Remo, his mouth hanging slack, said, "This kid isn't my son. I never had a son."
"Correction. You never had a son that you knew about," said Smith.
"You're my son?" said Remo, his voice flat.
"If I am, I plan on shooting myself," growled Winston Smith.
"You might as well," moaned Chiun, throwing up his hands. "It is already too late. You have been ruined by uniforms and guns. You can never achieve Sinanju."
"What's this gook talking about?" Winston asked Remo.
Chiun stepped up and seized an earlobe. Winston Smith tried to defend himself with judo. His hands were slapped numb, and he was brought to his knees by the sudden white-hot needles of pain in his right earlobe.
"Aaahhh!"
"It is just like the old days," Chiun told Remo. "Before I taught you respect."
"This is crazy!" Remo said, white-faced. "This isn't happening." He pointed an accusing finger at Harold Smith. "You're not my father." The finger swung around. "And this Navy squid isn't my son!"
"Owww! What-oww-watch you say about the Navy, dickhead!"
"I'm a Marine, swabbie."
"Jarhead. Owww!"
"Speak to your father with proper respect, seal-that-barks."
"Owww!"
"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," Remo said suddenly. "This isn't real. It's gotta be more of the Dutchman's illusions."
"Which?" asked Chiun, cocking his bald head to one side.
Remo thought hard. "All of it. Him. Smith. Maybe even you."
"Why am I an illusion?" Chiun asked curiously, not releasing Winston Smith.
"Because you're backing Smith's stupid story that he's my father," said Remo confidently.
"It is true," Chiun admitted. "I am very sorry to have kept it from you all these years, Remo. But it is true."
"Bullshit!" Remo yelled.
"Denial is the first stage of parenthood," retorted Chiun.
Remo stopped, closed his eyes and listened for heartbeats. He counted them. Three. Smith's checked out. Chiun's came through clear and strong. And the kid's heartbeat, too. It wasn't the Dutchman's heart sound. Remo knew that. So the kid wasn't Jeremiah Purcell cloaked in an illusory sheath. The kid was real. And he had the eyes of Freya and the mother Remo never knew.
Remo opened his own eyes, saying, "No way this is real. It can't be." His voice shook with doubt.
Harold Smith cleared his throat noisily. "It is time to clear the air," he said somberly. "For all of you. "
Everyone looked to Harold Smith expectantly.
"When Remo first came to Folcroft for training," Smith began, "it was assumed that his life of service might be short. The work was difficult and dangerous."
"What work?" asked Winston.
"Hush," said Chiun.
Smith asked, "Remo, do you remember a Folcroft nurse named Deborah Dean?"
"No."
"Small wonder. You were sleeping your way through the nursing staff in those days"
"Sue me."
"I saw this pattern of behavior, and knowing that the. . . ah. . . organization would have a long-term need for an enforcement arm, paid Ms. Dean to carry your child."
"Liar. I used rubbers in those days."
Smith looked uncomfortable. "Artificial insemination. We took a semen specimen the first day you came to Folcroft. Winston was the product. He spent his formative years as a ward of Folcroft, his adolescence in military schools and for the last few years served with distinction as a Navy SEAL."
"You can stow the distinction part," Winston Smith said sourly. "I went AWOL when I got your get-lost letter."
"Unfortunate. Perhaps your error can be rectified."
"Up yours," Winston Smith snapped.
"The hamburger does not fall far from the tree," sniffed Chiun, regarding Winston Smith unkindly.
Coloring, Smith went on. "Winston was never told the truth. Only that his parents had died and that I had been appointed his guardian in their absence. If anything were to happen to Remo, the organization would have an operative after Winston's SEAL training was complete."
"Why was he not given to me?" Chiun complained.
"I assumed Remo would object to allowing his son to undergo Sinanju training. And frankly, after all that has transpired over the years, I was looking for an agent who was more . . . er . . . controllable."
"You got that right," said Remo. "You already ruined my life. I wouldn't have let you ruin his." Remo caught himself. "Not that this squid is any son of mine."
"You do not know that."
"For one thing," Remo said, "no son of mine would wear an earring."
"Goat-fuck," Winston Smith said. "Owww. Why does he do that?" Winston asked nobody in particular.
"Chiun enjoys inflicting pain," said Remo.
"What do you mean by agent?" Winston asked. He was ignored.
"A Navy SEAL seemed the next-best thing," finished Smith.
"You insult Sinanju," Chiun said coldly.
"And you insult the Navy," Winston retorted. "SEAL Team Six is the best there is."
"You have a lot to learn, sonny," said Remo.
"You have a lot to learn, sonny," a new voice said.
"Is there an echo in here?" Remo wondered.
"Who said that?" Smith demanded.
"My gun," said Winston Smith in a strange voice.
"Your gun talks?" said Remo skeptically.
"It's configured to my voice," Winston blurted. "It only repeats what I say. How come it recognizes your voice pattern?"
"There is your proof, Remo," Chiun cried.
"Since when is a talking gun proof of paternity?"
"Why did you return in defiance of my express wishes, Winston?" asked Smith.
"To pay you back, you cold mother."
"How have I wronged you? I raised you, supported you, saw that you had opportunities in life."
"And you dumped me in military schools as soon as you could get rid of me," Winston Smith said hotly. "I thought you were my uncle. I thought you were proud of me. Now I come to find out I'm some kind of fucking guinea pig. My whole life is a lie."
"Join the club," said Remo. "You should see what he did to me."
"What?"
"I've been dead for twenty years."
Winston looked as blank as his camo face would allow.
Smith cleared his throat. "Winston, the circumstances that forced me to write you off have turned out to be temporary. I regret the cold tone of my letter, but it was in your best interests. You were a loose end that needed tying."
"Thanks a heap."
"The crisis has passed," Smith continued. "It is in my power to return you to your unit with minimum disciplinary repercussions."
"Who made you admiral of the fucking fleet?"
Smith winced. "More than that I cannot say."
"Thanks but no thanks. I'd rather bail."
"So bail," said Remo, opening the door for him. "No one's stopping you."
"What about this guy?"
Chiun withdrew his fingernails from Winston Smith's earlobe. Smith got up, recovering his pistol.
Remo looked Winston Smith in the eye for a long time. "No way he's related to me," he said flatly.
"That goes double for me," Winston said.
"I'm sorry that both of you have had to come to the truth so abruptly and without preparation," said Harold Smith. "But the facts remain. Remo, I am your father, and Winston, you are my grandson, Remo's son."
"Prove it," said Remo, folding his arms.
"Yeah," said Winston, copying Remo's posture. "Prove it."
Chiun grasped the puffs of hair over both ears in frustration. "They are both blind."
"We can begin where we left off before we were interrupted," said Smith. "I will call my wife at her sister's home."
Smith sat down and began dialing.
"This is Harold. How are you? Is my wife staying there? Thank you. Put her on."
Smith engaged the speakerphone function.
Mrs. Smith sounded shocked. "Harold! Where are you?"
"Folcroft. All is well again. The IRS have gone. It was a simple misunderstanding. We should be able to go home tomorrow, if not tonight."