Chiun turned a baleful eye on him. "Do I take it you do not approve?"
"Are you kidding?" Remo said. "This is great. I love when politicians have to sink even lower than politics. It's almost impossible to do."
"Why is it you believe he has sunk at all?" Chiun asked.
"Look at him!" Remo said happily. He flung out a hand at the TV. "The guy is on a psychic infomercial squirming like fish on a line. He looks about as happy to be there as the guy who beat him looked in the presidential debates four years later."
Chiun looked back at the screen. "Perhaps," he admitted. "It is also possible that he is ill."
"Of course he is," Remo said. "I'd be sick, too, if I had to endorse that check." His broad smile stretched so far across his face it threatened to spill beyond both ears.
"Why are you so gleeful?" Chiun asked suspiciously. "It is not like you."
"You don't get it. This is the American dream, Little Father," Remo explained. "We live to see our politicians fail. Especially a smug little creep like Princippi. It's the grease that oils the gears of this great democracy."
Chiun shook his head. "This nation is unfathomable," he said. He turned his attention back to the television.
On the screen, Mike Princippi was saying, "I wish we could outthink my opponent."
There was a sudden flurry of movement from the right side of the screen. All at once, a new figure strode onto the set. He was short and wore an expensive business suit on his pudgy frame.
As he noted the nationality of the latest player to join the others, Chiun's interest was immediately piqued.
"Chiun, isn't that-?" Remo began, suddenly worried.
"Silence!" Chiun commanded.
Princippi was in the middle of saying, "Oh, hello. Aren't you Reverend Man Hyung Sun?"
"I am he," Sun intoned seriously.
"This is worse than I thought," Remo muttered. The glee he had felt before had begun to dissipate the moment the cult leader made his appearance.
"...future. I am your future. I know your destiny." Sun pointed out at the television audience. "And yours."
The image quickly cut from the studio-produced scene to an outdoor segment. Pink-robed Sunnies interviewed men and women on the street about the amazing prognosticating abilities of the Reverend Man Hyung Sun.
Everyone was thrilled with the information the seer's hotline helpers had given them. Throughout the anything but spontaneous interviews, a 900 number flashed at the bottom of the screen. It was accompanied by the phrase "Your personal psychic is standing by."
The videotaped outdoor segment lasted for only a few minutes. When it was done, Man Hyung Sun reappeared. He and Mike Princippi were sitting together in a faux living-room environment. It held many of the same furnishings as the faux conference room in the lead segment.
"Holy flying crap," Remo murmured.
"Must you continue babbling?" Chiun complained, peeved.
"Chiun, don't you get it? It was bad enough when it was just Princippi up there. Now he's having a powwow with the head of the freaking Loonie cult. Before it was a joke. Now it's just plain embarrassing."
"Perhaps the Greekling is wiser than you," Chiun pointed out. "If Sun is indeed a seer, he could have prescience to alter events yet to be."
"Sun is a con man," Remo said, rolling his eyes.
"You do not know that."
"I know enough, Little Father. That guy shanghais kids into his dippy cult. He had the mindless drips banging away on tambourines in airports all over the place back in the '70s and '80s, remember? He was also found guilty of tax evasion, I think. He's an A-number-one asshole-creep-conman-millionaire-rat-bastard. With a capital B."
"He is Korean," Chiun said somberly.
Remo frowned. "So what?"
"He would not shanghai anyone. Shanghai is named for the vile Chinese practice of putting men aboard ships against their will."
"Okay, so what do Koreans call it?"
"Unexpected oceangoing journeys filled with wonder and delight."
"Fine," Remo said. He pointed to Sun on the television. "That's what he does with mushbrained teenagers."
Princippi was in the middle of asking Sun about his qualifications as a clairvoyant.
"I have been aligned with cosmic forces for as long as I can remember," Sun said. His English was better than that of most Americans. "Through heightened perceptions impossible for mortals to understand, I have seen these forces recently arrange themselves in such a way as to foretell a great end. And a new beginning. For those viewing this program, know you this-the Omega Time has come."
"What the hell is he going on about?" Remo asked.
"Silence!" Chiun commanded. His voice was sharp.
"I am the Sun Source," Sun proclaimed. He looked out at the camera as he spoke.
In their living room, both Remo and Chiun were surprised by his words. They glanced at one another. Chiun's face was severe, Remo's puzzled.
When they looked back at the TV, Sun was finishing his spiel. "The pyon ha-da is upon us. Birth of death, death of birth. Call now. Operators are standing by."
The pink-robed Loonies reappeared. The same videotaped man-on-the-street segment as before began playing. Chiun did not watch it this time. Gathering up the remote control, he clicked off the television. He was deep in thought.
"I can't believe it," Remo said, shaking his head. "Mike Princippi. How the almost mighty have fallen. You think Smitty knows about this?"
Chiun looked over at Remo, annoyance creasing his wizened features. "Do you not know what this means?" he asked impatiently.
Remo was surprised by the harshness of his tone.
"Um, no matter how bad you've got it, there's always someone worse off than you?" Remo suggested.
"You are uneducable," Chiun spit. "Did you not hear the words he spoke to us?"
"To us?" Remo said. "Not that Sun Source stuff?"
"The same."
"Chiun, that's a coincidence. He can't know that Sinanju is called the Sun Source, too. His name is Sun. They just cooked up some silly Madison Avenue twist on his name-that's all."
"I must make a pilgrimage to see this holy man," Chiun proclaimed. He rose like steam from the floor, smoothing out the skirts of his scarlet kimono.
"Holy my ass," Remo said, also standing. "He's a scam artist, Chiun. Worse than that. He's a bad scam artist. You can't have fallen for that pap."
"You will telephone Smith in the morning," Chiun instructed, ignoring Remo's complaints. "Have him consult his oracles to learn the location of the holy one. I must meet with the wise and all-knowing Reverend Sun."
With that, Chiun turned abruptly and left the room. Remo heard his bedroom door close a moment later.
Alone in the living room, Remo shook his head wearily. "I can't believe it," he sighed. "Not even home for an hour and I already miss Germany."
Picking up their empty rice bowls, he skulked morosely back to the kitchen.
Chapter 11
One of his first acts in office had been to stop vagrants from frightening drivers at intersections.
The city homeless had somehow gotten it into their heads to stagger up to cars stopped at traffic lights and spit on their windshields. They would then wipe the slimy ooze away with a filthy rag and hold out a grimy hand for a gratuity. Frightened drivers would hand over money, fearing reprisal if they did not.
It was extortion, plain and simple. In a crazed bow to the lords of political correctness, the city of New York had looked the other way for years. That practice changed the minute Randolph Gillotti was elected mayor.
The panhandlers were arrested in a clean sweep.
Homeless activists screamed. Television reporters screamed. Hollywood celebrities screamed. Everyone screamed but Randolph Gillotti. As mayor of the greatest city in the world, he didn't have time to scream.