"They are not necessarily alone," Chiun replied mysteriously. "Your bull-like rutting habits of years ago has likely given us many more male offspring to choose from. But rather than squander years scouring orphanages around the world for children who have your beady eyes and unpleasant temperament, you could sire another now. We need only return to Sinanju and find a suitable maiden to accept your seed."
Remo shook his head. "I don't like that idea, Little Father," he said. "And not just because most Sinanju maidens look like they've taken one hit too many from the shit end of the ugly stick. I just don't think it's right to breed a baby just to raise for this crazy life. A baby's supposed to be the product of two people's love for each other, not some experiment in assassin's eugenics."
Chiun raised his bony shoulders in a tiny shrug. "Then you are left with the same choice of finding an heir I was. Go out in the world and trust that fate will supply you with what you need. With any luck, you will do better than I."
Remo hardly heard the gentle gibe. "It's always been you and me," he said. "Can we handle bringing someone else on board this mess?"
"You will be doing all the handling," Chiun replied, in a low and even tone. "When the time comes for you to train your successor, I will return to Sinanju."
Remo froze. "What?"
"Do not pretend you did not know this was the case, Remo," Chiun warned. "In all the stories of Sinanju, have you ever heard one in which two generations of Masters were still actively plying their art while one trained a successor?"
"Well, no, but-I never gave it much thought."
Chiun resumed his slow, reflective pace. "That is because it has never happened," he said somberly. "It is not proper for a teacher to remain active when his student takes a pupil of his own. When you find your successor, I will retire to Sinanju, there to sit in the warming sun of the bay and mend the nets while I watch the men go out to fish. In a few years, when your pupil passes the first phase on his path to Masterhood, I will leave the shore and enter the caves near the village for the traditional period of seclusion."
Remo couldn't believe what he was hearing. Chiun was talking about a ritualistic cleansing of the spirit taken on by all retired Masters of Sinanju. The rite could take several decades, and once he entered into this last phase of his life, Chiun would only emerge from his solitude to die.
With Chiun's words, Remo's heart hollowed.
"I don't want you to just lock yourself off from the world like that," he said, quiet emotion straining his voice.
"The world will get along without me," Chiun replied. "Besides, it is tradition."
"Screw that." Remo scowled. "Can't you just this once break with tradition and do what you want? I mean, God, there can't be another Master in the history of Sinanju who's been more slavish to those stupid scrolls. I think your ancestors would forgive you one lapse."
Chiun's face grew serious. "While I have done my best to uphold our traditions, it would not be my first and only sin were I to avoid the period of seclusion," he intoned. "When the time comes, I will do as I must." He shook his head, dismissing all they had said. "This is not the time for this conversation. The gods have merely endeavored to plant this thought in your mind. We could have many more years before it becomes time for you to act on what you have learned." Though his words were meant to bolster Remo's spirits, his eyes told a different story.
Chiun found a nice flat rock beyond the last straggling huts of the village. Scampering up it, he settled cross-legged to the boulder, encouraging his pupil to do so, as well. They sat across from each other, father and son.
For Remo, the whole world suddenly seemed very small and very precious. Like the wizened figure that now faced him-the one person on the entire face of the benighted planet who had ever given him anything of any real meaning.
Chiun's laugh lines were deep creases in aged leather. His once white hair had, in the autumn of his life, given way to yellow. To Remo, in that moment, his teacher had never seemed quite so old or frail.
Nearby, the clawing branches of the baobab raked the dirt. The machete still protruded from its cracked trunk.
"Getting a point across?" Remo asked gently.
"Sometimes it is the only way to get fools to listen," the Master of Sinanju replied simply.
A few women scraped the shattered tree's pulp for water. Moon shadows played across the children at their ankles. As they went about their work in the dark, they didn't seem as malnourished as they had when first he arrived. A sudden peal of laughter carried back to them on the warm breeze.
Given all they had just discussed, there seemed an air of finality to the world. Remo resolved to enjoy the moment.
