His smile melted into a scowl of recognition.
Kim knew him all too well. He was a traitor to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. The man's newspaper regularly insulted the Great Leader from the cowardly safety of the United States.
All thoughts of the Master of Sinanju were gone. Kim Jong Il turned to his troops, aiming a fat finger in the direction of the traitorous Man Hyung Sun.
His order crackled as clear as the frigid winter air around them.
"Shoot him!" screamed the Leader for Life of North Korea.
REMO HAD NO LUCK at the presidential palace. According to the premier's frightened underlings, Kim Jong Il had left suddenly for the airport. No one knew why.
He was forced to drag his untrustworthy little band back out into his borrowed North Korean army jeep. As they rode through the streets of Pyongyang to the airport, Kim Dae Jung hid behind the back of Remo's seat.
"It is not safe for me here," the president of South Korea said nervously.
"It's a hell of a lot safer here than in your own streets right now," Remo replied.
"No, this filth is correct," Soe said from behind the jeep's wheel. "Though he has a Korean face, he is no more than a capitalist running dog lackey of the pig West."
"Is that all with hyphens?" Remo asked.
"What?" asked Soe.
"Just shut up and drive," Remo suggested.
"I would kill him if I had the chance," Soe persisted.
"You won't get the chance." Remo sighed.
"I have to go to the bathroom," the president of South Korea whined.
"You should have thought of that before we crossed the Thirty-eighth Parallel," Remo said.
"I will kill you the first chance I get," Soe said over his shoulder to the president.
"What part of 'shut up' don't you understand?" Remo snapped.
They drove in silence for a few long moments.
"I am not saying that I will kill him," Soe said to Remo suddenly, "but if he were to die by accident-" Remo bounced Soe's head off the dashboard. After that, the security officer remained quiet.
They were still a good distance from the airport when Remo spied the private jet soaring in, attended by the squadron of North Korean fighters.
"There's a familiar sight," he said, brow furrowing in concern.
"That is not your lost plane," Soe pointed out.
"No, but it's the same setup. Why would a bunch of Korean jets follow another plane without shooting it down?"
"Perhaps it is Kim Jong Il's. Is he scheduled to go abroad?" the South Korean president asked hopefully.
"No," Remo said. "And if you'd get up off the floor you'd see that it's landing, not taking off." He shook his head after another moment's consideration. "I can think of only one reason why they'd be taking a hands-off approach like that."
"What?" Soe asked.
Remo glanced at the driver. "Do you really want to know?" he said.
Soe judged Remo's wry tone. The security officer glanced at the cluster of planes soaring in toward the airport, still far across the dreary North Korean capital. He suddenly realized why Kim Jong Il had gone to the airport.
Remo could tell by the look on his face that Soe had figured out who was on board the plane. "You better hope for your sake that last shipment of gold made it back safely."
He was so intent on watching the landing plane that he didn't comment on the look of instant, horrible fear that blossomed on the face of Rim Kun Soe.
THEIR HESITATION HAD saved all of their lives.
The soldiers were about to fire at Man Hyung Sun, as per the order of their Glorious Leader for Life, when another figure appeared from the open door of the jet.
Chiun's face was severe. The trails of his golden kimono flapped wildly in the bitter wind.
"Hold!" the Master of Sinanju commanded.
The men were taken aback by the harshness of the command. Their weapons were raised to Sun, but they were looking beyond the cult leader at the wizened form of the Master of Sinanju. Kim Jong Il saw Chiun, as well.
"Hold your fire! For God's sake, hold your fire!" the premier screeched.
The North Korean leader took off his great furry hat and began jumping between his troops, swatting down gun barrels that were still hesitating in the air.
The troops soon got the point. Those who had not lowered their guns at once soon put theirs down, as well. Greatly relieved, Kim slapped his hat back on his head, slightly askew. He instantly thought better of the move, ripping the hat off once more. He held it politely in both hands as he went to greet the Master of Sinanju.
