An hour later, when he got up, the phone was still ringing. It hadn't stopped when he stepped out of the shower. It continued ringing while Remo picked out a fresh white T-shirt, donned tan chinos, slipping his feet into loafers of handmade Italian leather.
The Master of Sinanju was boiling tea in a ceramic kettle in the kitchen when Remo walked in. He wore morning gold.
"I have been waiting for you," Chiun said unconcernedly over the telephone's insistent ringing.
"Why don't you answer the phone?"
"Because I have been waiting for you to answer the phone. I am the Master of Sinanju. I do not answer telephones."
"Well, I don't work for Smith anymore, so I'm not talking to him."
"If you talk to him, you will be able to ask for assistance in finding your roots," Chiun suggested. "Nice try, Chiun. But there's no way I'm answering that phone."
"Very well."
The phone continued ringing. The ceramic kettle began steaming.
"How long has this been going on?" asked Remo, taking a bowl of cold white rice out of the refrigerator and sitting down at the breakfast nook to eat it with his fingers.
"For the past hour."
"Could be important."
"If it were important, Smith would have hung up a half hour ago, and be even now winging his way to a personal audience with me," Chiun said.
"Smith may not have that kind of time," Remo pointed out, eyeing the phone. His expression grew tense.
The Master of Sinanju noticed this and said casually, "I am making longevity tea this morning. Is longevity tea satisfactory with you?"
"Longevity tea will do," Remo said, his eyes going to the telephone with every third ring.
"It will be ready soon," said Chiun, pouring the hot water into a green celadon teacup in the shape of a sleepy turtle.
"That ringing is starting to drive me crazy."
"You know what to do."
"That's right, I do," said Remo, walking over to the phone and lifting the receiver. He dropped it back again with a clattery clunk.
"Aiiiee!" Chiun screeched. "Ignorant white, what did you do?"
"I stopped the ringing."
"You insulted Emperor Smith!"
"How's that?"
"If we did not answer, he would naturally assume we are absent. But to hang up on him is unforgivable."
Remo returned to his rice. "Hey, I don't care what Smith thinks of me."
"Nor do I!" Chiun snapped. "But what if he wrongly concludes that I am the rude hanger-upper of telephones?"
"Simple. Blame me like you always do."
The telephone immediately began ringing again. Chiun's startled-wide eyes went to it, "Answer that!"
"No way. I'm retired."
"Then you will earn your keep by answering the telephone!"
"Not me," said Remo, chewing his rice into a liquid prior to swallowing it.
The phone continued ringing. It seemed to be getting shriller with each blast of sound.
At last the Master of Sinanju flung himself at it, crying in a loud voice, "Hail, Emperor Smith. Please accept the House's apologies for the incorrigible behavior my wayward pupil has just exhibited in hanging up, which I only this minute learned of upon returning from being out for the past hour."
"Master Chiun, we have a dire emergency," Smith said breathlessly.
"I will swoop to the site of this emergency and dispatch America's enemies without mercy, Emperor Smith. You have only to command me, for I will gladly do the work of two now that I alone serve you."
"The submarine carrying the gold is missing." Chiun was clutching the receiver in both clawlikc hands.
They clenched in unison. "Did the gold arrive safely?" he gasped.
"We do not know."
"Do not know!"
"Master Chiun, the sub with all its crew is missing."
"Not the gold! Remo, did you hear? My gold is missing."
Remo did not look up from his rice.
"We don't know that for certain, Master Chiun," Smith protested. "The sub may have encountered difficulties after it dropped off the gold."
"There is only one thing to do in this hour of darkness," Chiun cried, lifting a hand ceilingward.
"Yes?"
"I will call my village." And Chiun hung up. Immediately he dialed his personal international toll-free number, 1-800-SINANJU, first dialling the country code for North Korea.
A reedy old voice responded after a dozen rings, "This is the House of Sinanju. Whom do you wish dispatched?"
"Faithful Pullyang! Quickly, has the gold of America arrived yet?"
"No, Awesome Magnificence."
"Check the beach."
"I have just returned from the beach. There is no gold."
"If the gold arrives, call instantly."
"As you wish, Awesome Magnificence."
Chiun hung up, his face stiff. "You heard all?" he asked Remo.
"Yeah," Remo said worriedly. "I hope nothing happened to those sailors."
"They-are unimportant," snapped Chiun, dialling so furiously that the nail of his index finger obliterated the black numbers with each whir of the dial. "It is the gold that is important. Have you learned nothing of what I have taught you?"
Remo continued eating his rice with his fingers, knowing that it was considered uncouth by Korean standards.
"Emperor Smith," Chiun shrieked into the telephone. "The gold did not arrive."
"It must be recovered."
"Or replaced."
"My information is that the sub was challenged by a North Korean gunboat somewhere in the West Korea Bay before it was lost."
"Impossible."
"That was their last report."
"Ridiculous. The minions of Kim Il Sung would not dare challenge the vessel designated to carry the gold of Sinanju."
"It is our understanding that Kim Jong Il is running Pyongyang during his father's convalescence."
"That whelp! He would not dare order this outrage."
"Please go to North Korea immediately and learn the truth, Master Chiun."
"This will be done with utmost dispatch and great zeal," said the Master of Sinanju.
"Here it comes," Remo muttered.
"-once the gold is replaced."
"This is no time to replace the gold," Smith protested.
"You are the secret emperor of America. You can work wonders. I know you can do this, Smith."
"Master Chiun, please."
"The contract has been signed. But the gold has not been delivered. Thus, we have no contract. I would dishonor my ancestors if I were to undertake service under these conditions."
Smith was silent for a breath.
"Is Remo there?" he asked at last.
"No," Remo called out through a mouthful of rice.
"He is lying," Chiun spat out the words. "Of course he is here. But he does not wish to speak with you, therefore it will do you no good to appeal to him."
Harold Smith's voice was pleading now. "Please, Master Chiun. We must act quickly while there is still time."
"Yes, by all means. Act quickly and replace the gold of Sinanju."
"But it takes three days to cross the Pacific by sub."
"What is this? Yesterday you told me that you only then sent the gold. Now you say it reached the West Korea Bay before being lost. How can this be?"
"I, er, fibbed," Smith admitted.
"Hah!"said Remo. "Caught at last."
"Fibbed?" demanded Chiun.
"I, ah, had sent the gold ahead of schedule. It was necessary because the Harlequin was the only sub available for the next three months."
"What if we did not reach an agreement?" Chiun asked suspiciously.
"I could have signalled the boat to turn around at any time. This was done in the interests of efficiency."
"And because of your impatience," Chiun flung back, "my gold has been lost at sea. It must be replaced at once."
"I can possibly have a down payment drop-shipped to your home by late afternoon," Smith offered.
"Unacceptable," said Chiun. "If I accept the gold on American soil, I will be responsible for transporting it to Sinanju and possibly for paying usurious income taxes, exorbitant customs fees and other burdensome levies imposed by your new President, the flint-skinned one, and his grasping consort. Thereby being cheated of full tribute. Only in your barbarian country are such things done, Smith. Do you think the pharaohs handed my ancestors a sack of gold, only to demand one third back in taxes? Or the Romans? Not even the Chinese would stoop so low, and they are notorious thieves."