"This reminds me of the Loni," he commented as he watched the Luzu children.
"Why?" Chiun asked. "Because that was an African tribe and this is another? This continent is littered with the bones of former empires, Remo."
"Maybe." Remo nodded. "But I remember that time. You practically had to set yourself on fire to fulfill some crazy prophecy." He looked at his teacher, his eyes level. "I won't let you do that again."
Chiun soaked in the warmth of his pupil's tone. "Your concern is touching but unnecessary. There will be no purification by fire. In that other time you mention, there was a Sinanju contract that had not been satisfied. Our ties to the Luzu are different."
"How so?" Remo asked. "A contract's a contract."
"Ordinarily, that is true," the Master of Sinanju said. "Do you remember, Remo, the story of Master Nuk?"
"Nuk," Remo said, considering. "He succeed Koo?"
Chiun's heart swelled with pride. He had remembered. There were times when Remo's devotion to the history of the House of Sinanju nearly matched his own.
"Yes," the old man said. "Do you remember his tale?"
"Wasn't much to remember." He began repeating the story by rote. "'And, lo, Nuk the Unwise did travel to the belly of the dark beast. There he found a people in despair and did nurture them to greatness. Eventually, they paid.'" He shrugged. "That's all you ever taught me."
"That was all that was written in the official records of our House," Chiun replied. "However, the Master has access to other histories."
"You're always saying that," Remo chided. "When do I get a chance to look at the top-secret stuff?"
"Are you Master yet?" Chiun asked aridly.
His words brought back their earlier conversation. "No," Remo said softly.
"Then be quiet." Resettling his robes, Chiun took on the pose of teacher. "Now, the people from whom Nuk sought employment were the ancestors of the Luzu. It was a dark time for our House. During Nuk's tenure as Master, there were few emperors in need of his services. The great treasure house in the village, while full from the efforts of previous Masters, was in danger. There was talk that the babies might one day have to be sent home to the sea."
"But there's tons of dough there," Remo suggested. "It'd hold the whole village for about a billion years."
"And at the end of that time?" Chiun said, his brow arched.
Remo sighed. "I know. Always plan ahead."
"That is correct," Chiun said with a crisp nod. "And so when the normal avenues failed to yield work for him, Nuk did travel to the land of the Luzu, and made he of these impoverished nomads a powerful nation."
"How's that?" Remo asked. "If they didn't have any money, why would Nuk come within a country mile of them? I thought we only ever went where the cash was."
The old Korean was growing uncomfortable. "Nuk took the promise of future earnings from the Luzu. For in the hills near these simple tribesmen were diamonds more flawless than the finest in the Sinanju treasure house. These early Luzu were not advanced far enough to mine the gems, and a Master of Sinanju does not dig. Therefore, Nuk did shepherd the Luzu to greatness. Over time they did grow and prosper to the point where they were able to mine the diamonds from the rocky hills. Nuk was paid and went on his way."
Remo had been listening to the account with in
terest.
"Sounds like a pretty savvy move to me," he commented with an appreciative nod. "Small investment, big payoff."
Chiun gave an annoyed cluck. "We are not a house of financial brokers," he complained. "Payment for a contract year is due in full, up front. Preferably gold. We invest not in stock markets, but in the future of Sinanju. Anything could have happened to the Luzu during the years Nuk nurtured them. Famine, war. A single plague could have wiped out all that he worked for."
"I suppose. But it didn't. Nuk got his payday."
"That is not the point. Nuk should have found an employer who paid immediately. His years with the Luzu created a dependency of them on us. He even resurrected the long-abandoned practice of offering weapons training to his charges due to the guilt he felt. Because of Nuk the Unwise, we are responsible for these people as we are for no other."
"Nuk the Unwise," Remo mused. "Back when you made me learn the names of all the masters, I always thought that one sounded a little harsh."
"Harsh, perhaps. But well earned," Chiun said.
