"Tell me about it," the cabbie commiserated. "I got a kid. A son, too. Ten years out of college and still living at home. I tell the wife we should just toss him out on his ear. But, you know, he's his mama's boy. She says I'll go before he does."
"Pardon me," Chiun said. "Was someone speaking to you?"
The cabdriver shrugged. "I thought you were," he said. There wasn't a hint of malice in his voice. He was used to the rapid mood swings of fares.
"I am put through all of this for a simple autograph," Chiun said to the window. "A thing that could be sent to me by post."
"I wouldn't do that," the cabdriver cautioned.
"My kid's got an autographed Willie Mays card.
You know, from back when he was playing. It's worth a bundle right about now. You tell me, is it normal for a thirty-year-old to pay a couple hundred bucks for a bubble-gum card?"
And because he didn't wish to hear someone griping all the way to the airport, Chiun touched the man lightly on the side of the neck.
Immediately the cabbie's vocal cords seized up.
The rest of the trip to the airport was blessedly quiet.
It was dark by the time Chiun arrived at Folcroft.
As he made his way across the tree-dotted lawns surrounding the sanitarium, he could see a few late-evening boaters chugging across the gently rippling waters of Long Island Sound. The lights on the craft bobbed hypnotically above the undulating black surface.
He spied a young blond man standing alertly beside a large white van parked at the apex of the long gravel driveway. He avoided the man, as well as the truck, and merged with the pervasive darkness surrounding the ivy-covered building, a shadow among shadows.
The side door was locked this late at night. Chiun wrapped his delicate fingers around the handle and wrenched. The hooked piece of shiny aluminum bent but stayed attached to the thick metal fire door.
The bolt dropped free of the latch and clanged into the damp inner stairwell.
Chiun entered the building.
The sanitarium was lightly staffed at this hour, and a cost-cutting measure instituted by Smith had dropped the ambient light within the corridors and stairwells to near nothing.
The Master of Sinanju became as one with the gloom as he moved through the empty administrative wing of the sanitarium.
He found Smith's office and, ignoring his suprasensory data that told him there were three men inside—one obviously Remo, another obviously Smith—Chiun pushed open the doorway and entered the sparse room.
"Emperor Smith, the House of Sinanju expresses gratitude to you, its benefactor, for that which you are about to bestow. All hail—"
He was halfway through his speech when he noticed Lothar Holz beside Smith's desk. The man had been sitting, but stood when Chiun entered.
Chiun's eyes grew as wide as joyful saucers. "You have brought with you your costar," Chiun said delightedly.
"Master Chiun, you must dispatch this man at once," Smith ordered abruptly.
Surprised, Holz glanced from the aged Asian at the door back to Smith.
"Master?" he said. His eyes strayed to Remo, who stood stock-still beside Smith's desk, a glint of impotent fury dancing in the depths of his deep-set eyes.
Chiun nodded sagely. "I have heard of such problems on television sets before. Do not fret, Emperor Smith, for this was merely the pilot episode. Surely your role will be expanded in the future."
Chiun suddenly felt something brush against the base of his skull. It was a slight tickle. The sensation intensified and moved around behind his ears. Chiun waved a long-nailed hand beside his head as if swatting away a pesky fly. Although he felt the unmis-takable hum, he didn't sense the disruption of air an insect would cause.
"Chiun, quickly!" Smith called urgently.
"This is the true Master of Sinanju." It was a statement of fact. Holz unfurled a delicate finger in Chiun's direction. "Curt, get a lock on the old one."
Chiun was torn. Though his emperor was directly ordering him to destroy Lothar Holz, star of the evening news, he was momentarily distracted by the strange sensation creeping across the back of his egg-shell skull.
But it was no more than that. A sensation.
And as quickly as the sensation had come, it passed.
Confusion clouded the cobweb wrinkles above his eyes.
Chiun took a step into the room...and was blocked by Remo.
The younger man had become suddenly animated.
He had gone from being a motionless statue one moment to a springing tiger the next.
He leaped from his spot beside Smith's desk, landing softly in the center of the worn carpet.
Remo now stood protectively between the Master of Sinanju and Lothar Holz, barring Chiun's way.
Chiun's ancient eyes narrowed to curious slivers.
"Remove yourself."
Remo said nothing. There was no malice in his deep-set eyes.
In fact, there was something closer to sadness. And fear.
"Remo is not himself," Smith insisted. "He is being manipulated."
"Do not be a fool, Smith," Chiun spat. He started to slide to Remo's left, but a thick-wristed hand shot out, blocking his path. It wasn't a threatening move, by any stretch of the imagination. But it was aggressive nonetheless. Remo was barring the Master of Sinanju from performing a duty to his emperor.
Chiun dodged right, but Remo's other arm shot out, faster than either Smith or Holz could follow.
Both arms were stretched out now, like a Hollywood zombie's, with Chiun standing between them.
"Curt, what's going on?" Holz demanded of the air. "Get the old man under control." He tapped the small receiver in his ear.
"Remo, step aside," Chiun said, under his breath.
And rather than move, Remo's hand lashed out viciously, in a direct line for Chiun's temple.
So shocked was Chiun by the unexpected attack that the blow very nearly registered.
The old man dropped low and feinted left, beneath Remo's deadly fist, and came up behind him, his back to Smith's desk. Remo spun a perfect pirouette in midair and landed facing Chiun.
To Smith and Holz, it appeared as if Remo's response were instantaneous, but Chiun saw that it was sluggish. It didn't have any of the normal fluidity or grace Chiun had come to expect from Remo's usual movements.
"Remo, what is this?" the Master of Sinanju demanded, his mouth a furious, questioning O.
He again saw the strange look buried deep within his pupil's usually expressionless eyes. Something that registered deep regret and deeper sorrow. Remo threw another blow at Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju swatted it aside as if it were nothing. But he could see that Remo was becoming more focused in his attacks. It was as if whatever was controlling his actions was growing more adept with each subsequent move.
"Chiun, Remo is under some kind of mind control. His actions are not his own," Smith cried Pleadingly. "Holz is behind it." With a gnarled gray index finger, he indicated the man Chiun had seen on television with Smith the previous day.
Holz was tapping at the tiny object in his ear, not even paying attention to the battle being waged in the center of the office.
Remo attacked Chiun once more. It was more complex than his previous attempts and it very nearly worked. The Master of Sinanju had to duck away before he was able to join in the motion of the blow.
He grabbed Remo by the wrist and, as the arm swung around, he moved the rest of the body along with it.
They were like two dancers executing a simple rou-tine, but when they were finished, Remo was facing away from the rear of the office, toward the open door.
Chiun swatted Remo on the back.
The contact of the flat of Chiun's bony hand against Remo's spine sent the young man sprawling across the floor. It wasn't a lethal blow, but one meant merely to stun. The most fundamental aspect of Sinanju was breathing, and Chiun had effectively robbed Remo's lungs of breath. It would be a moment before he would recover.