When an officer arrived with the message, he merely smiled and packed a grooming kit with a brush, a comb, a razor, and a toothbrush. Then in a fine English tailored suit he boarded a plane to take him to Sweden, where he would catch another plane to America.
The officer, worried about Rabinowitz' legendary abilities, asked the young General Matesev where his special-force troops were. Wouldn't it be dangerous to send them in separately? An axiom in a surprise raid was to have the highest-ranking officer with the troops themselves.
To this General Matesev only smiled.
"I am asking because I know how important this is."
"You are asking because you want to know my secret of getting a large number of men in and out of America without being discovered until we are gone. That is what you want to know," said Matesev.
"I would never reveal it to anyone."
"I know you won't," said Matesev, "because I am not telling you. Just let me know if they want this Rabinowitz alive or dead."
"Alive if possible, but definitely dead if not."
Chapter 5
The CIA, alerted to his coming, spotted Matesev almost immediately. His handsome face had been logged and posted, and the minute he got on a plane bound for New York City from Sweden, the man with the Norwegian passport and name of Svenson was recognized immediately as the Russian commander of the special force that had entered America twice without being spotted, which was known to exist only after it had sucessfully gotten out of the country twice.
Two strange things happened almost immediately. First, although everyone knew that the special Russian force was coming in again, Matesev arrived in Kennedy Airport alone. Not one other Russian was logged coming in with him. Both FBI and CIA coordinating teams began an alert for any large body of men arriving together or even many men arriving singly from one location.
And shortly thereafter, intercepted in communications to Moscow from New York, was an unmistakable Matesev message:
"Force assembled. Preparing to strike within twenty-four hours."
For the third time General Boris Matesev had smuggled in no less than 150 men without being detected, something the President had been assured would be impossible for a third time.
And stranger still was the order from the White House.
"Stand down. Matesev and force will be handled elsewhere. "
None of them knew what the elsewhere was.
And if they knew what the elsewhere was, they would have been far more worried than they were now, seeing this danger enter America's bosom with no apparent defense.
Once Harold W. Smith got the contact call from Remo, he told the President that CURE would be capable of handling this Russian mystery man who could move 150 men invisibly into America three times. Handle Matesev with ease. In fact, Smith's people were expert at movement without being seen. They knew all the tricks of thousands of years of the House of Sinanju.
And Remo was back. He had, as Chiun had assured Smith, performed his services. As Chiun had proclaimed, no Master of Sinanju had ever failed a service. Of course Remo had implied the histories of Sinanju were a bit suspect when it came to the service of the House of Sinanju. In other words, if Sinanju ever failed a commitment, Smith was never going to hear about it from Chiun.
And yet Chiun was right. Remo was back. And the mission was too complex and important to trust communication by sound alone, no matter how secure the most modern electronics could make it. Smith had to have a face-to-face conversation with Remo.
Smith would not have been so happy if he knew what was happening the very moment his plane took off for Remo's and Chiun's new safe house just outside Epcot Center in Orlando, Florida. Smith had secured a condominium for them at Vistana Views, where visits of a week or a month or even a year would not be particularly noticeable.
After the New Hope incident he needed a place for Remo and Chiun where their neighbors were transients also. It was much safer.
But for Remo this two-room condominium with a view of an elaborate fountain, televisions in almost every room, and Jacuzzi, was just another place he was not going to stay very long.
He arrived at the condo glad to see Chiun and not knowing if he could share the sadness he felt now. Surprisingly, Chiun was solicitous. He did not have some peeve to work out on Remo. He did not stress the fact that Remo was ungrateful for the wisdom of Sinanju, that Remo thought more of his country than he did of Chiun, when Chiun had given him everything and his country had given him nothing.
None of these things did Chiun mention when Remo entered without saying hello. Remo sat down in the pastel living room and stared at the television set for an hour. It wasn't turned on.
"You know," said Remo finally, "I don't own this place. And if I did, I wouldn't want it. I don't have a home. "
Chiun nodded, his wispy beard almost unmoving in the gentleness of the old man's affirmation.
"I don't own anything. I don't have a wife and family. I don't have a place."
"These things that you don't own, what are they?" asked Chiun.
"I just told you," said Remo.
"You told me what you don't know, but you did not, my son, tell me what you do know. Show me a house that has lasted thousands of years."
"The pyramids," said Remo.
"They were tomhs and they were broken into almost immediately, within a few centuries," said Chiun. "This country you so love, how old is it? A few hundred years?"
"I know what you're getting at, little father," said Remo. "Sinanju is five thousand years old, older than Egypt, older than the Chinese dynasties, older than buildings. I know that."
"You know, and you don't know. You don't know what is alive today at Epcot Center."
"Mickey Mouse? You tell me," said Remo. He knew the Master of Sinanju liked Walt Disney, along with one other American institution, and that was just about it for whites and America.
"What endures today more unchanged than the very rocks of the earth? What is more unchanged than precious jewels that time wears away in infinitesimal amounts? What is more unchanged than great empires that come and go? What is that which defies time, not just delays it for a few millennia?"
"You playing games with me, little father?" He looked at the dark television screen. No wonder he wasn't bothered by what was showing.
"If life is a game, I am playing games with you. Something is going on in this room, this very room, more lasting than anything you have seen."
Remo cocked an eyebrow. Whatever Chiun was getting at, it was the truth. Unfortunately it was opaque as the rocks he'd been talking about, and Remo knew that the harder he tried, the less he would understand it. That was one of the secrets of Sinanju, that effort and strain really worked against a person's powers.
One had to learn to respect them and allow them to work. All the great geniuses of mankind understood that. Mozart could no more tell where a symphony came from than Rembrandt could his miraculously inspiring lighting.
The average human had powers he had ignored since the day he started to rely on tools. Spear or guided missile, every dependency on a tool caused the death of those powers. So today when someone discovered little parts of it, they called it extrasensory perception, or some extraordinary act of strength like a mother being able to lift a car by herself when her baby was underneath it.
The truth was, she always had that power, and so did everyone else, except they did not know how to gain access to it, except in extraordinary situations when the body took over.
Sinanju was the way to the full use of man's power. Remo was no more extraordinary than anyone else. He simply knew how not to let his mind interfere with his intelligence.