And now Harold Smith was getting that first "no" to a call for help.
"It's gone international," Smith said.
"Fine. Then America's safe."
"We can't let something like this go on," Smith said.
"Well, we are, aren't we?"
"What's wrong with you, Remo?"
"Maybe there are a lot of things that are wrong."
"Would you like to tell me about them?" Smith asked in what he tried to project as his warm voice. It sounded like ice cubes cracking in warm water.
"No," Remo said.
"Why not?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"I think I could," Smith said.
"I think you couldn't."
"That's it?"
"It," agreed Remo.
"Remo, we need you," Smith said.
"No," said Remo.
For the first time since Remo had gone out for the organization, Smith was forced to go to Chiun for an explanation. It was not something he relished, because he seldom understood the old Oriental. The only things he was ever sure of was that he was being forced to send more money to the old man's village in North Korea. Remo had explained to him once that the village of Sinanju was poor and that for centuries its people had lived on the earnings of the Master of Sinanju, the world's foremost assassin.
There had been many bad times, and in those times, Remo explained, the villagers had been forced to "send their babies home to the sea." This meant to throw them in the bay to drown rather than letting them starve to death. Remo felt it explained Chiun's insistence on large payment, frequent payment, and payment in gold, and seemed to think that it was a beautiful story.
Smith thought that it was basically stupid and that all the villagers had to do to prevent starvation was to find a job somewhere and work for a living. Remo told him that he should never mention this idea to Chiun, and Smith never did. The infrequent meetings of the two men generally degenerated into Chiun's fawning all over Smith as America's emperor and then proceeding to do exactly what Chiun wanted.
Not this time, Smith thought. He had to find out what was wrong with Remo. The meeting with Chiun was imperative, but where to meet someone in a kimono without attracting attention, someone who, for some insane reason, had blatantly taken out an advertisement in a Boston newspaper with his picture in it?
He thought about it a long while, then decided to fly out to Denver. He rented a car at the airport, picked Chiun up at his hotel, and drove off into the Rocky Mountains outside Denver. It was the best he could think of. And Smith was tired. And he was wondering if it all made a difference anymore. Maybe Remo was right.
Looking at the first snows on the peaks, Smith wondered if all he was trying to do, all the struggles and organization, were not just like those mountains. The problems were here today, and like the mountains, they would be here tomorrow. Nothing had been lost, but what had been won? He had been at this for twenty years and he was getting old and tired. Who would replace him? And would it make a difference? Could anything make a difference anymore?
He saw Chiun's long fingernails reach over and appear as though they moved a button on Smith's chest.
"Breathe as if a melon is stuck in your throat," Chiun said. "As if you must force the air into your stomach. Hard."
Smith, without understanding why, complied and pulled air deep into his body, and suddenly things felt light. The world was light. Problems were solvable. This sudden change unsettled Smith. He was a man who ran everything by his intellect, and he did not want to believe that his perspective on the world could alter because of the way he took oxygen into his system. And yet it hadn't changed. He knew everything he knew before, all the problems and worries. It was just that he felt stronger, more able to deal with them, less tired of the world.
"Chiun, you have trained Remo magnificently."
"A reflection of your glory, O Emperor."
"We are, as you know, engaged in an operation yet to be completed," Smith said.
"How wise," Chiun said, and nodded, and his beard fluttered in the breezeless car. He was not sure what Smith had said. He assumed that he had just stated that they were all working on something, but Chiun never knew with Smith. He never quite understood him, so he nodded a lot.
"Remo seems to be having troubles," Smith said. "Do you know what they are?"
"I know that he, like I, lives to serve your wish and enhance the glory of the name Smith, greatest of Emperors."
"Yes, yes. Of course. But have you noticed something bothering him?"
"I have. I must admit, I have. But it is nothing that your glory should concern itself with."
"It does concern me," Smith said.
"How noble. Your grace knows no bounds."
"What is bothering him?"
"As you know," Chiun began, "the yearly tribute is delivered to Sinanju, as was agreed in our contract of service. Your submarine delivers onshore a seventeen-weight of silver, a five-weight of gold, and fragrances of great value."
"Yes, that's the contract," said Smith suspiciously. "Since the last time you renegotiated it. What's that got to do with Remo?"
"Remo's adoration for you, Emperor, is so strong that he cannot bring himself to share with you his true worries. He said to me: 'Gracious Master, teacher of Sinanju, devoted servant of our great Emperor, Harold W. Smith, how can I rest my head knowing that a five weight of gold is all that comes from my country to Sinanju? How can we be so disgraced as a race and a people to give a paltry five-weight of gold and a mere seventeen-weight of silver?'
" 'Still your tongue,' I said. 'Has not Emperor Smith through these many years delivered the correct amount? Have we not agreed to this amount? Is it not according to the contract?'
" 'Indeed, noble teacher, true servant of the Emperor Smith,' Remo said, 'it is according to the contract and I should still my tongue.'
"And this he did," said Chiun. "But the hurt remains. I tell you this only because of my great trust in you."
"Somehow, I can't see Remo worrying about Sinanju's yearly tribute," Smith said.
"It is not that. It is the honor of his nation. And yours. "
"I don't think Remo's mind works like that," Smith said. "Not even after all your training."
"You asked, Emperor, and I but told. I await your command."
Smith could easily add more gold to the payment. The cost of having a submarine enter North Korean waters to deliver the tribute to the house of assassins far exceeded the tribute itself. But the problem with giving Chiun more money for a special emergency, as this was, was that it became the new base price for everything else in the future.
"Another weight of gold," said Smith reluctantly.
"Would that it were enough for Remo's heavy heart," Chiun said. "But in my foolishness, I told him that even a small king in a small poor country paid a ten-weight of gold to Sinanju."
"Seven," said Smith.
"It is not seemly that a servant argue with his emperor," Chiun said.
"Does that mean that seven is acceptable? That we have a deal at seven?" Smith asked.
"It means I dare not negotiate with you."
"You're standing at ten?" Smith asked.
"I am yours to command. As always," Chiun said.
"Eight."
"If only I could convince Remo."
"I know he isn't going to serve any other country," Smith said. "He isn't that much Sinanju yet."
"I only follow your will," Chiun said Calmly. His hands were folded and he looked out at the mountains.