PRESIDENT KIM DAE JUNG had personally called for the secret emergency meeting of the Kuk Hoe, the National Assembly of the Republic of Korea. All 299 members of the unicameral body were present, as well as every cabinet and high-ranking security officer in the nation. With the number of people crammed inside the assembly hall, the president wondered how long his secret meeting would remain a secret.
The issue before them was one he had not thought to seriously face in his lifetime. Reunification with the North. It had been brought up many times in the past, but it had always been unthinkable to reasonable people. But reason had taken a holiday since the American bombing of Seoul National University.
"The Americans take our relationship for granted!" the ranking member of the Party for Peace and Democracy shouted from behind the podium. "They believe that they can drop bombs on our heads and we will still scurry over to them like dogs beneath their master's table. It is time we demonstrate to the powers of the West that we, too, are a force to be reckoned with. Only a unified Korea can show such strength."
It was the same speech many others had given. From his seat behind the main podium of the parliamentary chamber, the president watched the faces in the crowd.
Only about one-fifth were from the Reunification Democratic Party. These were usually the ones screaming for talks with the North at every perceived slight from the West. But they had remained largely silent this day. Suppressing grins, they had watched others from more conservative parties get up and give the same speeches they had given in the past.
The president had tried to call for calm in the face of this latest crisis. Washington had apologized for the Tomahawk incident. Screaming would not bring the dead back to life. Nor would it rebuild either the destroyed portion of the university or the fragile bridge to the West.
He was shouted down.
The entire nation was spinning out of control. If these supposedly rational elected officials were so frenzied over this issue, there was little hope for the rest of South Korea. Indeed, the rioting overnight in Seoul had been the worst in the president's memory. And he had been an activist and political prisoner years before.
And so he sat, staring into the abyss, helpless to stop his countrymen from taking that last step into madness.
"I cannot help but say that we saw this coming." The ranking delegate of the Reunification Democratic Party had taken the stage. The smugness oozed like snake oil from every pore. "The Americans cannot possibly understand us or our culture. Some of you have had trepidations when we have discussed the inevitable union with our northern cousins. You must all admit now that the North would understand us better than America. The United States bombs us and then they say they are sorry. That might be good enough for our president, but it is not good enough for us."
"What if we say we're really, really sorry?" called a voice from the rear of the assembly hall.
Faces shocked, the assembly turned as one to see who it was who had the audacity to shout out during a floor speech. Their expressions grew even more amazed when they saw that the speaker-though he spoke flawless Korean-was distinctly non-Korean in appearance.
Remo Williams strode up the aisle toward the speaker's stand. At his seat above and behind the podium, the president of South Korea was as alarmed as the members of the National Assembly.
"You see?" shouted the highest-ranking member of the Reunification Democratic Party over the murmurs of the crowd. "Do you see how they feel as if they can just storm in here? We are not an ally-we are but a servant!"
Remo hopped up to the platform. "And you are a whore to your masters in Pyongyang," he said.
The speaker's microphone amplified his words, carrying them back across the National Assembly. There was a gasp from the crowd.
The Reunification Democratic Party member's face turned red with rage. Forgetting all decorum, he lunged at Remo, arms outstretched.
Remo sidestepped the man, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck as he passed by. He hefted him high into the air before the assembly. "See the true servant," he announced in perfectly accented Korean. "People like this want you to surrender your freedom to the idiot son of Kim Il Sung."
A look of disgust creasing his hard face, Remo flung the man to the floor of the assembly.
The president had found a microphone by now. "Who are you?" he demanded of Remo.
Remo looked over at the man. "I am the son of the Master of Sinanju," he announced.
There were gasps from the crowd. Remo heard many of the men whispering "Sinanju" to one another. Good. By the looks he was getting, many of them had heard of the ancient house of assassins.
"I have heard the Master of Sinanju had taken a white as his heir," the president said, nodding. "But I have heard that you work for America."
"That's right."
"Then you are here on behalf of American interests," the president of South Korea pressed.
"I am here in the interest of sanity," Remo replied. "There doesn't seem to be a heck of a lot around here lately."
"How do we know you are truly of Sinanju?" one of the members of the Democratic Justice Party shouted from the assembly floor.
"Yes!" yelled the embarrassed member of the Reunification Democratic Party. "You are not Sinanju! He is CIA!" he cried to his fellow assemblymen.
"A spy!" shrieked another.
The murmuring, which had been more confused than anything else until now, began to grow more hostile. Things were getting out of hand. Remo had to find a way to calm the assembly down.
He glanced around. The nearest thing available was the podium at which the representatives to the assembly had been taking turns denouncing America and calling for reunification talks with the North.
Slapping his hands to either side of the quarterton slab of wood, Remo tossed the big stand up into the air. The National Assembly gasped as the huge stand rose impossibly toward the vaulted ceiling of the chamber.
All at once, the podium reached the crest of its arc, dropping like a lump of lead to the stage. The assembly held its collective breath, expecting the impact to be deafening. But five feet before it was set to crash, its movement was abruptly arrested.
The men and women watched in astonishment. The podium had landed on the tip of Remo's raised index finger.
With his free hand, Remo began spinning the huge podium in place-like a kid in a schoolyard performing a simple basketball trick. As it whirred, the stand began to hum a loud, even purr.
Remo's hand flew faster and faster until the stand was a blur. It eventually moved so fast that it seemed to disappear altogether. That was when the sawdust appeared.
Wooden powder flew off in large clouds with each invisible spin of the podium. If someone had thought to check his watch, he would have seen that it all took no more than forty seconds.
The whirring stopped. The podium reappeared.
It was now only a narrow piece of wood, fatter at the top and bottom. Like an apple that had been eaten to the core. Remo stood in an ankle-deep pile of dark sawdust.
He set the remains of the podium down.
"I am the future Reigning Master of Sinanju," Remo announced to the crowd. "Does anyone still doubt me?"
No one dared dispute his claim. None in the assembly dared to even speak.
"Good," Remo said, satisfied. He glanced around, finding the president. "You," he said, pointing to the terrified Kim Dae Jung. "We've got to talk."
He grabbed the president by the scruff of the neck and hauled him from the room. No one in the astonished assembly attempted to stop him.
"ARE YOU HERE to kill me?" the president asked nervously once the two of them were alone. They were in a private office off the main assembly chamber.