"Welcome home, O glorious and awesome Master of Sinanju-he of lightning hands and eagle eye. Whatever your son has told you, don't believe it," he blurted out, quickly adding, "unless it's good. Hah-hah." He forced a chuckle to take the edge off things.
"Greetings, first son of Kim Il Sung," Chiun replied. He bowed respectfully.
Kim returned the bow nervously, dropping his hat as he did so. A hundred hands swarmed into view to try to pick it up. The premier kicked or swatted them all away.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Man Hyung Sun said. He extended a hand to the premier.
"Forgive me, O Awesomeness," Kim said, ignoring the hand. He grabbed up his own hat. "But might I inquire. as to why you are in the company of this traitor?"
"Traitor?" Chiun asked bewildered. "This man is no traitor. He is the savior of all Koreans."
"Listen to this wise one, my premier," Sun said, his tone sly.
"No way," the Leader for Life insisted. "Your paper said I had the brain of a duck and the wit of a Kennedy. If that ain't treachery, then I'm Fatty Arbuckle."
"My quarrel was with your father," Sun said smoothly. "If I have transferred any of my feelings for him to you, then I deeply apologize. But he is dead. We are not. Let us inter our past differences with his bones."
"Easy for you to say, Loonie," the premier challenged.
There was a flicker of anger in Sun's eyes. Chiun interceded before the war of words could escalate.
"What is past, let us leave to the past," the Master of Sinanju intoned. "It is for the future that I have returned to the land of my birth in the company of this holy man."
"My ass is holier," Kim Jong Il said. "And it smells better. What the hell kind of stink-o-rama cologne are you wearing?" He flapped his hat in front of his face.
Chiun pulled the hat away and swatted the premier over the head with it. Thus cowed, the premier grew silent.
"Heed you this!" the Master of Sinanju shouted to the gathered North Korean soldiers and officials. "Today is the dawning of a new era for all the world!" He indicated Sun. "This man is a seer of divine inspiration! He has seen the future. The future of Taehan-min' guk, as well as that of Choson Minchu-Chui Inmin Konghwa-guk! These are but titles! Worthless names that have separated this blessed land for far too many years! This day, we will be one! Together as a united Korea will we face the future! The future of pyon ha-da!"
The many hooded eyes of those gathered grew wide at the last words. Even the premier took a shocked step back. He quickly gathered his senses, glancing from Sun to Chiun.
"It is true?" he asked.
Chiun nodded. He crossed his arms impassively over his bony chest.
"We must prepare for destiny," Man Hyung Sun said somberly. His flat face was confident.
The premier seemed unsure what to do for a long moment. The wind continued to blow crazily around him, throwing the trail of his greatcoat out behind him like a desperate drab windsock. At long last, he spoke, his words dull.
"Kim Jong Il is not so foolish to resist the pull of future history," the premier said somberly. It was as if he were delivering the eulogy at a dear loved one's funeral.
In a move that would have shocked the world political community, the Leader for Life of North Korea sank slowly to his knees on the frozen tarmac before the traitorous Reverend Man Hyung Sun.
And, just as shocking, behind
their leader, hundreds of Korean troops and civilian government agents did the same.
"WHAT IN THE BLAZING heckfurters is this?" Remo Williams asked as his jeep bounced onto the Pyongyang Airport runway.
It was as if they had stumbled into an outdoor Muslim prayer service. Except instead of facing Mecca, the Koreans on the tarmac were facing two very familiar figures.
"If they are praying, perhaps we should come back later," ventured the South Korean president, near Remo's left shoulder. He was peeking over the back seat.
Remo ignored him. "Bring us up in front of that mob," he instructed.
Soe steered the jeep in a straight line toward the aircraft that stood directly before the hundreds of kneeling men. They stopped before the throng.
Remo climbed down next to Chiun.
"What are you doing here?" Remo demanded.
"This is a free country, is it not?" the Master of Sinanju sniffed
"No, actually, it's not," Remo snarled. He looked down at Kim Jong Il. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Paying respect to the herald of pyon ha-da," the premier explained.
