so many deaths ago. It had not been planned as a permanent thing. He was to help America get through the chaos an analyst saw coming. That was in the early sixties. The chaos came. It went, somewhat, and the organization was still here, now adding the President of the United States to its hit list.
Harold W. Smith said a silent prayer as he prepared to set up his own office out of the way of normal traffic and very close to the President, a man of exceptional integrity and courage. But that had nothing to do with whether he would die. He was going to die if he should appear to be stricken by that substance. Thereafter when Harold W. Smith asked the President how he felt, he really would be asking if he was going to have to kill the President that day.
In California, Remo got a strange response when he reached Smith. He knew immediately that Smith was in danger.
“One, I am not at normal home base now, Remo. Two, I want you to get some things straight before you put Chiun on.”
Remo had found a street phone that worked after six failed to respond to quarters, nickels, or dimes. He knew Smith preferred street phones, because while they appeared more public, they gave less of a stationary target to anyone for bugging purposes. And Smith's own electronics could clean the line, as he called the process, from his end.
So here was Remo watching skateboarders zip through palm trees and Rolls-Royces form caravans as he made an absolutely safe phone call on Rodeo Drive. Chiun stood nearby, glancing every now and then at a jewelry display in a window. He had been on the alert for movie stars ever since he thought he saw one of the actresses from the soap operas he used to watch so faithfully. Chiun had stopped watching when violence replaced the romance. He did not approve of violence in shows.
He placed his delicate hands inside his kimono and surveyed the passing Hollywood scene. It did not, of course, get his approval. Remo watched him out of the corner of his eye.
“What's the problem?” asked Remo.
“We might be close to end game.”
“We've been compromised?” asked Remo. He knew that if there should be any chance of exposure of the organization, it could be ruinous for the nation it hoped to serve. So everything was planned to self-destruct. This included Smith's taking of his own life. Smith would do it, too. Once it had been arranged for Remo to die, but Smith gave that up early on when it began to seem impossible to kill him. Instead, he trusted in Remo's lasting good feelings for his country, and a promise just to leave. Remo did not tell this to Chiun because he knew Chiun might do something to take down the organization. The only thing holding Chiun in America was Remo, whom he called his investment and the future of Sinanju.
Remo knew that with all the new dictators and tyrants in the world, Chiun was thirsting for an opportunity to align Sinanju with one of them.
“Remo. It's the new Dark Age coming. Let's not miss it,” he had said.
“I am against Dark Ages,” Remo had answered. “Just to kill someone for a few more bars of gold to be held in a house somewhere for centuries doesn't make sense to me. I love my country. I love America.”
Chiun had almost wept at that remark.
“You work. You train. You give the very best of yourself, and look. Look at what you get in return. Lunacy. Disrespect. Nonsense. A despot is the best employer an assassin can have. Someday you will appreciate that.”
Sometimes, but not often and not for long, Remo began to think Chiun might be right. But not really. It remained the one great difference between them. And as Remo listened to Smith, he reminded himself to remind Smith where Chiun stood.
“If we are not compromised, why is it end game?” asked Remo.
“I can't explain that now. But you will know why if it should happen. I want a promise from you, Remo. I want you to agree that if it is all over, you and Chiun will never work in America again. Can I get that promise?”
“I don't want to leave America,” said Remo.
“You must. It's almost been a full-time job, covering for you, making sure people don't put together all those strange deaths you and Chiun have left behind.”
“Why should I have to leave if I served the country so well?”
“Because you're like me. You love it, Remo. That's why.”
“You mean I'll be an exile?”
“Yes,” said Smith.
“I don't know.”
“Yes you do, I think.”
“All right. But don't end the game for a silly reason.”
“Did you think I would?” asked Smith.
“No,” said Remo.
“All right. I am going to speak to Chiun. I want him with me at the White House. Now, I don't want any grand entrances with fourteen steamer trunks or pages announcing the arrival of the emperor's assassin. I want it sub- rosa. I want it secret. You are going to have to tell him how to enter. Tell him just to ask for Route Officer Nine. It's part of a system of clearances for entrance to the White House.”
“It's the one that isn't cleared, isn't it?” asked Remo.
“Exactly. I want no one to see him enter.”
“You seem especially interested that no one sees him this time.”
“Not especially,” said Smith. “It's just that I get the drift from Chiun that he feels he doesn't get proper attention.”
“But he's always felt like that. Why is it special now?” asked Remo.
“You'll find out.”
“I think I know. And I hope I won't,” said Remo. “Are you not using me because you think I am not at peak?”
“No,” said Smith.
“Then why not?”
“Because you might not be able to go through with it. You are a patriot, for all your Sinanju presence. That's what you are. Chiun would have no trouble with this particular assignment.”
Chiun watched Hollywood go by, occasionally glancing at the price of a mere string of diamonds in the window. It was an exorbitant price, but the diamonds were nothing compared to the treasure of Sinanju which was stolen while Remo was foolishly trying to save his country. Gold lasted. Countries did not.
But of course, try reasoning with someone whom whites had brought up.
“Smitty wants to talk to you,” said Remo.
“More nonsense?”
“No,” said Remo. And when Chiun was close enough to hear a whisper, he said:
“He wants you at the White House. He's there. I'll tell you how to enter.”
“At last, he makes his move toward the throne,” said Chiun. Smith had tried even Chiun's patience, he had been so slow at taking the proper course toward being recognized as the true emperor of this land.
“Hail, O gracious Emperor, your servant stands here to glorify your name,” said Chiun.
“Is Remo all right? Can he function at moving on the target people I've set out for him?”
“He is attuned to the very wind, O gracious Majesty.”
“Well, you said a few days ago that he was not up to what you considered correct. Has he recovered?”
“Your voice heals the ill.”
“Then I can count on him without you?”
“More important, you can count on me without him,” said Chiun. “Your reign will be the glory of your nation, the star by which future generations guide their very hopes.”
“Level with me. What can't Remo do?” asked Smith.
“He cannot do what the Master does, but he can do everything else. Anything you need him for he can do.”
“All right. Put on Remo.”
