He would show this to Remo, he decided. Someday, when the boy was ready, when his anger and disappointment and impatience were spent, when Remo's scars from his earlier life had healed.
Rocks loomed ahead, signaling the far end of Florida's massive living reef, thick with underwater life. Halfway across the reef, a group of divers paddled cumbersomely, their metal tanks bobbing on their backs. One of them pointed at Chiun, a burst of bubbles rising from his open mouth. Another diver fluttered upward, his flippers wriggling frantically. Two more tried to swim to meet the ancient Korean clad in his silk brocade kimono, but they were too slow. Chiun was speeding toward shore faster than a barracuda.
When he emerged near Port Zachary Taylor, he looked back and saw a vast flight of birds heading back toward the lepers' island. It was unimportant. He had remembered the rest of the poem.
On land he found a telephone booth, lifted the receiver to his ear, waited for the operator. "Swift flows the day," he began, trying not to forget the verse again. Nothing happened.
"This is the Master of Sinanju," he yelled irritably into the mouthpiece. "Perform your duty, or be smitten into nothingness."
A passerby, an elegant woman of middle years, peered in discreetly. "Halt," Chiun commanded. The woman blushed, and her hand fluttered to her chest. Chiun stepped out and bowed politely. "Most gracious lady, I wish to know the location of another telephone machine. This one does not work, exactly like everything else in this lunatic country."
"Why, you have to put in a dime first," the lady drawled in soft Southern tones as she backed away from him.
"A dime"?
"Ten cents. Do you have a dime?"
"I will not pay tribute to speak to a servant," he said stubbornly.
"Tribute?"
"Tribute. Riches earned by assassinating the enemies of your government."
The woman blanched. "Wh— what?"
Chiun beamed. "I am an assassin, madam. Chiun, Master of Sinanju. Perhaps you've heard of me."
"Go ahead, take my money," she shrilled, thrusting her pocketbook at Chiun.
He pushed it back toward her with a deprecating gesture. "Thank you, kind lady, but I have no use for a woman's handbag. I wish only to learn the whereabouts of a telephone machine which does not require tribute."
"But they all take a dime," she said.
Chiun reddened. "Foul machines." He rushed back inside the booth, lifted the receiver, and shouted, "Hear me, O lowly servant's tool. Be warned your demand for tribute will not be met. Prepare to meet your doom."
He delivered a rocking blow to the machine with the heel of his hand. It came so fast that the air inside the booth compressed and shattered the glass of the booth. A two-finger punch sent the glass tinkling to the earth in fragments. The woman outside fainted. A third thrust, and the telephone sprang away from the wall as a stream of dimes poured from the coin return like a Los Vegas slot machine paying off.
Chiun held his cupped hands beneath the falling money. When they were full, he brought the coins to the woman, who was just coming to on the sidewalk, plucked one dime from the top, and poured the rest into her lap. "Tribute," he said debonairly. "For your assistance and gracious beauty." He bowed again.
As she poured the dimes into her purse and staggered away, still dazed, Chiun made his way back to the splintered telephone. He inserted his dime, pressed the operator's button and demanded to be connected with Emperor Smith at Folcroft Sanitarium in Rye, New York.
Eventually, the lemony voice answered, "Yes?"
"Swift flows the day as the waters of life recede toward the Void," Chiun said in his best oratory style.
After some time, the voice on the other end said, "I see."
"It is Ung poetry. The finest since Wang."
"Hmmm," Smith said. "Chiun, is it you?"
Chiun's lips tightened in annoyance. "Of course I am I, Emperor," he said. "Who else would I be? Who else would call to sing your praises?"
"Well, uh... may I ask why you're calling on this line? Is Remo all right?"
"Remo is Remo," Chiun said indifferently. "He has remained with the lepers."
"The what?"
"He is on an island of great white birds which attack like locusts. With a road that sends those upon it into the depths of the sea."
Smith tallied this information. "Could you explain that more clearly, please?"
