Remo caught himself starting to yawn, too. He shut his mouth with a click of stubborn teeth.
Eyes narrowing, Chiun yawned so wide his head almost disappeared behind his mouth.
This time Remo couldn't help himself. He yawned, too. And yawned again.
Chiun said, "You see, you are sleepy, too."
"You're up to something, you old fake."
"Yes, I am up to assuring that my House and my line continue past this century. And you are not cooperating."
"Well, you have a hell of a way of doing it. In all the years I've worked with you, I've never been so kicked around as lately. And that includes that time you made me eat rancid kimchi for three solid months."
"It was not rancid. It was the best kimchi you ever tasted."
"It tasted like pickled socks. Just thinking about it, I can still taste the stuff."
"It was necessary. The beef poisons had to be purged from your fat body."
"I almost died."
"If you could not survive kimchi, you cannot survive being a Master in training."
"And what about the time you threw me out of an airplane after sabotaging my parachute?"
"If you cannot survive a minor fall, how could you survive doing the difficult work of the House?"
"And now this Rite of Attainment crap."
"If you cannot survive the rite, you can never be Reigning Master."
"I don't want to be Reigning Master. I never did. I never wanted any of this. I just wanted to lead a normal freaking life. Can't you freaking understand that? I wish the hell I had never met you."
Chiun opened his tiny mouth in shock. He seemed about to speak several times. Each time he checked himself.
"I'm sorry, but that's the way it is," Remo said in a subdued tone. "Now you know."
"I will make you a bargain, Remo Williams," Chiun said in a flinty tone. "Complete the rite, and I will help you find your lost father."
"What about the cave I saw in my vision?"
"It is tradition that when a Master achieves the rite, the Master who trained him retires and goes into seclusion. I will help you as long as the search involves no caves."
Remo hesitated.
"I am required by tradition to guide my pupil through the rite," Chiun added. "If it is your choice not to assume the title of Reigning Master, I cannot compel you to do otherwise."
"You couldn't anyway."
"It has never before happened that a pupil declined so sublime an honor, but if you insist upon being an ungrateful white, I will accept the shame and emptiness that follows."
"What's the catch?"
"There is none," Chiun said stiffly. "If at the end of the rite you prefer to go your own way and abandon the Master who lifted you up from whiteness and go off with the ingrate who abandoned you at birth, I will accept your selfish and inconsiderate decision."
"Done," said Remo.
"Then it is done," Chiun said, thin voiced.
"All right," Remo said grudgingly. "What's next?"
"You must capture the Girdle of the Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons."
"They don't have amazons anymore."
"We will consult the Oracle at Delphi for the location of the last surviving amazon, then."
"Greece is out. I'm not going back to Greece."
"Then we will consult Emperor Smith and his wise oracles."
HAROLD W SMITH was surfing the Internet when the call came in on the blue contact telephone.
"Smitty, Remo. Need your help."
"What is it?"
"Find us an amazon."
"What do you mean, an amazon?"
"Chiun caught up with me. Thanks to you. Says I gotta capture the girdle of the amazon queen. He says he'll accept any substitute your computers come up with."
Smith frowned with his entire body. "One moment, please."
Keying in the word amazon, Smith tapped the Search key on his keyboard. The search executed in a twinkling, and Smith read the words: Prime Time's Reigning Amazon: The Inside Story.
"I do have a reasonable facsimile," he reported.
"Good."
"But I imagine you'd prefer a second choice," Smith continued.
"No time. I have things to do and I'm in a hurry to get my labors behind me."
"Very well."
"One second, Smitty. Chiun wants to know where you got this name."
"I am currently logged on to Delphi." Remo's voice got strange. "Delphi?"
"Yes. It is an information service."
Remo grunted and said, "I'm handing the phone over to Chiun. He doesn't want me to know the amazon's name until it's time to grab her girdle."
And when the Master of Sinanju came on the line, Harold Smith whispered the name. Chiun said, "It is an excellent choice. Your oracles are exceedingly farseeing."
"It was entirely random."
"It is wonderfully random," proclaimed the Master of Sinanju, hanging up.
And with that, Harold Smith returned to trolling the net. There was no point in trying to intercede. Remo and Chiun would work things out between them. They always had. Why should this time be any different?
Chapter 21
Roxanne Roeg-Elephante was suffering. Oh, how she suffered. All her life, she had suffered.
She suffered through a childhood filled with unspeakable abuse, which, once her ratings began to sag, she told America about on talk shows ranging from "Copra Inisfree" to "Vicki Loch."
She suffered the affliction of multiple personalities, which America first heard about on "Nancy Jessica Rapunzel."
She endured a double life as a stand-up comedienne and back seat hooker, which a shocked world first learned about on "Rotunda."
She accused her own sister of attempting to lure her into a satanic cult on "Bil Tuckahoe."
Every time she went on TV to reveal another slice of her sordid and painful past, ratings on her hit TV sitcom "Roxanne" shot up. And America reembraced her.
What no one seemed to notice was that she only went on talk shows to reveal these intimate details during May and November. Both sweeps months.
But now Roxanne Roeg-Elephante was really, truly, pitifully suffering.
"Ooww!" she moaned, bellowing like a wounded cow as the six-inch needle penetrated her broad, naked backside. "That friggin' hurts."
"You asked for it, Roxanne," a cool professional voice said.
"I didn't ask for it to friggin' hurt, you quack!"
"I'm your doctor. I would appreciate a little respect for my profession."
"And I would appreciate a little respect for my problems."
"Just a minute. I need to recharge this needle."
"Make sure you dip it in alcohol. I don't wanna catch AIDS from one of my alters. I got enough problems trying to get myself knocked up."
As the doctor returned to his black bag, Roxanne grabbed a gold-inlaid hand mirror and lifted it to her face. She examined herself critically. The bags under her eyes were still gone. She didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed. If the bags never came back, she got her money's worth. On the other hand, if just the tiniest puff showed, she could turn about and sue the bastard plastic surgeon who performed the operation. He had cost her a bundle, and although he'd done a good job, her latest husband had still run off with another woman.
"It's so unfair," she whined.
"What is?" the doctor asked.
"Life. Life is unfair."
"I know what you mean," the doctor said absently as he recharged the needle with perganonal, a powerful female hormone that invariably sent Roxanne's moods swinging like a five-hundred-pound gorilla on a chandelier.
"I so, so want to get preggers. Why can't I get preggers?"
"Because you had your tubes tied ten years ago," the doctor said flatly.
"Is that any frigging reason?"
"Normally, yes."
"Well, I got 'em untied, didn't I?"
"I counseled you the original operation might not be reversible."