Smith had immediately set to work cutting the purse strings to IV. Some corporations he sold off; others he forced into bankruptcy. It took five whole days of work, but Smith had finally finished that afternoon. Wherever Kluge was hidden, he would not be able to access any IV funds.
Once the finances were out of the way, Smith was able to finally devote full attention to locating the head of IV. So far Smith had had no luck. And without a trail to follow, Remo was helpless to do anything.
Remo wandered off the elevator on the second floor of Folcroft's administrative wing.
Smith's outer office was empty. Mrs. Mikulka had gone home hours before. Remo walked through the secretary's drab little work area and pushed open the door to Harold Smith's slightly larger but no less drab office.
Smith glanced up from his work when Remo entered.
"Nothing yet," he said. He looked back down at the computer screen set into his desktop. Smith's weary eyes scanned back and forth along thin lines of text. The dull amber glow of the computer screen cast a demonic glow across the CURE director's pale, haggard features.
The Master of Sinanju sat cross-legged on the threadbare rug before Smith's desk. Crossing the room, Remo sank down into a lotus position before him.
"Did you sleep well?" Chiun asked.
"Not a wink," Remo replied.
"Sleeplessness does not a great assassin make," Chiun intoned. He was a pool of calm.
"Did you write that little aphorism for the next Official Assassin's Newsletter?" Remo deadpanned.
Chiun's brow furrowed. "Is there such a publication?"
Remo shook his head. "No," he sighed.
Chiun nodded. "I did not think there was, for no one contacted me. I sincerely hope that when there is, I will be the cover story of its premier issue."
"Speaking of grand delusions," Remo said, "any luck with either of your statue ideas?"
Chiun shook his head. "Lamentably, no," he said. "Emperor Smith has been far too busy with his current project. He has offered to take the matter under advisement."
As good as dead, Remo thought. Aloud, he said, "I'll put in a good word for you."
Chiun nodded. The two men fell silent. The only sound in the room was the incessant tapping of Smith's fingers as they struck against the high-tech surface of his desk.
Remo and Chiun sat in stony silence for more than two hours when the phone on Smith's desk suddenly squawked loudly. Smith had been deeply engrossed in the seemingly endless scrolling text on his computer screen. The ringing shook him from his work with a start.
It was Folcroft's outside line. Sanitarium business. Smith reached for the receiver, at the same time looking at his watch. He frowned at the lateness of the hour.
"Smith," he said tartly. His features bunched into an unhappy mass as he attempted to discern what the speaker was saying. All at once, his eyes opened wide. He held the phone out to Chiun. "I believe it is for you."
Chiun scooped up the phone. Remo raised a quizzical eyebrow as the Master of Sinanju announced his formal title in archaic Korean.
"Who is it?" Remo mouthed.
"I do not know," Smith said with a frown. "However, I believe he was speaking rather frantically in Korean."
"Korean?" Remo said. Though his hearing was acute enough to have heard the speaker, he hadn't been interested enough to focus.
"They repeated 'Sinanju' several times. Is it possible that it is someone from Chiun's village?"
"I don't know," Remo admitted. His face registered intrigue.
He watched Chiun carefully. The Master of Sinanju's expression was unreadable. He tried to listen, but Chiun had pressed the receiver tightly against his shell-like ear. It was impossible for Remo to eavesdrop.
Smith cleared his throat. "Remo, I am not comfortable with the prospect that someone from Sinanju might have this number. There are security considerations."
Smith's admonishments were drowned out by the crashing of the handset onto the cradle of the phone. At the same time, a pained howl rose up from the very soul of the Master of Sinanju. It was a cry of both pain and rage.
Remo and Smith both wore wary expressions as they looked over at the elderly Korean.
"Oh, the dastards!" Chiun hissed. He was panting so hard Smith thought he might be having a heart attack.
"What is it?" Remo asked, concerned.
"Thieves! Scoundrels! Oh, the perfidy!" Chiun drummed his fist against his bony chest. He wheeled on Remo. "We must be off at once!" he cried.
"Off?" Remo said. "Off where?"
"To Korea, of course," Chiun snapped. "That this could happen after lo these many years. What is this world the gods have thrust down around one as trusting as I?"
"Chiun," Remo interjected, "I don't know what that was all about, but I am not going to Korea." Chiun wheeled. An accusing nail stabbed the air between them.
"Betrayal?" Chiun cried in shock. "From my own son?"
"How can I betray you? Dammit, I don't even know what the hell you're upset about."
"The treasure," Chiun explained, seething. His hazel eyes were furious. "The vast stores of priceless tribute to generations of greatness that is the House of Sinanju have been swept from the floors of my home like driftwood in a ferocious monsoon." He gripped fistfuls of brocade kimono fabric. "I have been robbed, Remo!" he wailed.
Remo let the tension drain from his shoulders. "Is that all?" he said, relieved.
When he saw the sense of relief in his pupil's face, Chiun snapped back into outrage mode. "How dare you be calm?!" he accused. A bony finger quivered at Remo. "The man you call father has been grossly violated. Thieves have pillaged my most prized possessions."
"That's too bad," Remo said. "Really. It's just that I thought there was something really wrong."
"'Really'?" Chiun cried. "'Really'?" His voice grew increasingly frenzied as he repeated the word. Although it was long after midnight, Smith was concerned Chiun's screams would be overheard. He shot a cautious look at his closed office door.
"Please, Master Chiun," Smith begged.
The Master of Sinanju spun on him, his long robes twirling madly. "Stay out of this, white," Chiun menaced.
"Look," Remo said, attempting to be the voice of reason, "the treasure was stolen before. We got it back then, and I'm sure we'll get it back now. We can go to Sinanju as soon as we've cleared up this Four business."
"No," Chiun insisted, tugging at his tufts of wispy hair in frustration. "It must be now. Every day we dally allows the trail to grow ever colder."
Remo was determined. He was about to insist that they stay put when Smith broke into their conversation.
"If I may interject," the CURE director said. Chiun twirled on him, eyes pinpricks of white-hot rage.
"I said mind your own business," he snapped.
"I only wanted to say that I have had little luck finding this Kluge. And, frankly, your presence here is drawing undue attention."
"You see," Chiun insisted, shifting gears so fast Remo swore he heard grinding. Though he spoke to Remo, he stabbed a bony finger at Smith. "The wisdom of a true emperor. Even Smith wishes us to go."
"If something comes up, I will contact you in Sinanju," Smith offered reasonably. "You still have a phone, correct?"
"The only one in the village," Chiun replied.
"Then it is settled," Smith said. Inwardly he was greatly relieved. He wasn't comfortable when Remo and Chiun stayed at Folcroft for extended periods of time.
"Don't I get any say in this?" Remo asked.
"No," said Smith and Chiun in unison.
Remo threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine," he said, exhaling loudly. "We'll go to Sinanju."
Whirling, Chiun raised a defiant hand as he marched over to the door. He flung it open grandly. "And woe to he who would pilfer the treasure of the most awesome house of assassins in the history of creation." He stormed outside.