"You're telling me that this Kukuru..."
"Koguryo," Chiun said.
"They conquered Japan?"
"Correct."
"How long did they stay there?" Remo asked.
"Very long."
"What happened to the real Japanese?" Remo asked.
"They were eliminated by the order of the Wa," Chiun said. "All died. All but a few who hid in the north of Japan and still hide there today. These are called the Ainu, and they are a large, white-haired, hairy people."
"So what you're telling me is that the Japanese emperors aren't descended from the sun goddess or whatever but from these Korean horseback riders."
Chiun nodded sadly.
"You mean that the Japanese that you're always abusing are really Koreans who came across on boats?"
"You might say that if you were unkind," Chiun said. His hazel eyes blazed.
Remo laughed. "You mean you're related to Japanese?"
Chiun turned his head away angrily.
"What happened to the Wa?" Remo asked.
"He became the counselor, protector and bodyguard of king and emperor alike. He had many children who followed in his footsteps and to them he taught the ways of the knife as the Master, who was not the Great Wang, had taught them so many years before."
"And you think the guy who knifed Pruiss is one of the Wa?" Remo asked.
Chiun nodded. "I had heard their services were on the market. In the building across the street, I saw where the assassin stood. It was a spot where your weight made the floorboards creak. But they did not creak under my weight. The assassin was no heavier than me. And below there were other clues. The distance he had chosen for his attack. The angle of the knife wound. Then we saw on the grass below how he dragged the bodies of men across the grass because he had not the physical strength to carry them. He is a Wa, and this makes it very dangerous."
"For who?" Remo asked.
"For you," said Chiun.
"Why for me?"
"You would not hear the poem. It answers all," Chiun said.
"All right, all right. The poem," Remo said.
Chiun nodded again, as if the recitation were his right "You will remember, I told you the Master visited a curse upon the surviving Wa. That is the poem."
"What is it?" asked Remo.
"The Master said... it does not translate very well."
"Just give me the outlines," Remo said.
"The Master said to the Last Wa:
Because I have trained you in this evil,
I must be punished for your misdeeds.
I punish myself by not allowing myself to come after you and kill you.
This is my penance.
But, hear you this, evil one.
Through the countless ages of time will my sons hunt your sons.
I give this duty to generations unborn.
Young Masters of Sinanju will search out the Wa and kill them whenever they find them.
That is my curse. And your destiny.
"This did the Master tell the Wa."
Chiun looked at Remo. "You understand now why this is dangerous for you?"
"No," Remo said.
"You are really a lump of clay," Chiun said. "I am the reigning Master of Sinanju. The Master's curse prevents me from striking down the Wa. You alone must do it, without my help."
Remo shrugged. "So we're facing a Sinanju-trained assassin," he said.
"Yes," said Chiun. He hung his head in shame.
"And the Japanese that you're always putting down are really your relatives," Remo said.
Chiun said nothing.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Remo said.
Chiun looked up. "Remember," he said, "the Wa Japanese are not descended from the villagers of Sinanju. Just from the Koguryo who were an ugly people, whose only skill was in riding a horse."
"I never want to hear you putting down the Japanese again," Remo said. He shrugged. "Anyway, none of this helps. We still don't know who the Wa is working for. Who hired him?"
Chiun smiled. "Who knows? The Japs are a greedy and avaricious people. They'd work for anybody."
He rose swiftly to his feet indicating the lesson was over.
The telephone in the room rang and Smith's parched voice said, "You should know that Will Bobbin is in town."
"Who?"
"Will Bobbin," said Smith. "He flew in last night. He represents the fossil fuel industry, right out of their main New York offices."
"All right. I'll watch for him."
"And the passenger list showed that a woman who traveled only as Flamma arrived in Furlong County this morning."
"Got it," said Remo. He was still thinking about Will Bobbin's arrival. Perhaps Theodosia was right and the oil companies were behind the attack on Pruiss. Perhaps they had hired the Wa assassin to do him in.
"And we have the rundown on Rachmed Baya Bam that you asked for," Smith said.
"What's he all about?"
"He heads something called the Inner Light church. As far as we can make out, he is the only member, but he seems to make a living by being adopted by the rich. His brother is an Indian delegate to the United Nations."
"Baya Bam," Remo said. "The one who's always making anti-American speeches?"
"Yes," said Smith. "That one. From what we can gather, Rachmed is a pickpocket and was arrested once in Yankee Stadium at a World Series game. His brother's diplomatic immunity got him freed. And there are stories that the two of them run a particularly odious brothel in India, specializing in young girls."
After Smith had hung up, Remo went to Theodosia's apartment at the end of the broad hallway. She was sitting in a satin robe, facing a dressing table, putting fresh makeup around her eyes. Remo walked in without knocking and she looked up at him in surprise that softened to a smile of welcome. He saw his motel room keys on the dressing table.
Remo stood behind her, put his right hand on her shoulder and inspected her face in the mirror. He still found it hard to believe. Twenty-two steps and she had been almost impervious to them. That had never happened before. Chiun had once told him that Korean women were regularly exposed to all twenty-seven steps of "the method" as he called it, but Remo had seen the Korean women of Chiun's ancient village of Sinanju and he suspected that the twenty-seven steps might have been as much for the man's benefit as the woman's to give him something to think about besides his partner and what she looked like.
"Do you know a woman named Flamma?" Remo asked.
"Flamma? What do you know about her?" Theodosia said. She turned on her bench to look at Remo.
"Who is she?" Remo asked.
"She works sometimes for Wesley," the young woman said. "She... er, entertains for him."
"What kind of work is... er, entertains?" Remo asked.
Theodosia paused. "Okay," she said, as if forcing herself to tell the truth. "She's kind of on the payroll as a hooker. When out-of-town bigshots visit Wesley, Flamma is assigned to make sure they enjoy themselves. She poses for some pictures for Grosstoo. What about Flamma?"
"She's in town."
Theodosia's face wrinkled up. Unconsciously she began to pick at her the polish on her shiny fingernails. "What the hell is she doing here?"
"I don't know. She arrived this morning. There's somebody else in town too."
"Who?"
"The name Will Bobbin mean anything to you?"
"No. Should it?"
"He's a big shot with the fuel industry."
She stood up quickly and looked at Remo, almost in triumph. "There," she said. "The oil business again. Those bastards."
"You're really sure about that, aren't you?" Remo asked.
"No one else had any reason to try to kill Wesley," she said. "No one but those people."
"All right," Remo said. He put his hands on the woman's shoulders and drew her close to him.
"Rachmed," he said.
She pulled away. "What about him?"
"He's a fraud," said Remo. "He's a pimp and a pickpocket. He runs a whorehouse for little girls."