The underground garage covered several acres, and was lit by overhead fluorescent lights. The Master of Sinanju floated through it in the general direction of Parliament until he found what he wanted.
It was an elevator, marked by steel doors and guarded by two stone-faced bobbies. They would not be a problem, Chiun knew. Bobbies never carried firearms.
In the lower house, the Prime Minister of England listened to the inane prattle of the Labour representative with a polite expression on her strong motherly face, knowing that if she gave him enough rope, he would say something astonishingly stupid.
"And I submit, Mr. Speaker, that it is Madam Prime Minister's wretched policies that have contributed to the state of near-chaos that the City is currently in."
That did it. The woman known, loved, and feared throughout the British Isles as the Iron Lady leapt to her feet. Her voice reverberated through the ancient halls of Parliament.
" I beg your pardon," she said coldly, "but the honorable gentleman's remarks are further proof, if any is needed, of Labour's utter and callous irresponsibility. The City is suffering from the identical ailment that inflicts the markets from Hong Kong to New York. It has nothing to do with England, never mind the Tory government. Perhaps the gentleman should excuse himself now and read the last weeks' papers. Starting with his own Guardian."
The chambers broke into howling laughter. From Labour and a few Tory back-benchers came dark mutterings. The prime minister sat down, having scored a major point.
She was satisfied. But in her heart, she would have liked nothing better than to have caned the Labour representative.
Labour stood up to rebut, but his first words froze in his mouth. From somewhere in the great halls of Parliament came a ruckus.
"What the devil is that?" the prime minister said. "See to it, one of you."
Bobbies hurried in the direction of the commotion. They came running back just as rapidly. One whispered in the speaker's ear.
The speaker stood up. "Madam Prime Minister," he announced, "I must ask that you and the gentlemen present vacate Parliament."
"Leave?" the prime minister shouted. "But we are in session."
"Parliament is also under attack."
Labour was out the door like a flood of lemmings. Several Tories formed a protective cordon around the prime minister.
"Do not fear, Madam Prime Minister," one said bravely. "They will have to strike us all down to get to you."
"Let us hope it does not come to that," the prime minister said worriedly. "Has anyone any idea what is the problem?"
Before anyone could answer, the problem burst into the richly carved chambers, hurling bobbies before it like an emerald tornado.
The problem was a small man of Asiatic extraction, who deftly evaded the down-swinging clubs in the bobbies' hands. Guns were held high in their hands.
"Do not shoot!" the prime minister called out. "This is Parliament. "
"How many of them?" a Tory asked, craning to see beyond his fellows.
"Just the one," he was told.
The Tories exchanged glances.
"What does he want?" the prime minister called from the knot of protective men.
The Asian answered.
" I am Chiun, Reigning Master of Sinanju!" His voice, coming from such a frail figure, was awesome in its volume.
"Never heard of you," the prime minister called back, intending to humor the man.
"What! Never heard of the House of Sinanju? Barbarians! We were the greatest assassins known to history while your ancestors were fending off the Danes."
"Did he say assassin?" the prime minister asked. "That he did," a stuffy voice said. "You men. Shoot! Shoot the bugger down!"
The guns came down. And for the first time since the days of Guy Fawkes, violence was threatened against the Houses of Parliament. And as before, it was about to be perpetrated by Englishmen.
The prime minister stared as three bobbies dropped their Webley revolvers to sight on the old Oriental's bald head. She was too strong, despite her grandmotherly features, to look away from violence.
Three revolvers thundered at once. Everyone in the room blinked. And in that blink, something inexplicable happened.
Everyone from the prime minister on down expected to witness the eruption of the aged Oriental's head as three bullets tore it asunder like a pumpkin.
Instead, the shots buried themselves in a richly carven wall.
The old Oriental was no longer there.
Everyone gasped at once.
"Where could he have gone?" the prime minister demanded.
No one knew. And as they pondered the inexplicable, Chiun, Master of Sinanju, reached the apex of his somersault. He had gone high, the better to confuse his foemen. Parliament's vaulted ceiling allowed a high graceful leap and time to pause at the apogee, while the Englishmen below looked everywhere but where the Master of Sinanju was. The bobbies, convinced he had fled, ran out into the corridor, shouting and waving their pistols. Chiun wondered what the world was coming to, when even bobbies carried pistols, like American cowboys.
"Could it have been a ghost?" someone wondered aloud.
"Boo!" a squeaky voice said. The Tories jumped. For the sound came from within their very midst.
"That was not amusing," the prime minister said sternly.
"It was not meant to be," said the author of the boo, none other than the Master of Sinanju. He was standing beside the prime minister, having landed with no more sound than a pillow falling onto a comforter.
The Tory guard were looking out from their circle. At the sound of Chiun's voice, they looked inward. They saw him. They gasped. And they reacted. The circle broke apart and dashed for the exits.
In a moment that seemed even less that a millisecond, the prime minister found herself alone and exposed in the center of Parliament, facing her apparent assassin.
"I am not afraid of you," she said stiffly, clutching her purse tightly.
The old Asian looked up, his mouth compressed.
"You are either very brave or very foolish," he said.
"Thank you, but I reject the former and firmly deny the latter accusation."
"Spoken like a true Englishman."
"Woman. And thank you."
"It was not intended as a compliment," Chiun said. "I will be brief. Your government is in some way responsible for the vicious attack on the world's economy. It will stop. Today. Or all of the remnants of your pitiful crumbling empire will suffer horrendously."
"My dear man," the prime minister said, fixing the Master of Sinanju with her metallic glare, "would you by any chance belong to the Loyal Opposition?"
"I owe no allegiance to England. I am Korean, working for the American emperor, whose name I am forbidden to speak, for he rules secretly."
The prime minister's mouth froze in the open position. Was this man mad? She rejected asking the question point-blank.
"Do I understand you to say that the Americans sent you to ask me this preposterous question?"
"Unofficially," Chiun said flatly.
"Unofficially or officially, your suggestion is absurd, and you may tell whomever you wish that you have this on the most direct authority. Our own financial district, the City, is suffering under calamitous pressure, as is the rest of the civilized world. Surely you understand that."
"Lying will not deter me from my quest," Chiun warned, his face puckered into a web of dry wrinkles.
"Not believing the truth will not achieve your ends any more quickly," the prime minister countered.
"You are telling the truth," the old Oriental said at last. "I thank you for your faith," the prime minister said stiffly.
"Pah, I do not trust you. But I hear your heartbeat. It tells me you are not lying. I will have to look elsewhere for the answers I seek."