"Pyon ha-da?" The shocked voice came from Remo's jeep. All at once, the president of South Korea climbed out onto the runway. He was joined quickly by Rim Kun Soe. "It is true?"
"The time has come," Kim Jong Il announced from his prostrate position before Sun.
"C'mon," Remo snapped at the dictator. "Don't tell me you believe that crapola?"
"Pyon ha-da!" the president of South Korea repeated, his voice a shocked gasp. He began getting to his knees beside the leader of the North.
"Oh, don't even start," Remo growled at him. He grabbed the president under the armpit, hauling him to his feet.
"You cannot fight the inevitable," Man Hyung Sun said seriously.
Remo wheeled on him. "Look, you don't even want to get into this with me, pal," he warned, raising a threatening finger to the cult leader.
"Remo!" Chiun said, aghast. "You will show proper respect for the Messenger of the Korean Age."
"Respect?" Remo scoffed. "He's lucky I don't rip his lungs out and knot them around his frigging neck." He took a step toward Sun.
There was a sudden blur, like a scattering of gold dust in the gale-force wind. All at once, the Master of Sinanju stood protectively before Man Hyung Sun. His hands were down at his sides. Knots of ivory bone, ready to strike.
Remo took a shocked step back. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
Chiun's face was cold. "Guarding the life of the prophet with my own."
Stunned, Remo released his grip on the president of South Korea. The man sank slowly to his knees next to the North Korean premier. Remo hardly noticed.
"I can't believe you're falling for this fraud, Chiun," Remo said, shaking his head in astonishment.
"A fraud is only a fraud to those who disbelieve him," Man Hyung Sun intoned.
Remo ignored the platitude. He was staring into the fiery hazel eyes of the Master of Sinanju. There was not a hint of deception in them. He appeared to be quite serious. Was this the final, fatal look that had been seen by so many of the old Korean's victims?
Chiun seemed poised to strike. And for the life of him, Remo could not tell if he was bluffing.
A few present on that icy runway sensed that there was an epic battle about to commence. Looking up from where they knelt, they spied the two men standing face-to-face. In truth, what was happening was more an epic sizing up.
Remo rotated his thick wrists absently as he looked down at the tiny wisp of a man who had taught him so much. Chiun stared back, face impassive.
Remo was the first to blink.
"The hell with this," he said, stepping back. He waved an angry hand. "You'll see I'm right soon enough."
Stepping away from the Reverend Sun, Remo slumped back against his jeep, arms crossed sullenly across his chest.
Chiun relaxed his stance. Hands slithered up the sleeves of his golden kimono, locking on to opposite wrists.
The Reverend Man Hyung Sun beamed.
"Do we not see the future already?" he proclaimed. "When every face is Korean and every mind and soul equally wise, there will be no more competition. No more fighting. No more conflict. Paradise waits in pyon ha-da!"
Sun clapped his hands loudly together. All eyes looked up to him. The cult leader indicated that the men should rise. Soldiers came forward to help the dictator of the North and the democratically elected president of the South to their feet.
"Bring transport!" Sun called "The future begins in the wounded belly of this divided land!"
Limousines, jeeps and trucks were driven onto the runway. The leaders of the two Koreas climbed into the first limo together as the rest of the men scattered among the remaining vehicles. Sun ducked back inside his jet to collect a package.
While he was gone, the Master of Sinanju approached Remo.
"Are you coming?" Chiun asked, his voice betraying no emotion.
"Yeah, I'll go," Remo said. "But I don't believe in any of this crystal-ball bullshit."
Chiun shook his head. There was not a trace of warmth in his eyes. "It no longer matters what you think," he said seriously. "It is destiny."
Turning away from his pupil, the Master of Sinanju went in search of transport. He did not look back.
Chapter 27
Spy satellites and reconnaissance planes were the first to see it. The information was radioed back and up along the chain of command until secure phone lines from Washington to Moscow, from London to Beijing, were ringing off the hook. In military war rooms all around the globe, the slow, relentless movement of the caravan toward the Thirty-eighth Parallel was greeted with great apprehension.
