"What news?" asked the premier in a diffident voice.
"From those who sleep, no word."
The premier's heavy-lidded eyes grew heavier still.
"Perhaps," he said, "their sleep will be long and restful."
"There is no reason to doubt this, Comrade Premier," said the security minister.
And by these oblique words, bland but carefully chosen, both men understood that their sleeper agents in California, across the Pacific Ocean, were either dead or incapacitated.
The silence between them grew long and heavy.
Presently the premier broke it. "Is the visitor who was expected still to come?"
"The visitor has elected to drop in on a relative she did not know existed before journeying farther."
"In times past, these two did not get along so well," the premier noted. "I wonder if this has changed."
"I have not heard."
The premier frowned. "Darkness piles upon darkness, and no one knows when the sun will rise."
"Perhaps the visitor will elect to remain in the house of her newfound relative and not journey farther"
"Can this be encouraged?"
"Anything is possible," said the security minister.
"This would be a good thing if it can be done correctly," said the premier, closing his heavy lids as if to surrender to sleep.
Seeing this, the minister of state security rose from his seat, knowing that the meeting had concluded. Without another word, he padded from the Great Hall of the People to communicate with his assets in India, who would be instructed to proceed with caution inasmuch as the wife of the United States President had taken a personal interest in the Bunji Lama.
Chapter 16
The FedEx trucks were parked in every available parking spot in the street before the impossibly ugly edifice the Master of Sinanju had dubbed Castle Sinanju when Remo Williams pulled up. Although he had a private blacktop parking lot large enough to accommodate more than a dozen cars, Remo had to park his blue Buick Regal on a side street and walk back.
"Christ," Remo muttered under his breath. "I hope Chiun hasn't gone on another Home Shopping Network binge."
The FedEx trucks sat very low on their springs, he noticed. The couriers were walking pretty low to their centers of gravity, too, as they tried to diver the small wooden crates without herniating themselves.
Then Remo remembered.
"The gold!"
He beat a courier to the door and opened it for him.
"I don't suppose you're M.O.S. Chiun," the courier said, puffing.
Remo took the boom-box-sized crate from the man with one hand. As if it had entered another atmosphere where gravity exerted less pull, the box seemed to become almost buoyant in Remo's hand.
"Nope, but I'm empowered to sign for him."
The courier wiped his brow with his blue uniform sleeve as Remo signed the voucher.
"What's in this thing anyway-lead diving shoes?" the courier grumbled.
Remo shook his head. "Dwarf star matter."
"Huh?"
"Dwarf star matter. Sometimes pieces of it fall to earth. They're so dense that a chunk the size of a basketball weighs as much as Detroit. In order to transport it they have to break it up into tiny pieces. The one in your box is the size of a shirt button."
"You're kidding me."
"I'd show you, but if it falls out of the crate, we'll need a crane to pick it up," Remo said.
"So how come you're handling that crate like it contained marshmallows?"
"I used to bench press dwarf star matter. It's part of my job training."
The courier passed the story along to his fellow drivers, and they began wondering aloud if Remo wouldn't mind carrying the other boxes in, since he had a knack for it.
Remo did mind, but not as much as he minded standing out on the front steps explaining dwarf star matter to twenty different people, all waving clipboards.
By the time Remo got every crate stacked in the inner hall, the Master of Sinanju had deigned to come down.
"Is this what I hope it is?" he squeaked excitedly. "Has my gold arrived?"
"What did you think those trucks were all about? And don't tell me you didn't notice them."
Chiun stopped at the bottom of the inner stairs, sniffed delicately and said, "You have been to see Smith."
"Says who?"
"Says the after-shave lotion clinging to your person. It is the scent that only he wears."
Damn, thought Remo. Chiun had him. Smith wore a cologne that had been discontinued in 1972, and he had purchased a thirty-year supply closeout for two cents on the dollar. "Okay," Remo said tiredly, "I admit it. I saw Smith."
Chiun narrowed his eyes. "About what?"
"Personal stuff."
"What is so personal that you cannot share it with the one who adopted you?"
"Get off my back, Chiun."
"You did not tell Smith about my sunlighting?"
"Rest assured, the name of Squirrelly Chicane did not pass my lips. Except once."
"What is this? What is this?"
"While I was there, the President called. He asked Smith if we could baby-sit Squirrelly in Tibet."
"And what did Smith say?"
"Don't sweat it. Smith said no."
"No? Why did Smith say no? Did he not think we were worthy of the task? Or did he think you were unworthy of so important a responsibility? Oh, Remo, your ineptitude has caused the house great shame."
"It has not. Smith didn't think the Bunji Lama was a CURE problem."
"No?"
"No. Now where do you want this freaking gold?"
"My gold is not freaking."
"This gold is. It weighs a ton."
"It would not be gold if it did not."
"Touche. So where do I put it?"
"I would prefer to have it placed in the meditation room where I may meditate on its fineness and superior quality."
"Don't kid me. You just wanna see that it's all there."
"That, too."
Remo started stacking the crates and carrying them upstairs, ten at a time, five balanced in each palm. He made it look easy. In fact, the balancing allowed him to bear the weight without breaking his forearms.
When all the crates were stacked in the meditation room, some spilling out into the hall, Remo said, "I'm going to bed. I'm bushed."
Chiun' s fingernails came together with a click, then disappeared into his generous kimono sleeves. "You are not going to open them for me?" he asked in a wheedling voice.
"No."
"Since you are tired, I forgive you."
"Thanks," said Remo, turning to go.
"Do not forget to shower. You smell like a white."
"I am white."
"It is only your skin that is white. It means no more than that the skin of the new Bunji Lama is white."
Remo paused at the door to his bedroom. "If Squirrelly Chicane really is the Bunji Lama, then I am a Korean."
Chiun called back, "Do not fall asleep too soon, for wisdom is upon you. Better that you meditate on the truths you have just enunciated."
Remo slammed the door behind him. The entire building reverberated for a full minute after.
THE MASTER REGARDED the closed door with its discordant vibrations for several moments in silence. His parchment face was a mask in which hazel eyes gleamed with an opaque light.
Padding into the meditation room, he ignored the crates of gold that his shrewd bargaining had earned.
Instead, he picked up the telephone and depressed the 1 button as he had seen his pupil do so often. Strange sounds came from the earpiece as the call was routed to a trailer park in Moore, Oklahoma, to foil tracing. Finally the ringing began.
The voice of Harold W. Smith came on the line. "Yes?"
"Hail, Emperor Smith. Greetings from the House of Sinanju."
"Master Chiun. What can I do for you?"
"Remo tells me he has been to see you."
"He has. He is concerned about these . . . er. . . seizures."