"Why should Rad Rex send a message to you?"
"Perhaps he has heard of me. Many know of the Masters of Sinanju. Not all are as stupid as you once were."
Remo sighed. "Why do you think he wants to meet you?" he yelled.
"To see for himself what perfection is."
Remo nodded in disgust. Just what Chiun needed. More stroking. It was like that dippy mail he kept getting at that Massachusetts post office box, and which he made Remo read to him. "Oh, wonderful, glorious, magnificent, et cetera, et cetera," Remo would read, and Chiun would sit on the floor, nodding agreement. After a month of that, Remo had taken to changing the letters slightly.
"Dear Chiun. You are an arrognant, self-centered obnoxious person who does not recognize the true worth of your adopted son, Remo."
Chiun had looked up. "Discard that one. The writer is obviously deranged and they may not allow him to receive letters in the place where he is stabled."
After a few more, however, Chiun began to observe that Remo was not reading the letters with any great amount of accuracy and had taken over again the task of reading them himself.
And now, more stroking, this time on expensive television. From Rad Rex, yet.
Why? Remo asked himself.
And Remo answered himself: because of Mr. Gordons. It is his way to get us to Hollywood, where he can attack.
And aloud he called to Chiun, "Chiun, we're going to Hollywood."
Chiun reappeared in the bedroom doorway.
"Of course we are. Did you ever doubt it?"
"You know why?" asked Remo.
"Because I want to. That would be reason enough for someone who understands gratitude. What is your reason?"
"Because we're going to find Mr. Gordons there."
"Really?" said Chiun.
"Because Rad Rex is working in cahoots with that box of bolts."
"You really think so, Remo?" said Chiun.
"I know so."
"Oh, how wise you are. How fortunate I am to be with you."
He turned away and reentered the bedroom. From inside, Remo could hear him say faintly: "Idiot."
CHAPTER TEN
"Look, look! There is Clark Clable."
"His name is not Clark Clable, Chiun. It's Clark Gable. With a G."
"Look, look! There is Clark Gable."
"It's not Clark Gable," Remo said. "Clark Gable is dead."
"You just told me it was Clark Gable."
"I told you his name was Clark Gable," said Remo as he felt the sands of reasoned discourse slowly sift away from under his feet.
"If his name is Clark Gable, isn't that the same as being Clark Gable?" Chiun asked.
"Please eat your rice," said Remo.
"I will. I will. I will do anything rather than speak to a person who lies to me." He raised a spoonful of rice to his mouth, then dropped the spoon on his plate.
"Look, look! There is Barbra Streisand." Chiun's voice was more excited than Remo had ever heard it before. His right index finger trembled as it pointed across the room. Remo followed the direction of the finger.
"Chiun, that's a waitress, for Christ's sake."
"As you often say, so what? Maybe Barbara Streisand has a new job."
"Waitressing in her spare time?"
"Why not?" asked Chiun. "Remember you this, white man. There is no glory in any job; there is glory only in the person who works in that job, no matter how slight it might seem. Not all can be assassins." He looked again at the girl in the black waitress uniform who stood across the room, totalling up a check. "That is Barbra Streisand," he said with finality.
"Go ask her to sing for you," said Remo disgustedly. He felt rather than heard or saw Chiun move away and when he turned back, the old man was walking slowly toward the waitress. It had been like this for two days. Chiun, noble and venerable master of the ancient and illustrious House of Sinanju, was star-struck. It started in the airport when he thought he saw Johnny Mack Brown pushing a broom. In the cab, he thought the driver was Ramon Navarro. He was convinced that the desk clerk at the Sportsmen's Lodge where they were staying was Tony Randall, and finally, he had accused Remo of maliciously attempting to deprive an old man of a few moments of joy by denying who all these people were.
Since Barbara Streisand was the great unrequited love of Chiun's life, Remo did not want to watch the waitress's putdown. It would be too painful. He turned and looked out the window at the small trout stream which meandered between the restaurant and the main building of the lodge, less' than a hundred feet from a major highway in a concrete-smothered section of Hollywood.
Remo wondered when Mr. Gordons would come after them. It was bad enough dealing with a man who could have an edge through surprise. But Mr. Gordons wasn't a man; he was a self re-creating android who was an assimilator. He could assume any shape. He could be the beds in their room; he could be the chair Remo sat in. These things were not beyond Gordons' abilities.
And worse, Chiun didn't seem to care, resolutely refusing to admit that Rad Rex was in any way connected with Mr. Gordons.
Remo's inspection of the trout stream was interrupted when a high sound like a strong breeze flicking through tall nighttime trees sailed through the restaurant. It was a woman's voice, singing. He turned back to look at Chiun. The singing had ended as abruptly as it had started. Chiun stood by the waitress, for it had been she singing. Chiun smiled and nodded. She nodded back. Chiun raised his hands toward her as if in a blessing, then returned to Remo, his face wreathed in a beatific smile.
Remo looked past him at the waitress. A waitress?
Chiun sat gently in his chair and without a word lifted his spoon and plunged it into his rice. His appetite had returned, amazingly strong.
Remo stared at him. Chiun, chewing, smiled.
"Nice voice she has," said Remo.
"You really think so?" asked Chiun blandly.
"Sounds like… you know who," said Remo.
"No. I do not know who," said Chiun.
"You know. Like… her."
"It could not be her. After all, she is but a waitress. You told me so yourself."
"Yeah, but maybe she's making a film here or something."
"Perhaps. Why not go ask her?" suggested Chiun.
"Aaah, she'd probably laugh at me," Remo said.
"Why not? Doesn't everyone?"
"Swallow spit," said Remo.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Remo called Smith from their hotel room, and the bed-bound director of CURE demanded to know where Remo was.
"Hollywood. I'm having fun in Hollywood," sang Remo in an offkey baritone.
"Hollywood?"
"Hollywood," said Remo.
"That's wonderful," said Smith, dripping sarcasm. "And here I thought you might be wasting your time. And what of me? I would like to get out of this room."
"Just a minute," said Remo. He looked to where Chiun was standing in front of the sheer curtains, looking out the window toward the swimming pool.
Remo did not bother to cover the mouthpiece.
"Chiun," he said. "Smitty wants to get out of the hospital room."
"Smith may do what he wants," said Chiun, without turning. "The master of Sinanju is otherwise occupied."
Remo's eyes narrowed maliciously. He extended the open telephone toward Chiun and said sweetly, "You mean you don't care what happens to Smith?"
He extended the phone as far as he could as Chiun answered, still without turning.
"The activities of even an emperor pale into insignificance when compared with my searching for my own destiny."
"And your destiny involves Rad Rex?" Remo said.
"Precisely," said Chiun.
"In other words," Remo said, "Rad Rex, the television actor, is more important to you than Dr. Smith and the organization?"
"On most days," Chiun said, "the weather forecast is more important to me than Dr. Smith and the organization." He turned. He saw the open telephone in Remo's hand and the nasty tight-lipped smile on Remo's face. He glared at Remo. ' "But those feelings last only a moment," Chiun said loudly. "They are a sign of my personal weakness because in moments I again realize how important the great Emperor Smith and his wonderful organization are to the world and I praise the fates that have brought me into his employ even in so lowly a position as trainer to a pale piece of pig's ear. All hail Emperor Smith. The Master is attempting to think of a way to release him from that explosive trap. The answer will surely be here in California. All hail the noble Smith."