"Very well," Smith said. "I'll recall Remo. His injuries should be healed by this time. Knowing the way he feels about Sinanju, he is probably anxious to leave by now. However, I'm still not certain how Master Chiun sees his status with us. The last contract we signed was hastily drawn up before Remo took over officially as Reigning Master. It is possible that Chiun may decide to remain in Sinanju."
"You think he'd do that?"
"I'm not sure. This is unprecedented for us. Technically Remo has always been CURE's lone enforcement arm. The Master of Sinanju only ever accompanied him on assignments to protect the investment he had made in Remo's training. But now that Remo is Reigning Master, Chiun is officially retired. He could opt to stay home. The contract does provide such an escape clause."
Smith and his assistant had been present in Sinanju for the ceremony that had seen Remo elevated to Reigning Master and Chiun step down from the post that he had held for the better part of a century. Briefly Smith wondered if CURE had lost one of its most valuable assets.
"I will not press the issue," the older man decided finally. "Not now. Besides, this might be nothing. And we don't need both of them for such a simple matter. I will phone once we are finished here."
The decision was made. Putting thoughts of Mayana from their minds for the moment, the two CURE men turned their attention to the other problems of the day that might require the intervention of America's best-kept secret.
Chapter 5
After breakfast, the former Reigning Master of Sinanju padded off to a back room in the House of Many Woods.
Most of the Master's House was crammed full of treasure-generations of tribute to the Korean assassins. For years this back room alone had been kept bare. With just a few candles and reed mats scattered on the wooden floor, it was traditionally a place of spiritual contemplation.
There had been a recent addition to the room, a gift from North Korean Premier Kim Jung-Il. Chiun sat cross-legged on a simple mat before a magnificent, fifty-one-inch high-definition Panasonic television. The set was turned up full blast. Speakers from the new Sony surround sound system, which had been placed carefully around the room, rattled the rafters.
The new satellite dish on the roof picked up shows from all over the world. When Remo entered the room he found Chiun watching a Mexican soap opera. Women with too much makeup and men with too-white teeth squinted and sneered at one another in extreme close-ups, just like their American counterparts. It occurred to Remo recently that soap operas might be the first hint that world peace was just around the corner. If-thanks to modern technology-lousy entertainment was proving to people across borders that things weren't so different on the other side, surely peace, love and understanding among all nations couldn't be far behind.
This day, Remo wasn't thinking about world peace.
Chiun had the volume turned up so loud the house shook.
"I think you're causing structural damage with that thing," Remo said, eyeing the ceiling worriedly.
"Repairs are no longer my problem," Chiun replied, eyes glued to the set. On the screen, a man who was evil because the music said he was squinted in extreme close-up. Thanks to the big screen, his nostrils looked like open manholes.
Remo tore his eyes from the rattling ceiling. The old Korean was still staring in rapt attention at the TV.
"You sit too close to that thing. You're probably getting dosed by a trillion rads of radiation. And you don't have to listen to it so loud. There's nothing wrong with your hearing. I wanted to call Smith."
"Do your complaints never end? Can you not just go outside and enjoy the beauty of spring in Sinanju?"
"What spring? There's two seasons in Sinanju, winter and mud."
"You are the American Reigning Master. If I bother you so much, do what Americans do. Build an apartment for your unwanted father and his meager belongings over the garage. Do not trust the Carthaginians for the labor, however. They pad their bills."
"A, we don't have a garage. B, that junk must've cost more than four bills. It's not meager. And not to split hairs, but it's mine, not yours. Kim sent all this garbage to me as a Reigning Master coming-out present. "
"Do you want it?"
"You know I don't watch much TV."
"Then I lay claim to it. Now leave an old man in peace and answer the phone."
Remo hadn't heard it ring. He was surprised when it suddenly jangled to life. When he glanced at his teacher, there was a look of soft satisfaction on the old man's face.
Eyes narrowing, Remo scooped up the phone. "Captain Clyde's Clam Shack," he announced. "All-you-can-eat buffet now guaranteed eighty percent ptomaine-free."
"Remo, Smith."
Remo was surprised how good it was to hear the CURE director's lemony voice. From what he could hear of it. The music from the TV had risen to earsplitting levels.
"Hey, Smitty. I was just gonna call you. Just a sec."
He held the phone to his chest. "Chiun, could you, please?"
The old man's show had come to an end. As the music fed into a commercial, a bony hand reached for the remote. The screen collapsed to a dot and the walls stopped shaking.
"Thanks, Little Father," Remo said, turning back to the phone.
"I'm glad you called, Srnitty. I'm ready to get back to work. I've cooled my heels here for so long I've got moss growing on my rust."
"If Chiun thinks you are ready, I may have an assignment for you," Smith said.
"My opinion no longer matters, Emperor Smith," Chiun called. "Remo is now Reigning Master of Sinanju. Ask him if he is ready, not me. Go ahead, ask him."
"Er, are you well enough, Remo?" Smith asked.
"I'm all healed up, Smitty," Remo promised.
"See?" Chiun called. "He can speak for himself. And it is important that Remo feel fine, for he is Reigning Master. You do not have to waste breath to ask how I am, Emperor. I am only the one who has taken mud and transformed it into diamonds, who has made a thing of greatness from a pale piece of a pig's ear. I am Chiun, the human alchemist who raised a worthless white foundling to the loftiest peak of perfection. Do not ask me how I am, for I am but a servant. And a retired one at that."
"I think he wants you to ask him how he's doing, Smitty," Remo said.
Smith had gotten the hint. "How are you, Master Chiun?"
"Don't ask," Chiun replied.
"Okay, that was fun," Remo said. "Now, where's this assignment? Preferably it's someplace where I can get a really bad sunburn."
"Then this is an ideal situation," Smith replied. He spoke too quickly for Remo's liking.
"What do you mean?" Remo asked, suddenly suspicious.
"I realize you are isolated, but have you heard any press reports out of Mayana?"
"Just on CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN, MSNBC, Fox, Lifetime, Telemundo and the freaking Food Network. That Don King-headed dipweed Kim Jong-Il wired up Chiun's house for cable."
"It is not my home any longer," Chiun interjected. "I abide here only through the kindness of the Reigning Master."
Remo cupped the mouthpiece. "Knock that off, will you?" To Smith he said, "Mayana. They've got some newfangled garbage disposal or something, right?"
"If they are to be believed, it is much more than that," Smith replied. "It is an amazing technology. According to Mayanan government fact sheets, it was developed by one Mike Sears, who until 1991 was a developmental scientist with the aerospace industry in California."