"Probably, from our mercenary standpoint. But the guy worked hard to be a Master of Sinanju. We went through it, we know what it's like. So what if he screwed up a little along the way? He got paid in the end. But that doesn't matter. The final kick in the teeth to poor Nuk is someone scribbling 'unwise' in front of his name in the scrolls."
"Pray that your pupil does not give you a worse honorific," Chiun said somberly.
While Remo didn't want to think of his future pupil right now, Chiun's last words caused his ears to prick up.
"You mean the pupil gets to pick the honorific of his Master?" he pressed.
A look of flickering horror passed swiftly across the parchment face of the Master of Sinanju. He quickly banished it far beneath a bland veneer of tan wrinkles.
"I am not certain," he said vaguely. "I have been forced to nursemaid you so far beyond the point of my own retirement that I forget that particular rule."
The prospect of Chiun's retiring forced all lightness from Remo's tone. "So what's our story here?" he asked. "Because of Nuk's empire-building, we've got to come back here at the drop of a hat whenever they ask?"
"No. The situation must be grave enough to threaten the Luzu Empire. Only then is Sinanju bound to act."
"Some empire," Remo said mockingly. "Ten thousand stick figures and one big fat chief. He's got a hell of a nerve, by the way. Looking like that when the rest of his people look like they're one empty plate away from the cemetery."
"You worry still about the injustices of the world." Chiun sighed. "I will be pleased when this sickness finally runs its course."
"If getting over Master's disease means I'll start subscribing to Batubizee's 'let 'em eat cake' philosophy, then I pray to every god you've got that I never get better."
A shocked intake of air. When he glanced over, Remo found a look of pure horror on his teacher's face.
"Remo, still your tongue," Chiun whispered. Troubled eyes scanned the night sky. He tracked the course of a shooting star with a deeply worried look. "You must beg forgiveness for your ill-chosen words," he warned.
"What?" Remo frowned. "Chiun, I-"
"Remo, please," Chiun begged. His eyes were desperate.
Rare were such entreaties from the Master of Sinanju.
Remo regarded the clear African sky. "Sorry," he said to the stars.
Chiun waited a long time, as if he expected the wrath of the gods to rain fire on both their heads.
When the heavens remained silent, he turned his attention back to his pupil.
"It is not wise to tempt the gods in such a way," the old man offered, his voice a respectful whisper. His tone implored understanding.
"I'm sorry, Little Father," Remo said. And this apology he meant.
The tiny Asian nodded. "As for Batubizee, he looks as he does because he is chief. He was not chosen because he did not perspire on television and another would-be chief did, or because females wished to lay with him more than some other or because he was an inch taller or lied about experiencing the pain of his subjects. He is chief because he was born to be chief. I do not expect you to understand, but as the future standard bearer of our House, it is important that you at least feign understanding."
It was as if he were trying to will Remo to understand.
Remo nodded tightly. "I know my obligations." Chiun could sense his pupil's heavy heart.
The old Korean suddenly held out a bony hand to all that was visible of the once mighty Luzu nation. Moonlight dappled the savannah. Nearby, the toppled foundation of an ancient building jutted from the wind-worn dirt.
"Remember that the worries of those who made this empire have long since turned to dust. The woes that burden you will one day be the same. You flutter here and there, hoping that each moment will bring you happiness. But a mere moment cannot be so powerful. It is but the lost blink of an eye, forever locked in time. True joy comes from within. Do not struggle so hard to find it, and perhaps it will find you."
"Sometimes I've thought I had," Remo admitted gently. "But every time things seem to get okay for me, the world comes along and kicks me in the nuts."
Chiun offered a flickering smile. "At those points, my son, it is always important to kick back harder." His eyes darted over his pupil's shoulder. "Your ride is here."
When Remo turned, curious, he saw that Bubu was picking his way around the broken baobab. The young man had changed back into the suit he'd worn at the airport.
Remo noted that Bubu was lean, but not emaciated. His stride was that of a confident feline. There seemed a quiet grace to him as the young man stopped beside the rock on which sat the two, Sinanju Masters.
