“We’ve had some okay presidents,” Remo said.
“You have had many presidents—so many that some were bound to be less reprehensible than others. None of them took the reins of power firmly in hand and held on to them,” Chiun complained.
“He’d be lynched if he did. We like having a variety.”
“You insure that nothing ever gets accomplished,” Chiun said.
“We make sure none of the stinkers last more than eight years,” Remo said.
“You steer me from my point with your meaningless subtexts,” Chiun said reasonably. “You must agree that a monarchy is always better for Sinanju than a democracy.”
“Huh. I don’t agree. Neither do you.”
“Do not tell me what I think, Remo Williams.”
“Let me put it this way. Has Sinanju ever made more over the long haul than it has working for the U.S.? You’re one of the greatest profit-making Masters of all time.”
Chiun couldn’t help himself. He broke out into a huge, silly smile. “Remo, that is such a compliment.”
“And it’s sincere,” Remo said. “Right from the heart.”
“I can tell.”
“And you did it by working for a democracy.”
Chiun was still taken aback by Remo’s uncharacteristic praise, so he conceded the point without further argument. “Still,” he added, “there would be few options should Smith one day decide not to renew the contract. But if there was a new empire…”
“Yeah?”
“A new British Empire,” Chiun added.
“What? Are you saying it would be a good thing?”
Chiun huffed. “Of course. It would be a wonderful thing. Such an empire would serve as a counterpoint to the United States, but a friendly one. Friendly rivalries are historically the most profitable. When there is animosity between two nations, one defeats the other or simply wears it to exhaustion, but when two nations competing in a game of put-one-up-the-man’s-ship…”
“What?”
“The game in which one nation tries to be better or richer or more powerful than the other.”
“One-upmanship?”
“As I said. These are the rivalries in which huge sums of gold will be paid to a careful assassin, who in turn might adjust the situation himself to help retain the balance of power.”
“And keep himself employed indefinitely.”
“Perhaps.”
Remo stopped suddenly and faced Chiun, a strange look on his face. “Aha!”
“What?”
“It was you, all this time, you old faker. For years and years and years, it was you who invented all these problems just so Smith would keep you around and keep paying you more and more gold.”
“You speak nonsense!”
“Do I, Chiun? Or did you give crack cocaine to the youth of America and get the War on Drugs going? Did you help organize the gangs?”
“Of course I did not, and know you do not believe it, either. You are being oaffish.”
“You did it all just so we would have work, you and I. It all makes sense to me now. You masterminded all that organized crime and you even arranged for us to have worthy foes to fight. Mr. Gordons was something you came up with, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Friend, too? And Sam Beasly?”
“Please cease speaking.”
“That bitch Judy with the chemistry set?”
Chiun stared balefully at Remo, who was on a roll. “Now that I think of it, you had a pet squid in the tanks when we lived in Boston and one day he’s gone, poof, and years later—”
“Enough!” Chiun surrendered, his voice like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“I think some of the Ayoundis winced just now,” Remo said, nodding at the litter of unaccessorized corpses piled up nearby.
“If so, it would be because they find you insufferable,” Chiun exclaimed. “As do I. Truly amazing it is how quickly you can go from being kindly to being heartless and cruel.”
Remo felt himself slump, at least on the inside. “Just trying to ease the gloom some, Little Father.”
“At my expense!”
Remo wanted to point out that Chiun took shots at him all the time, but he didn’t. He didn’t know what to say. Chiun walked away, then looked back. “Well? Are you coming?”
“There is a nobility to the act of conquest, Remo,” Chiun said.
“Bulldookey.”
“The European’s practiced nation conquering for centuries,” Chiun pointed out. “It was considered noble.”
“Now it’s considered to be terrorism,” Remo said. “The recolonizers are just terrorists, too, in my book.”
“Your book is new and not researched well,” Chiun remarked. “A book of history indicates that taking control of a nation is a noble deed. Recall that your own nation has done such nation taking recently.”
“With good reason the first time and probably the second time,” Remo snapped. “Maybe the second time. We had a good reason the first time—I’m sure of that.”
“No one who ever took over a nation did so claiming they did not have a good reason for doing so,” Chiun replied, passing judgment by acting nonjudgmental.
“You think we should let the terrorists keep their colonies, don’t you?” Remo said.
“It is legitimate for the conqueror to hold the spoils of his conquest,” Chiun said.
“It’s giving in to the demands of terrorists,” Remo responded. “The country that pays Sinanju its gold doesn’t do what terrorists tell it to do.”
Chiun said nothing. The silence was disturbing. Remo made a conscious effort to think along different lines. Why was Chiun trying so hard? The old Master wasn’t laying down the law this time. He was really trying to convince Remo of something important, wasn’t he?
Abruptly, Remo knew what it was. “This all about profits, Chiun?”
“We established that long ago, did we not?”
“I guess so. Wait.” Remo changed his mind. Now he knew what it was. “This isn’t about profits at all. Why didn’t I figure it out sooner?”
“It is about gold and nothing but gold.”
“Not gold. You’re shilling for your sweetie!”
“You speak nonsense words and expect me to know their meaning.”
“I’m talking about the queen of England. You know, the lady with the little black purse that she carries everywhere she goes? I know what’s in that purse, Chiun.”
“You know nothing.”
It hadn’t been that long ago that Chiun and Remo had been in the presence of the queen of England, during the Time of Succession. Although Remo long ago achieved the rank of Master of Sinanju, through the Rite of Attainment, he was not the Reigning Master until he went through the Rite of Succession. Both were ancient Sinanju rituals, and as far as Remo was concerned the succession was a lot of stuff to be done because it had always been done that way. The procedures of the Rite of Attainment were more cold-blooded, and more practical in that they greatly benefited the new Reigning Master at the start of his career.
The ritual required that each designated head of state—be he monarch, despot or bureaucrat—be sent an invitation to participate in the ritual. As a way of welcoming the Sinanju Master to his commanding role, each nation leader would allow the new Master into his court and offer him the challenge of battling the greatest assassin the country had to offer.
It was a battle to the death. The Sinanju Master won—always.
Not only did this serve to remind the world of the glorious Sinanju dynasty, and prove to all doubters that the new Sinanju Master was up to snuff, but it also effectively removed the competition.
Remo’s succession challenges had been sidetracked, but not before his ritual audience with the queen of England. Truth be told, they had rubbed each other the wrong way from the moment they laid eyes on each other. He called her “hairdo”; she tried to stab him in the neck with a poised needle the size of tent stake.