"Chiun, they're not just going to let you waltz in here," Remo whispered. "Now, will you come clean, please, and tell me what the heck we're supposed to be doing here?"
But the old Korean wasn't paying attention. He marched up to stand toe-to-toe with the palace guard. Remo had seen jokes for years about how unflappable the guards were at Buckingham Palace. How the men stood at rigid attention at their posts and couldn't be made to flinch or blink despite the best efforts of nuisance tourists.
Remo was a little disappointed that the guard Chiun had chosen wasn't quite as imperturbable as the movies made them out to be. Of course, Remo reasoned that this probably had something to do with the fact that the Master of Sinanju had yanked the man's gun from his hands and thrown it out into London traffic while simultaneously stuffing the soldier's furry black hat down over his head.
As the soldier stumbled away, the old Asian sent a hard heel into the unguarded gate. The lock shattered and the gate swung wide. He turned back to his pupil.
"It is open," Chiun announced before slipping inside.
On the sidewalk Remo hesitated. The nearby tourists were watching the guard whose hat had inexplicably swallowed his head. As the man stumbled and swore, cameras clicked.
No one was paying attention to Remo. He didn't know what else to do. Sliding reluctantly from the sidewalk, he followed the Master of Sinanju inside. He caught up to the tiny Korean near the palace. "What do you think you're-"
Chiun silenced him before he could say another word.
"Follow close and keep your mouth shut."
The wizened Asian spoke with great seriousness. With a furrowed brow, Remo did as he was told.
They entered the palace undetected.
Remo had been in royal and presidential palaces before. The trappings of royalty did nothing to impress him. He saw high ceilings and fancy paintings that were there because someone in the hazy past had decided they were royal just because they'd mounted more Viking heads on their walls than the guy next door, and enough of their countrymen had bought into the kingly con job to make it stick.
"Do not let your low-bred eye be bedazzled by the opulence of this place," Chiun hissed over his shoulder as they slipped up a corridor. "After all, you are American and therefore unused to good taste."
"Good taste, schmood taste. Give me the local mall over this snob smokehouse any day of the week."
"And the ugly American rears his ill-bred head yet again," Chiun whispered in reply. "Not that I entirely disagree with you. The palaces of ancient Persia. Now, they would have impressed even your Visigothic eye. Still, for a Western palace this is not without its charms."
"Yeah, I'm really impressed," Remo said aridly. "They invent indoor plumbing around here yet or do they still hang the royal arses out over the Thames?"
He was surprised that they hadn't encountered anyone yet. They had traveled deep in the palace without seeing another living soul. Remo figured they'd be armpit deep in butlers, falcon trainers and ladies-in-waiting by now.
In a hallway off the beaten path, the Master of Sinanju stopped at a gilded tapestry on which was depicted the Battle of Agincourt. Outnumbered English archers with longbows were slaughtering French knights. Henry V stood amid the chaos, resplendent in gleaming armor. At the king's side stood another man. The face caught Remo's attention.
He peered closer. The man had Korean features. "Relative of yours?" Remo asked.
Chiun wasn't paying attention. He had pulled up an edge of the tapestry. Manipulating the molding of the paneling beneath, he swung open a section. The old man slipped through the secret door.
Unable to hide his curiosity, Remo followed him inside.
The long passage beyond was dusty. Thick ropes of cobweb hung across their path. On one side grimy windows overlooked a courtyard that time had apparently forgotten. Overgrown vines swallowed stone benches and an ancient shed while shrubs and weeds grew wild.
"Okay," Remo said as the secret door swung shut behind them. "I've been patient long enough, but this is getting too weird. Wanna tell me what we're doing here?"
They had come to the end of the long hallway. Even as Remo was finishing his question, the two of them were stepping out into a larger room.
Remo stopped dead. "Oh," he said, his voice small.
The chamber they had come to was some sort of throne room. At least Remo assumed it was a throne room. He had two very good reasons for thinking it was. For one thing there was a pretty damned ornate throne standing on a small platform against the far wall. For another-and this almost assured him that this was indeed a throne room-the queen of England was sitting on the throne.
"Um, Chiun?" Remo whispered.
But the Master of Sinanju had swept ahead of him, gliding up to the throne. He offered a deep bow. "Your Majesty," Chiun intoned. "Sinanju bids most humble and undeserved greeting to Elizabeth II, Defender of the Faith and Queen by the Grace of God of Great Britain, Ireland and the British Dominions Beyond the Seas. We stand before you as wretched and unworthy servants to your glorious crown."
"Greetings, Master of Sinanju," the queen replied. She wore a simple blue dress and silver crown. In her white-gloved hands she clasped the strap of her omnipresent purse. "You do us honor with this visit. We trust your journey was safe and bid you welcome to our shore."
Remo was still at the door, uncertain what to do. There were two men standing beside the queen. Although he had never met the man to the left of Her Royal Highness, Remo recognized the teeth, chin and hair. Britain's prime minister stood like a confused rat.
On the queen's right was a man Remo knew all too well.
Sir Guy Philliston was the head of Source, Britain's top spy agency. Sir Guy was a little older now, with graying temples and soft wrinkles around his eyes, but he still had male-model good looks. Philliston was so handsome that women regularly lined up beside his bed. They were invariably disappointed by the Men Only sign nailed to the headboard.
Remo sensed something was different when, unlike their usual encounters, Sir Guy didn't leer at him. Standing beside the queen, the Source head looked more businesslike than ever, if somewhat ill at ease. This was too much for Remo to comprehend. He was actually in a secret throne room with England's queen and prime minister. What's more, he and Chiun had obviously been expected. As he tried to make sense of the scene, Remo thought he heard someone call his name. When he looked up, he saw that Chiun was glancing back at him.
"Remo, approach the throne and be recognized," the old man repeated, a tight smile plastered across his face.
"Oh, sorry." Stepping forward, Remo wiped his dry palm on his thigh and offered it to Her Highness. "Hiya."
Thinking better after the dirtiest of dirty looks from Chiun, he dropped the hand to his side and offered a formal bow. He felt foolish.
"This is the one who will succeed you?" the queen asked the Master of Sinanju.
Although her use of language was precise in the extreme, she didn't speak with disapproval or disappointment. It occurred to Remo that, even though she had been famous all of his life, he had never before heard her voice.
"He is my son and heir, Your Majesty," Chiun replied.
The queen turned her regal gaze to Remo. "In that case, we welcome you, son of the awesome Master of Sinanju."
Still seated upon her throne, the queen offered a slight bow of her head.
At a nudge from Chiun, Remo returned the bow. The instant his head was down, he felt a sharp displacement of air beside his throat.
"What the?" Remo said, jumping back.
In the queen's gloved hand was a long needle that she had hidden behind her purse. The instant Remo bowed, she'd tried to jab him in the throat. When he jumped, she missed.