"What is to explain?" Chiun answered, already beginning to feel the annoyance that always accompanied conversation with Smith. He sighed. "Remo and I found the place where your airplane may be. An island. It is inhabited by lepers from the island of Molokai."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Molokai?" Smith asked softly. "Are you sure?"
Chiun sputtered. "Of course I am sure. It is one of the chain of Hawaiian islands."
"Did you see the plane there?"
"How can one see underground?" Chiun answered grouchily. "But there is a cave, guarded by soldiers and birds."
"What kind of soldiers?"
"Who knows? White men. They all look the same."
"I see. Anything else?"
"No. There was a minor incident, but surely it does not warrant your valuable time, mighty Emperor Smith."
"I'd like to hear it anyway."
"It is of no consequence. It concerns Remo."
"I'd like to hear it," Smith repeated patiently.
Chiun sighed. "Very well. As usual, my ungrateful pupil, in pursuit of a woman, incurred the wrath of the leader of the soldiers, and has been momentarily detained on the island."
"Oh. Is that serious? Can he escape?"
"Of course he can escape. He is my pupil. He has remained of his own will, in order to speak with someone called Zoran."
This time the silence was of some duration. "Zoran?" Smith asked finally, his voice breathless. In the background, the Folcroft computers began to bleep and chatter. "Zoran?"
"Yes, Zoran," Chiun said, shifting the phone from one ear to the other. "Emperor, if you wish no other service, I will continue the insignificant things which make up an old man's life..."
"Don't move," Smith commanded in a tone Chiun had never heard before. "Where are you?"
"I am speaking from a telephone in Florida," Chiun answered archly.
"Where? Key West?"
"I believe that is the place."
"Go to the naval base there and wait for me. Chiun, are you listening?"
"Yes," he said, yawning.
"This is very important. More important than I can tell you. Please do as I say."
"Your wish is my command, Emperor," Chiun said enthusiastically. "Naturally, for my extra effort, I assume my humble village of Sinanju will receive further tribute beyond our agreed fee."
"Well see. Wait for me."
"One moment, Emperor. You see, I am an old man. I fear my powers of recall are not what they once were in the flowering of my youth. This island, it is so far and difficult to find—"
"Okay," Smith said. "Additional tribute."
"South by southwest, latitude eighty-two degrees by twenty-four degrees longitude."
"Wait for me," Smith said. "And once and for all, I am not an emperor."
"You are too modest, O generous and illustrious one," Chiun said.
He left the receiver dangling from its cord and walked out into the street, wondering. The crazy Emperor Smith was becoming crazier every day. Was he actually seeking to go along on Remo's mission? A middle-aged white man with a business suit and a briefcase?
He shrugged once and dismissed it from his thoughts. If Smith felt like getting killed on a jungle island, that was his business. As long as the extra tribute was paid in advance.
?Chapter Ten
LUSTBADEN, ZORAN
B. 1912, BERLIN, GERMANY
B.S. UNIV. HEIDELBERG, 1928
M.D. HEIDELBERG, 1932,
SUMMA CUM LAUDE
OCC: PHYSICIAN (GENETICS)
UNMARRIED
BACKGROUND: PRECOCIOUS GENETICIST RECRUITED PERSONALLY BY ADOLF HITLER IN 1938 TO SERVE UNDER JOSEF MENGELE AS ASSISTANT FOR GENETIC EXPERIMENTS WITH CONCENTRATION CAMP INMATES AT AUSCHWITZ, PRESENTLY WANTED BY WAR CRIMES COMMISSION FOR DIRECT PARTICIPATION IN TORTURE AND DEATH OF 40,000 PERSONS AS RESULT OF EXPERIMENTS WITH PITUITARY MALFUNCTIONS. SUBJECT IS ADEPT WITH TECHNIQUES OF HYPNOSIS. UNVERIFIED SIGHTING OF SUBJECT 11/21/55, BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA. UNVERIFIED SIGHTING OF SUBJECT 6/1/62, MOLOKAI, HAWAII. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. DETAILS IN CIA REPORT #36121055.