From where they stood, only a portion of the set was visible. The buildings had been blown backward, their artificial fronts collapsed onto wooden frames. An unseen spot-presumably ground zero-belched thick acrid smoke over the roof of the nearest soundstage.
Remo was astonished. Chiun was actually mad at him. He stabbed a finger in the same direction. "That was a freaking bomb, Chiun," he snarled.
"I am not an idiot!" the Master of Sinanju retorted, stomping his big boots in angry frustration. With each stomp, his feet hit the ground a full second after his boots' soles. "I know what it was! What did you think you were doing with it?"
"I thought I was saving your life!"
"A likely story," Chiun snapped.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know," the old man intoned coldly. "Do not pretend otherwise."
"I don't," Remo said hotly. "And I can't believe you. The whole way down from goddamn Washington, I was worried out of my mind that you'd be blown to bits when I got here."
"And when you found me still in one piece, you decided to do the job yourself," Chiun accused.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Remo said. "How was I supposed to know you'd be standing in the middle of the street decked out for the Korean touring company of HMS Pinafore? And while we're on the subject, what's with that outfit?" He waved a hand from the Napoleon hat that teetered on Chiun's head down to his shiny black boots.
"Do not change the subject," Chiun huffed, adjusting his bright green sash, "from the fact that you tried to kill me."
Remo took a step back, shocked. "What?" he demanded.
"Do not insult me by denying it," Chiun sniffed. As he shook his head, great sadness swelled where anger had been. "Oh, Remo, how could you? A bomb, no less. I knew you were jealous of my incipient fame, but how could you debase our art so completely? Could you not think of a less insulting way to kill me, like a blowgun or even poisoned food? A box of asps delivered to my trailer would have at least shown some inventiveness on your part. But this..." With a sweep of his arm, he took in the smoking debris.
"Look, Chiun," Remo said, attempting to inject a reasonable tone in his voice, "you know how ridiculous this sounds. You accused me of trying to kill you before and you were wrong, remember?"
"My only error was ever being foolish enough to think I was wrong," Chiun said. His hands slipped inside the sleeves of his uniform.
"C'mon, you have to know I would never in a million years try to kill you," Remo argued.
"I know nothing of the sort," Chiun retorted. His frown spread deep across his parchment face. "There is no telling how far behind your sabotage will put this production," he complained. "Had I only known the depths to which you would stoop to undermine me, I would have convinced this studio to produce a low-budget vanity project to keep your resentful mind occupied." Skeletal hands framed an invisible marquee. "Remo the Boom-Wielding Master: the Adventure Begins. "
"That's the stupidest frigging subtitle in motion-picture history," Remo commented.
"Go on," Chiun offered, grabbing at his chest. "Insult my creativity. Your spiteful words are further proof of your blind malice. O, what a dark day this is for the House of Sinanju. I cannot even begin to think how I will record your actions in the sacred scrolls."
Remo had been racking his brain for a way to prove his innocence. Chiun's last words offered him an opportunity that hadn't occurred to him.
"Okay, let's look at this from a different perspective," Remo began logically. "In the histories of Sinanju, you want to be called Chiun the Great Teacher, right?"
Horror flooded Chiun's face. "You have been going through my things?" he gasped.
Remo rolled his eyes. "You showed me, remember? You were afraid I'd get the Korean characters all wrong when I took over writing the histories."
"I do not recall," Chiun huffed.
"You told me that I was too stupid to get it right and that without proper instruction my Korean characters could lead future generations to think you'd trained a monkey. You had me write the damn thing five thousand times."
Chiun's nose crinkled in concentration. "Or perhaps I do remember," he admitted.
"Okay," Remo said, dropping his bombshell. "Would Chiun the Great Teacher ever train a pupil who would sink to using a bomb?" He let the words hang in the air between them.
Chiun grew mute, considering for a long moment.
For the first time since he'd met him, Remo was making logical sense. Maddeningly so. Chiun would never train someone who would deign to use a bomb. Assassinate his teacher, yes-that had been acceptable a handful of times in the long history of the House. But use a bomb? No. With great reluctance, he accepted the truth of his pupil's argument.
"Very well," Chiun grumbled unhappily. "I will grudgingly accept that you did not try to kill me."
"Amen," Remo sighed.
A long nail waggled in Remo's face. "But this does not excuse your vandalism. It would almost be better to use a bomb to kill than to wreak this sort of wanton destruction. Your childish tantrum has disrupted my film."
"Chiun, this had nothing to do with your movie," Remo said. "I really was trying to save your life."
"I am perfectly capable of safeguarding my own life," Chiun complained.
"In that getup?"
"My costume is not the issue, Remo. We are discussing your seething resentment of my great talent." He tipped his head, in birdlike curiosity. "But while we are on the subject, do you like it?" He held his hands out wide, offering Remo an unobstructed view of his uniform.
By his tone, Remo could tell that the Master of Sinanju had softened. With at least a semblance of normalcy restored, he felt the day's tension drain from his shoulders.
"It's great, Little Father." He smiled.
"Do you really think so?" Chiun asked worriedly. He turned to offer Remo a full view of the costume's back. "You do not think it is too much?"
Remo shook his head. "It's perfect," he said.
Nodding acceptance, Chiun returned his hands to his baggy sleeves. "I was to wear it in my big scene today," he lamented. "Now I do not know what will become of my debut."
"That's the least of your worries, I'd imagine," Remo said. "That little firecracker wasn't the only one I had to douse. There were five more parked all over the place."
Chiun squinted in confusion. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying someone was trying to give blockbuster a new meaning, and it wasn't me. This studio was rigged to blow sky-high. With you in it," he added.
This time there was no questioning Remo's word. Grave understanding blossomed on the Master of Sinanju's wrinkled face. The old Korean nodded craftily.
"So, the dastards have finally shown their true colors," he uttered, his voice a menacing whisper.
"You came to the same conclusion I did," Remo said tightly. He was thinking about the truck bomb that had been parked across Bindle's and Marmelstein's parking spaces. Under ordinary circumstances, the egotistical Taurus cochairs would never have tolerated an intrusion like that.
Chiun was still nodding. "It could not be more obvious," he insisted.
"I agree," Remo said.
The old man pitched his voice low. "A rival movie studio has learned of my wonderful film and seeks now to ruin it."
Remo blinked. "Um, that's not exactly who I had in mind," he said.
But Chiun wouldn't hear it. "Do you not see?" he pressed. "This is a fierce business, Remo. Full of scoundrels and cutthroats. We must guard my film against further assault from the knaves at Paramount."
"Paramount?" Remo asked warily.
"It does not necessarily have to be them," Chiun confided. "It could very well be Twentieth Century Fox or Columbia. In truth, I do not trust any of the Warner brothers. This sort of thing would not be beyond them."