"That is because they were not there," Kluge said.
He loosened the twine Suk had used to tie the bundle and carefully unfolded the paper. It fell away, revealing a slab of ancient petrified wood.
It was in perfect condition. Much more so than the quarter that had been in his possession at the IV fortress.
Kluge ran his fingertips across the uneven surface, feeling every ridge of the carved wood.
In spite of his better instincts, he began to grow more confident. Why would Sinanju have saved this scrap of wood for so many years if it wasn't significant?
He thought of the stained-glass window back at the ancient temple. How many times had he looked at it and not seen the piece of wood in Siegfried's hand? How could he possibly have missed something so significant for so long?
Suk tapped his hand on the table, shaking Kluge from his trance.
"I would like my money now," the Korean said.
"I am sure you would." Kluge smiled.
Looking down, he carefully folded the paper back up around the block carving. He stashed the bundle in a black leather valise that sat on the bench next to him. When he looked back up at Suk, his eyes were hooded.
"I do not have the money," Kluge stated simply. Suk was taken aback by the German's frankness.
"You do not have it with you." It was a statement, not a question.
Kluge shook his head. "I do not have it at all. I knew you would be greedy, Keijo. I did not have enough initially to split in half. If I had offered you half of that pittance up front and half after you gave the stolen object to me, you would have laughed in my face. Likewise, I knew that if I told you I had paid you everything up front you would have simply left with my money without performing the service for which you had been hired."
Keijo Suk shook his head in disbelief. "I have risked incurring the wrath of the Master of Sinanju for a scrap of firewood," he said, astonished.
"And a healthy sum of money," Kluge argued. "Eighty thousand is still a lot, Keijo."
"It was not enough," Suk snarled. He stood up, grabbing across the table for Kluge's valise.
As Suk snatched for the handle, Kluge locked his hand around the Korean's wrist. Twisting the fist around, the German thrust his other hand forward, fingers extended and rigid. They connected solidly with Suk's shoulder.
There was a crunch of bone and popping cartilage. Shocked air whooshed out of Suk's lungs.
Unable even to cry out in pain, the Asian dropped back into his seat. His lungs ached as he strained to refill them. He gulped for air, at the same time grabbing his injured shoulder with his good hand.
Kluge calmly retook his seat. He smiled grimly.
"I made a deal with you, Keijo, and I intend to keep it. I do not have the money now. But from what I have seen, this will allow me to pay you the balance in a few days." He nodded to the valise. "I will even compensate you for any medical expenses you might incur."
Suk shook his head in impotent rage.
"Of course," Kluge continued, "my generosity does not extend to anything the men from Sinanju might do to you. I am certain they frown on theft. It probably insults their honor or some other such nonsense."
Kluge collected his valise. He stood to go. "When will I be paid?" Suk begged, his teeth clenched.
"Soon, Keijo. Soon. Although, if I have judged you correctly, I would say that you left the home of the Master of Sinanju with more than just the block carving." He patted the valise. "You are a greedy bastard, Keijo. That is what I like about you." He stepped from the table.
"My risks are my own," Suk called after him. He was nursing the pain in his shoulder.
Kluge paused. "When one has nothing else to lose, risk becomes a tool of survival," he agreed. Adolf Kluge walked briskly away from the injured Korean. He crossed the linoleum floor of the sparsely filled restaurant and stepped out onto the crowded Berlin street.
Chapter 13
Standing just inside the doorway, hands jammed firmly against his hips, Remo was more than just a little miffed.
"You mean to tell me you dragged my ass halfway around the world for a crummy handful of gold coins?" he demanded angrily.
"It is not the amount that is significant. It is what it represents," the Reigning Master of Sinanju explained.
They were in the packed living room of the Master's house in Sinanju. Bright sunlight shone through the tall windows, casting warming rays over only a fraction of five thousand years of accumulated tribute. The rest of the Sinanju treasure trove was stacked all around the house, like uneaten loaves of bread in an overproducing bakery.
Chiun was stooping to examine the gold coins that Keijo Suk had dropped in his haste to leave several days before.
"This is ridiculous," Remo complained. "You made me think they cleaned you out."
"Today it is a handful," Chiun said seriously. "Tomorrow it is another. Where will it end?"
"Judging from the pile of junk you have heaped around this dump, I'd say somewhere in the middle of the millionth century," Remo said.
Chiun paid him no heed. He collected the three coins from the floor. Never in circulation at any time in history, they had been minted specifically for Sinanju by a grateful employer. They bore the face of Cleopatra on one side and the symbol of Sinanju on the other. Each coin would have been priceless to a collector.
Chiun tossed the three coins into the copper urn next to the door. There were seven more jars stacked nearby, each brimming over with identical gold pieces.
"Ah-hah!" Chiun announced.
"What?" Remo asked, peeved. He was leaning on the door frame.
"See how the villain pauses." Chiun pointed at the footprints in the dust near the door. "He thinks whether he should steal from the glorious House of Sinanju, thus sealing his fate. An evil and stupid creature, he gives in to temptation." He indicated a mass of scuffed prints. "More hesitation. I have committed my base act of thievery, he thinks. If I must die, let me be cast into the Void for more than one handful of coins." Chiun raised an instructive finger. "He fills his pockets and than scurries off into the black of night, fearful even in his flight of the awesome vengeance to which he has condemned himself."
Remo looked at the marks on the floor. To him, they looked like a mass of dirty footprints.
"If you say so," Remo said dubiously.
A fire burned in the great iron furnace in the cellar, heating a huge cauldron of water, which in turn warmed the chilly air within the house. This method of heat dispersal had not become popular in the West until the twentieth century. The Master's House had enjoyed this luxury since the time of Plato.
Chiun's caretaker and the man who had lit the fire in preparation for the Master of Sinanju's arrival was an aged villager named Pullyang. The man who had contacted Chiun at Folcroft, Pullyang stood near the archway that led into the next room. He rubbed his hands together nervously.
"Master, I believe the thief was here, as well," the anxious caretaker said, voice tremulous.
Chiun marched boldly across the room. Remo trailed him reluctantly, hands stuffed in his pockets. Pullyang indicated an open door off of the next room. Remo and Chiun peered in around the frame. Crazed dust patterns swirled in the beams of hot yellow light that poured in through the lone window.
Remo knew the room to be a sort of library for the House of Sinanju. This was where nearly all the records of every past Master of Sinanju were kept.
When Remo had first seen the room years before, Chiun had promised him that one day the scrolls of Remo's own masterhood would be placed in here beside the rest.
"Whoop-de-do," Remo had said.
Remo was not so glib today. He knew how much the histories of Sinanju meant to his teacher. The look of pain on Chiun's face was almost enough to make him forget his desire to get back to America in order to continue the search for Adolf Kluge.