"If you wish to return to Bachsburg tonight, Master Remo, the chief has said I may take you," Bubu said with a polite bow. "Provided you are staying, Master Chiun."
Remo turned to his mentor. "Chiun?"
The old man shook his head. "I cannot go," he said.
"Okay," Remo said, scampering down the rock. "You're on. Name's Remo, by the way. You can cut out that Master stuff."
The Luzu offered another short bow. "I am Bubu."
Remo's eyes took on an amused glint. "You're kidding."
The native seemed puzzled. "No, that is my name."
"Well, make sure you stay away from my picka-nick basket," Remo warned.
"Do not embarrass me," Chiun hissed, scurrying off the rock.
To Bubu, he said, "Pay no attention to my son. Although he considers himself a wit, he is only half-right."
Remo wondered why Chiun would worry so much about the feelings of a common Luzu native. As the three men started back through the village, Remo leaned close to the Master of Sinanju.
"I don't know the customs around here," he ventured out of the corner of his mouth. "Should I pay my respects to the chief before I go?"
"I will do so for you," Chiun droned. "With the tact you have displayed since arriving, one goodbye from you and the House of Sinanju will be at war with the Luzu Empire."
Chapter 20
The big bulletproof limousine with its black-tinted windows stole like a sleek, silent panther through the streets of Bachsburg. In the rear seat, a lone figure sat.
Bachsburg was alive, vibrant.
A million lights washed over the modern miracle of a city that man had carved out of the inhospitable African wilderness. To Mandobar, it seemed almost possible to reach out and feel the night pulse of that great metropolis. The world's new crime mecca.
At a streetlight, Mandobar lazily scanned the activity taking place beyond the limo's smoky windows. There were whores down the block. Nearer, a man had been stabbed in the belly by a mugger. The sound of an ambulance swelled in the distance.
All of this would end soon. Soon, this city would be ruled with an iron fist. Petty crimes would cease as the energy of a nation was directed outward. With a vengeance, East Africa would foster real criminal activity. All around the world.
&nb
sp; The next day, the remainder of the crime lords would descend on the city. In the late afternoon-under twenty hours away-they would be whisked off to the village of bungalows that had been constructed at the periphery of Luzuland. For safety's sake, they would be told. Little did any of them know that they would never return.
Mandobar smiled at the thought.
So many dead. Massive piles of charred corpses. No. Less than that.
Mere stains in the sand. Like the ash left in Russell Copefeld's wake.
The leading criminals of the world. All dead. Crime syndicates everywhere with no one to command them. A power structure already in place in Bachsburg, with Mandobar at its helm. Of course, not without help.
On the phone earlier this afternoon, Don Giovani of the Sicilian Mafia had been quite anxious. Don Vincenzo of Camorra had insisted that Don Giovani be in Bachsburg for the inaugural festivities. Giovani knew what was going to happen in that little village on the outskirts of the dead Luzu Empire, and so did not wish to be anywhere near East Africa. But Vincenzo had said that Camorra would not attend if the Sicilian Mafia did not. Giovani had relented.
Mandobar had done a good job soothing the Mafia leader's concerns.
Camorra would come, Mandobar had said. It couldn't afford not to. And well before the appointed time, Mandobar would personally see to it that the Mafia was safely out of the area. After all, they were going to be future business partners in the new East Africa.
The car phone buzzed to life. Outside the limousine, insects danced around streetlights. Eyes on the flitting bugs, Mandobar answered the phone.
The coolly efficient voice of L. Vas Deferens spoke without preamble. "I have received word from Nunzio Spumoni that Don Giovani will be attending after all," East Africa's defense minister announced.
In the dark of the back seat, Mandobar smiled. "I know."
Deferens did not attempt to hide his surprise. "You do? May I ask how?"
"I have spoken to Don Giovani today."
"Ah..." A hint of confusion. Concern?
It was nice for Deferens to be confounded on occasion. Until that moment, the defense minister had known nothing of Mandobar's private conversations with the Mafia leader.
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