Chiun smiled. "Just one thing," he said.
"What is that?" Remo asked.
"If we are supposed to get any money from the Chinese, get the money first Before you do anything. Just the other day, they hired some people from my village and had them do most dangerous tasks. They not only did not pay them, they attempted to dispose of them."
"I didn't know the Chinese Communists hired the people of your village."
"Not the Communists. The emperor Chu Ti. "
" Chu Ti? The one who built the forbidden city?"
"The same."
"What do you mean, the other day? That was 500 years ago."
"A day in the memory of a Korean. Just be sure we get paid first."
"We will." Remo was again surprised when Chiun willingly agreed to trim his beard for the assignment.
"When you deal with vermin, it makes no difference how you look," Chiun had said.
And now they waited outside the ladies' room at Dor-val Airport. The late September rain played on the windows and had cut chillingly through their light summer suits. They would have to purchase fall clothes as soon as possible.
"She is probably robbing the washroom of soap and towels and toilet tissue," said Chiun, smiling.
"She's been in there ten minutes. Maybe I'd better check," Remo said.
So taking out his Special Services badge which came with the identities Remo and Chiun had been given by Smith, Remo stormed into the ladies' room, announcing "Health inspector, ladies. Be just a minute." And since the tone was correct and officially distant, no one had protested but left quickly.
. All but her. She was piling up paper towelling and stuffing it in her great coat.
"What are you doing?" Remo asked.
"There may be no towels or paper in your country. There is plenty here. Plenty. Paper in every stall."
"There's paper all over the United States in every stall."
"In every stall?"
"Well, except when someone forgets to fill them up."
"Aha. Then we take a little. I brought some with me from Peking."
"Toilet paper?"
"Preparedness for a task is the doing of the task. He who does not prepare a task by looking at it from many sides is destined to stumble on one side. Be prepared."
"You a girl scout?"
"No. The thoughts of Mao. Where is the book?" She looked at him anxiously.
"It's outside with my partner."
"Have you read it yet?"
"I've only had it ten minutes."
"Ten minutes can be two most valuable thoughts of Chairman Mao. It could liberate you from your imperialistic, exploitative ways. And also your running dog."
Remo grabbed the young girl firmly but gently by both shoulders.
"Look, kid," he said. "I don't care what names you use for me. If it gives you kicks, all right. But watch what you call Chiun. 'Running dog' and 'imperialist lackey' are not fitting words for a man three or four times your age."
"If the old is reactionary and decadent, it must be buried, along with all the other anachronisms afflicting mankind today."
"He's a friend of mine," Remo said. "I don't want him hurt."
"Your only friends are the party and your worker solidarity."
The young girl said that, waiting for approval. She did not expect two sharp stinging pains under her armpits. Remo kept his thumbs working, rotating, pressing the flesh up into the joint. Her delicate almond eyes went almost round with pain. Her mouth opened to scream and Remo switched one hand to her mouth.
"Listen kid and listen close. I do not want you insulting that man outside. He deserves your respect. If you are unable to give that, at least you may avoid disrespect. I would suggest that he knows more about the world than you and if you would just shut up for a moment, you might learn something from him.
"But whether you do or not is no concern of mine. What concerns me is your lack of manners, and if you mouth off just one more time, kid, I'm going to grind your shoulders into mush."
Remo pressed his right thumb in even deeper and felt her body tighten even more. Her face contorted with pain.
"Now we have had our little dialogue," Remo said, "and we have formed our revolutionary consensus. Correct?"
He released the hand from her mouth. She nodded and gasped.
"Correct," she said. "I will show the old man respect. I will take one step backwards, so that I may take two steps forward at a later date. I am allowed to speak the truth to you, however? Without fear of aggression?"
"Sure, kid."
"You are a shithead, Remo whatever-your-name-is."
She had begun to rebutton her great coat, using maximum energy on each large button. She had obviously remembered his name from the identity cards Remo and Chiun had flashed.
"Not an imperialistic, oppressive, reactionary, fascistic shithead?"
"A shithead is a shithead."
"All right, Miss Liu."
"My name is Mrs. Liu."
"You're married to the general's son?"
"I am married to General Liu and I am looking for my husband."
Remo remembered the small picture from briefing. General Liu's face was hard and weatherbeaten, with strong lines cut in the bitterness of many long marches. He was 62 years old.
"But you're a kid."
"I am not a kid, damn you. I am 22 and I have the revolutionary consciousness of someone three times my age."
"You have the body of a Md. "
"That's all you decadent westerners would think about."
"General Liu didn't marry you for your revolutionary consciousness."
"Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. But you wouldn't understand that." She buttoned the top button with defiance.
"Okay, let's go. Look, I can't call you Mrs. Liu for obvious reasons. You can't travel under that name either. It's already been proved we've got a system like a sieve. What do I call you?"
"Lotus Blossom, shithead," she said with ringing sarcasm.
"Okay, don't be funny," said Remo, holding open the door of the ladies' room and receiving stunned stares from passersby.
"Mei Soong," she said.
Chiung was waiting with his hands behind his back. He was smiling sweetly.
"The book," said Mei Soong.
"You treasure the book?"
"It is my most valued possession."
Chiun's smile reached for the outer limits of joy and he brought his hands before him, containing paper shreds and red plastic shreds, the remnants of the book.
"Lies. They are lies," he said. "Chinese lies."
Mei Soong was stunned.
"My book," she said softly. "The thoughts of Chairman Mao."
"Why did you do that, Chiun? I mean, really Chiun. That's really rotten. I mean there was no reason to do that to this little girl's book."
"Ha, ha, ha," said Chiun, gleefully and threw the pieces into the air, raining the thoughts of Mao in very small pieces over the entrance to the ladies' room of Dorval Airport.
Mei Soong's soft lips began to crinkle and her eyes moistened.
And Chiun laughed the louder.
"Look, Mei Soong, I'll get you another little red book. We have loads of them in our country."
"That one was given me by my husband at our wedding."
"Well, we'll find him and we'll get you another one. Okay? We'll get you a dozen. In English, Russian, French and Chinese."
"There are none in Russian."
"Well, whatever. Okay?"
Her eyes narrowed. She stared at the laughing Chiun and said something softly in Chinese. Chiun laughed even more. Then he said something in return in the same language. And Mei Soong smiled triumphantly and answered. Each response, back and forth, became louder and louder until Chiun and Mrs. Liu sounded like a tong war in a tin kettle.
They raved on that way at each other, the elderly man the young woman, as they departed the gates of Dorval Airport with ticket clerks, passengers, baggage men, everyone turning to stare at the two shriekers. Remo desperately wished he could just run away, and trailed behind pretending he did not know the two.
Above was a balcony packed three deep with people staring down at the trio. It was as if they had box seats to a performance.