietnam on foot, and Phong was not Remo. Lately, even Remo hadn't been Remo. But after a week under Chiun's hard tutelage, he felt up to the job. And he had fooled both Chiun and Smith into thinking he had abandoned his plans.
Remo was pondering his problem when a voice growled at him from a shadowy doorway.
"Take 'em out of the pockets, friend," it warned. Remo saw a gleaming barrel of a chrome-plated .357 Magnum revolver aimed at him. He considered ignoring the man, when a better thought occurred to him. Remo stopped in his tracks. Slowly he took his hands out of his pockets and turned to face the man in the darkened doorway.
"Easy," Remo said, a catch in his voice. "I don't want any trouble."