And in the lead limousine of the mighty line of army and civilian vehicles, Remo Williams sat brooding. He was also trying to stay out of range of the Reverend Sun's wretched after-shave lotion.
"Is he always like this?" Man Hyung Sun whispered to the Master of Sinanju.
"Sadly, yes," Chiun replied. "It is a trait he picked up from his mother."
"Leave my mother out of this," Remo snapped. "You never even met her."
"Neither have you," Chiun sniffed. He pitched his voice low again. "He is an orphan," he said to Sun.
"That's none of his damned business, either," Remo said harshly, his eyes betraying his deep anger.
"Perhaps we should leave this one alone for now," the Reverend Sun suggested. "I fear only pyon ha-da will turn him from his deeply ingrained white ways."
"Listen," Remo said, "I'm not picking a fight with you, Chiun, but there is no way in hell the entire human race is going to turn Korean overnight."
Chiun nodded. "That is correct."
Remo brightened. "So you agree this is nuts?"
"No," Chiun said. "I merely agree that it will not occur overnight. Seer Sun has informed me that pyon ha-da will take place during daylight, so that the entire population of the world can witness its moment of flowering perfection."
Remo closed his eyes. "Half the world is dark at any given time," he said. "How's Houdini gonna fix that?"
"When the world is Korean, the Creator of all things will no longer allow night to fall," Chiun explained. "He only invented darkness to at least partially mask the shame he felt for his mistake at the heavenly oven. When there are no more whites or blacks or other inferiors, there will no longer be a need for night."
"Remind me to toss out my night-light," Remo deadpanned.
"You need not be so recalcitrant," Sun offered. "Your father in spirit has told me that you already possess some Korean blood."
"Nice of him to share a family secret," Remo said, his voice level. He glanced at Chiun.
"As part Korean already, you will be superior to the others who will only be naturalized Koreans. You will be a leader in the new order."
Remo laughed mockingly. "So even with this big crackpot change of yours, there's still going to be some sort of wacky caste system."
"Or
der must be maintained," Sun nodded.
"Spoken like a member of the future ruling class," Remo muttered. He turned away from the others, staring out across the bleak Korean countryside.
"Do not pay attention to him, Holy One," Chiun instructed with a frown. He nodded to the cult leader, abruptly changing the subject. "Perhaps this is a good time for our next lesson."
"Very well," Sun agreed.
Remo continued to stare out the window as the two men spoke. He felt the springs in the seat beneath him shift as Man Hyung Sun settled into a more comfortable pose.
"Concentrate here," he heard Chiun say. "This is the center, the beginning of all life. Pull your breath into this white hot spot. Feel it coursing through you."
Remo started. He spun, looking over at the two men. He was shocked by what he saw.
Chiun was leaning from the seat across from Remo and Sun's. He had his slender fingers pressed into the rounded paunch of the cult leader's abdomen. Sun inhaled deeply. With Chiun's deft manipulation, he pulled breath down into the natural point deep in the pit of his stomach.
Remo glanced wildly up at Chiun, outraged by what he was seeing. "You're teaching this faker Sinanju!" he demanded.
"He expressed an interest," Chiun replied. "Which is more than can be said for you at our first meeting."
"This is crazy," Remo said, furious. "You can't teach that con man Sinanju."
"How dare you?" Chiun flamed. "Who are you to say with whom I can or cannot share my wisdom?"
"I'm the Apprentice Reigning Master," Remo snapped. "That's who. Now knock it off."
Chiun's eyes instantly narrowed into savage slits. For the second time in less than an hour, the tension between the two men was as it had never been at any time in their near three-decade relationship.
For his part, Remo refused to back down. Chiun had always taught him that the art they both plied was a link to ages past. Passed on from Master to Master, Sinanju had woven its invisible deadly thread throughout history. It was a craft and a way of life far too important to be wasted on the likes of the Reverend Man Hyung Sun, no matter if the swindler learned only the basics. To his very marrow, Remo knew that he could never allow the ultimate betrayal of Sinanju to take place, even if the betrayer was his own adopted father.
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