"I cannot allow that," said Chiun. "Why not?"
"It would be unfair. The expense you would incur in sending that vessel would detract from the value of the repayment." Chiun shook his aged head. "No, I would not do that to you."
"We can work something out." said Smith.
"No," said Chiun hastily. "For Sinanju law dictates that all repayments be made in the same coin. No substitutes."
"I would not mind," said Smith.
"But my ancestors would," returned Chiun.
"Then what?"
Chiun paced the office. "I cannot repay in the same coin. It is regrettable, but I am stuck. Therefore, as difficult as it will be, as much as I desire to remain in Sinanju with my adopted son and my people who wept bitterly when I left them, I must fulfill my contract with you."
"I'm sure we can come up with an alternate solution," Smith said.
"I have thought long on this," Chiun said firmly. "This is the only way."
"Things have changed, Master Chiun. CURE is no longer set up for operations."
Chiun waved a dismissive hand. "A mere detail. A trifling of no moment in the magnitude of this event. Lo, my descendants will sing in praise of this hour for generations to come," Chiun said loudly. "After too long a time, the House of Sinanju has been reunited with the most kind, most generous, most able client it has ever known, Smith the Wise."
"It has been only three months," reminded. Smith.
"Three long months," Chiun corrected. "Each day a year, each month an eternity. But at last it is over."
"What about Remo?"
Chiun's pleased expression fled. "Remo is happy in Sinanju. We do not need him. Or he, us."
"I see,"
"You see all," Chiun smiled.
"This could work out," said Smith slowly. His mind was racing. Only days ago, the thought of having to deal with the mercurial Chiun would have sent him reaching for his Maalox, but now, with this Smith-killer matter, Chiun's reappearance might be the best thing that could happen.
"Do I understand that our last contract is now in force once more?"
"Not quite," said the Master of Sinanju, settling on the floor in front of Smith's heavy desk.
And Smith-who knew that when Chiun sat on the floor like that it meant that it was time to renegotiate-grabbed two extra-sharp pencils and a yellow legal pad and joined him on the worn hardwood floor.
"Remo will not be considered a part of this negotiation," began Chiun.
Smith nodded. "That would mean a reduction, retroactive, on the prepayment due to the loss of his services."
"Not quite," said the Master of Sinanju.
"What then?"
"It requires an additional payment above the prepayment."
Smith snapped the pencil in his hand. "How do you figure that?" he said angrily.
"Without Remo, I will have to work twice as hard as before; And I am an old man, frail and in my declining years."
"How much more?" Smith asked tightly.
"Half. Half would be fair."
Smith, who was facing death from an unknown assassin, balanced the cost of Chiun's demands against the probable expense of finding a new CURE director and decided they were roughly equal.
"Done," he said, writing it down.
"And I further require other amenities-lodging and clothes."
"Clothes?"
"Because I came by air; I was unable to carry my possessions with me. I have only a kimono or two, nothing more."
Smith, suddenly remembering the news report of the Air Force transport that had the mysterious stowaway the day before, understood completely.
"I don't know where we're going to find a clothier who specializes in kimonos, but I'll see what I can do."
"Do not trouble yourself. Introduce me to a worthy tailor, and he and I will work out the details."
"Done. Anything else?"
"One last item. Traveling expenses."
"How much?" Smith asked, bracing himself.
"Seven dollars and thirty-nine cents."
"You traveled from Sinanju to America and spent only seven-thirty-nine?"
"It was the strangest thing. No one asked me for money. But the American flight did not serve meals for some reason and I was forced to dine in a restaurant before sojourning here to Fortress Folcroft."
And the Master of Sinanju smiled innocently.
"I imagine you'll require living expenses until I requisition the gold," Smith said wryly.
"I was not going to mention it, but yes," said Chiun.
"I'll get you an American Express card."
"American . . . ?" said Chiun, puzzled.
"Gold card, of course."
"Of course." Chiun beamed. He had no idea what Smith was babbling about, but was willing to agree to anything that involved gold.
When they had finished amending the old contract and initialing the changes, the Master of Sinanju signed with a flourish.
"And now you," he said happily, turning the contract over to Smith.
Smith scrawled his signature, wondering why Chiun seemed so delighted. Usually upon signing even the most generous contract, he acted like he had been victimized by Smith's sharp trading. And why had Chiun willingly left Remo back in Sinanju? Could there be a problem between the two of them? As soon as the thought entered his head, Smith dismissed it. Remo and Chiun were inseparable. But then, why were they separated?
When Smith finished, Chiun rose to his feet like smoke arising from an incense burner.
"I am at your service, O just one. Merely point and I will cut down your enemies like the wheat in the field."
"As a matter offact, I do have a problem."
"Name it," said Chiun.
"It's difficult. It involves another assassin."
"There is no other assassin," retorted the Master of Sinanju. "Speak the wretch's name and I will place his head at your feet by the setting sun."
Just then the phone rang. Smith looked up. It was the direct line to Washington the dialless phone which connected the President of the United States with CURE. Smith reached up stiffly and pulled the red receiver to his ear.
"Yes, Mr. President?"
"We have a problem, Smith. I don't know what you can do without operatives, but maybe you can advise me."
"Excuse me, Mr. President, but we do have an operative. "
"We do?"
"Yes, the old one."
"Older one," Chiun whispered, tugging on Smith's sleeve. "I am older than you and Remo, but I am not old."
Smith coughed noisily. "Yes, Mr. President. You heard me correctly. We have just finished negotiating for another year of service."
"I thought he had retired," said the President, "and that he was upset with us over the matter with the Soviets. After all, his pupil did die during that one."
"He's sitting before me even as we speak," said Smith uncomfortably.
"Younger than ever," Chiun said loudly.
Smith clapped a hand over the receiver. "Hush. The President still thinks Remo is dead.
"Stricken by grief at the loss of my only adopted son, I will nevertheless bear up under my burdens and deal with the enemies of America," Chiun added.
"That's enough. Don't overplay it." Having lied to the President about Remo's supposed death, there was no way Smith could admit to the truth-that he had fudged the facts to cover for Remo. As long as this President served in the Oval Office, he must never learn that Remo still lived. That discovery would expose Smith as unreliable and could pull the CURE operation down around Smith's head.
"All right," said the President. "I won't ask questions. Here's our problem. A fellow named Ferris D'Orr has just escaped a kidnapping attempt. D'Orr is important to America. He's discovered a remarkable way of cold-forging titanium. I think you know how important that is to our Defense Department. Why, this process could cut so much from next year's defense budget that we could fund a lot of the programs that Congress is now trying to stifle."