"I am known as the Master of Sinanju. The place I come from is called Sinanju. Does that name mean anything to you?"
"No," said Sunny Joe Roam. "Should it?"
"We have a legend among my people," said Chiun slowly, "of the sons of a Master of Sinanju, my ancestor, whose wife bore him two sons: One was named Kojing." Chiun paused. In a firm voice he added, "The other went by the name Kojong."
"Ko Jong Oh was the progenitor of the Sun On Jos," Roam said slowly. "Coincidence."
"It is tradition that the son of the Master of Sinanju be trained to follow in his father's footsteps," Chiun said, his voice rising so that everyone heard him clearly. "For Masters of Sinanju were great warriors. But only one Master of Sinanju could exist in a generation. The mother of Kojing and Kojong knew this. And she knew that if the father of the boys learned she had borne him twins, one would be put to death to prevent a dangerous rivalry when they became men. But the mother of the two youths could not bring herself to do this. She concealed Kojong from his own father. And when it became time to train Kojing, the mother artfully switched babies every other day, so that both Kojing and Kojong were trained in what we call the art of Sinanju."
Chiun's hazel eyes swept the faces in the room. The eyes that looked back were so like those of his own village, far away on the West Korea Bay. The men and the old men. They had unfamiliar faces, but each was touched by something Chiun recognized.
Chiun resumed his story, his voice deepening.
"The father, who was called Nonja, never knew this, for he was old when he sired the twins. His eyes were failing. Thus, the artifice went unsuspected. And one day, Master Nonja died, He went into the Void never knowing that he left behind two heirs, not one. On that day, Kojing and Kojong appeared together in the village for the first time, and the truth was revealed for all to see. No one knew what to do, and for the first time in history, there were two Masters of Sinanju."
Chiun took in a deep breath that expanded his frail chest.
"It was Kojong who provided the solution," he continued. "He announced that he was leaving the village to find a place in the outer world. He swore never to pass along the secrets of the sun source, but to pass along the spirit of Sinanju in case there would ever come a time that Sinanju would need it."
Chiun looked at Sunny Joe Roam. Bill Roam spoke up slowly.
"We have a legend too," he said. "Of Ko Jong Oh, who came from across the western sea. From the east. He was the first Sunny Joe, for he bore the spirit of Son On Jo. He taught the Indians the ways of peace, how to farm and not hunt the buffalo for meat. He showed the Indians another way, and in gratitude, they, our ancestors, took on the tribal name of Sun On Jo. Each generation, his eldest son would replace him as the guardian of the tribe. Only these sons, which we call Sunny Joes, were allowed to fight. And then only to protect the tribe. For the Sun On Jos believed that if they used their magic powers to kill, it would bring down upon the entire tribe the wrath of the Great Spirit Magician, Sun On Jo-He Who Breathes the Sun. "
Chiun nodded. "Your words ring true. Kojong understood if he plied the art of Sinanju, the art of the assassin, he would be in competition with the true Master of Sinanju, and would have to be sought out and destroyed, for nothing must interfere with the work of the Master of Sinanju. Not even competition from blood."
"You think we're kin?" Roam asked slowly.
"Do you doubt it?"
Bill Roam paused before answering.
"When I was young," he said at last, "I believed in it all. A lot has happened to me since then. I'm not sure what I believe now. There are a lot of legends in the world, full of great warriors, civilizers, culture heroes. Just because your legend and mine have a few syllables in common, I don't see that that's any reason to get all worked up about it. Especially now."
"What happened to you to crush your faith, you who are to your people what I am to mine?" Chiun inquired. Before Bill Roam could answer, a racket outside the meetinghouse caused the assembled Sun On Jos to jump to the windows.
"Sounds like a tank," Sheryl breathed. Bill Roam pushed his way to the door.
Outside, the Master of Sinanju joined him. They watched a sand-powdered tank rattle up the road, spinning a slow worm of dust in its wake. Its engine sputtered and missed like a recalcitrant lawn mower.
"Think we've been double-crossed, chief?" Roam asked Chiun.
"We are dealing with the Japanese," Chiun replied. "For them not to display treachery would be surprising, not the opposite."
The tank suddenly stopped. Its engine died out.
The driver's hatch popped up, and Bill Roam turned and shouted at the faces huddled in the doorway. "Everyone, back inside! I'll handle this!"
Turning to Chiun, he said, "if I don't make it, I'm counting on you to protect my people. Savvy?"
Chiun looked up curiously. "You believe?"
"No. But you do. And I'm going to count on that."
"Done," said Chiun. His smile was tight.
A head poked up from the open hatch and a flat voice called out, "Sunny Joe! That you? Man, am I glad to see a friendly face."
The voice belonged to Bartholomew Bronzini.
Chapter 18
On the morning of December 24, Radio Free Yuma went on the air.
Radio Free Yuma was a lawyer named Lester Cole with a ham radio set in his den. He put out a call to all stations listening on his band. A dentist in Poway, California, acknowledged his QSL.
"We've been invaded," Lester Cole said tightly. "Get word to Washington. We're cut off. It's the Japanese. They've pulled another Pearl Harbor on Yuma."
The Poway dentist thanked Lester for his entertaining story and signed off with a curt "Out."
Lawyer Cole-as he was known to friend and foe alike-had better luck with his second call. He happened to get an Associated Press stringer in Flagstaff. The stringer listened to his story without interruption.
At the end, Lawyer Cole told the stringer, "You can check this out. We have no phones, no TV, no radio."
"I'll get back to you. Out."
The AP stringer confirmed that Yuma was incommunicado. He put in a series of calls to the state capital. No one in Phoenix could explain the problem. The stringer didn't repeat Lawyer Cole's wild invasion story. Instead, he returned to his ham set and tried to raise Cole.
There was no answer.
Clarence Giss didn't look at it as betraying his country. Yuma was under curfew. He dared not set foot outside his house because they were shooting anyone caught out-of-doors. Giss lived alone. The way he saw it, America hadn't done much for him. His social-security disability check wasn't even enough to stock his refrigerator properly. Giss had been on disability since a bad acid trip in 1970 made it impossible for him to hold a steady job. As he had explained it to his caseworker, "My foot flips out right regularly. I can't work."
So when the Japanese rolled in and shut down Yuma, Clarence Giss just settled back to wait. Who knew, maybe things would improve. They couldn't get any worse on only $365 a month.
He stopped thinking that when the APC rolled down the streets blaring a warning in Japanese.
"A man is broadcasting his radio," the amplified voice thundered. "This man wirr surrender himserf or one house on every street wirr be set on fire."
Clarence Giss didn't want to lose his house. He also knew that the man who owned the only ham set in the neighborhood had once beat him good on a vandalism charge. He also had a feeling the Japanese didn't intend to let anyone out before they set their fires.
But most of all, Clarence Giss was out of beer.
He stripped off his sweaty undershirt and attached it to a mop handle with a rubber band. Giss waved his makeshift white flag out a window and waited for a response.
Presently an APC pulled up and two Japanese came to his door. They pounded on it with their rifle butts. "I know who's doing the broadcasting," he told them through the door.