He was still crying when someone rattled the doorknob. The door lock turned. And before Sammy Kee could even begin to register hope or fear, Colonel Viktor Ditko stood in the room, regarding him with a single cold eye.
"Uggh!" Colonel Ditko said, reacting to the wafting stench. "Out, quickly."
And Sammy came running.
Colonel Ditko hustled him into a corner of the basement, beside a creaky roaring furnace.
"I was longer than I expected," the colonel said. Sammy Kee nodded wordlessly, noting but not asking about the colonel's eyepatch.
"You were not found."
"No," said Sammy Kee.
"Good. Listen to me, Sammy Kee. I have been to Moscow. I have spoken to a great man, perhaps the greatest leader in the world. He has seen your tape and he says it is not enough. Not enough to give you asylum, nor to pay you money."
Sammy Kee gave out a great racking sob.
"I have betrayed my country for nothing," he blubbered.
"Do not fold on me now. This is not over. You are a brave man, Sammy Kee."
But Sammy Kee was not listening. He seemed about to faint.
Colonel Ditko shook Sammy's shoulder violently. "Listen to me. You are a brave man. You entered this fortress country on your own initiative. And when you were discovered you had the presence of mind to seek the only safe haven open to a Westerner trapped in North Korea. Dig down into yourself and dredge up that bravery again. It, and only it, will save you now."
"I will do anything you ask," said Sammy Kee at last.
"Good. Where is your video equipment?"
"I buried it in the sand. Near Sinanju."
"With extra tapes?"
"Yes."
"I am sending you back to Sinanju. Today. Now. I will see that you have safe conduct to the closest place. From there, you can get back to the village, nyet?"
"I don't want to go back there."
"Choice does not enter into it," Ditko said coldly. "I am sending you back to Sinanju. There you will obtain further proof of the Master of Sinanju and his American connection, if you have to steal the very records of Sinanju. You will bring them back to me. Do you understand? Do you?"
"Yes," said Sammy Kee dully.
"You will bring back to me all the secrets of the Master of Sinanju. All of them. And when you do this, you shall be rewarded."
"I will live in Moscow?"
"If you wish. Or we can send you back to America."
"I can't go back there. I've betrayed my country."
"Fool. Do not let your guilt confuse you. No one knows this. And even if word of your perfidy should leak out, it will not matter. You have stumbled upon a secret so embarrassing to the American government that they would not dare prosecute you."
And for the first time, Sammy Kee smiled. It was all going to work out. He could almost see the Golden Gate Bridge in his mind's eye.
Chapter 8
When the last of the Darter's crew had paddled their rafts back out into the forbidding coldness of Sinanju harbor, Remo Williams stood on the rocky shore between the Horns of Welcome, which were also recorded in the history of the House of Sinanju as the Horns of Warning.
Remo looked around. There was no welcoming party, but the two men had not been expected. Remo adjusted the flannel blanket that covered the Master of Sinanju's lap, tucking the corners into the wicker wheelchair.
"Don't worry, Little Father," Remo said tenderly. "I'll get the villagers down here to help with the gold."
"No," said Chiun. "They must not see me like this. Help me to my feet, Remo."
"You can't get up," said Remo. "You're ill."
"I may be ill, but I am still the Master of Sinanju. I do not want the people of my village to see me like this. They might lose heart. Assist me to my feet."
Reluctantly Remo stripped the blanket free. Chiun eased himself up like an arthritic. Remo took him by the arm and helped him to his feet.
"Dispose of that thing," said Chiun. "I will not look at it again."
Remo shrugged. "Whatever you say, Little Father," and he took the wheelchair in both hands and with a half-twist of his body sent it arcing up into the star-sprinkled sky. It splashed into the bay waters far out past the wave line.
Chiun stood, unsteady on his feet, his arms tucked into his voluminous sleeves. He sniffed the air delicately.
"I am home," he intoned. "These are the smells of my childhood and they fill my old heart."
"I smell dead fish," Remo said sourly.
"Silence," commanded the Master of Sinanju. "Do not spoil my homecoming with your white complaints."
"I'm sorry, Little Father," Remo said contritely. "Do you want me to fetch the villagers now?"
"They will come," said Chiun.
"It's the middle of the night. If I know these people, they've been asleep since Tuesday."
"They will come," said Chiun stubbornly.
But they did not come. Remo still wore the turtleneck jersey that concealed his bruised throat. The chill wind off the bay cut through it like a glittering knife. And in response, his body temperature automatically rose, fending off the cold with an internal wave of heat.
Remo felt warmer immediately, but he worried about Chiun, standing proud and barefoot in his purple homecoming robes.
"Little Father," Remo started to say, but Chiun cut him off with a chop of his hand.
"Hark," said Chiun.
"I don't hear anything," said Remo.
"Have you no ears?" demanded Chiun. "Listen to its cry."
And Remo, seeing a flash of white wing in the moonlight, realized what Chiun meant. "It's only a sea gull," he said.
"It is the sea gull of welcome," said Chiun, and putting his lips together, whistled a high, keening call.
Chiun turned to Remo. "I was welcoming him in return," he explained.
A minute later, a dark figure stepped out from behind a barnacle-encrusted boulder. Others followed. They advanced slowly, timidly.
"See?" said Chiun. "I told you they would come."
"I think they're investigating your little tete-a-tete with the sea gull."
"Nonsense," said Chiun. "They sensed the awesome magnificence that is the Master of Sinanju, and it has pulled them from their contented sleep."
"Anything you say, Chiun."
The first to approach was an old man, not so old as Chiun. He was taller, and broader of face.
"Hail, Master of Sinanju," the old man intoned in formal Korean, "who sustains the village and keeps the code faithfully. Our hearts cry a thousand greetings of love and adoration. Joyous are we upon the return of him who graciously throttles the universe."
And Chiun bowed in return, whispering to Remo in English, "Take note. This is proper respect, properly paid."
"If you ask me, I think he's unhappy about being woken up," Remo hissed back.
Chiun ignored him.
"Know you now that the sun has at last set upon my evil labors," he replied, also in formal Korean. "I am now come home to drink in the sights of the home village, to hear again the sounds of my youth, and to spend my declining days."
There was a sleepy mutter of approval from the others.
"And I have brought my adopted son, Remo, to carry on the great line of my ancestors," Chiun said expansively.
Silence.
"Behold the tribute I have brought from the land of the round-eyed barbarians," Chiun exclaimed loudly.
The crowd burst into cheering and whistling. They descended upon the crates of gold ingots and, like starved locusts, carried them off.
"Bring the palanquin of the Master," called the old man, who was known as Pullyang, the caretaker. And swiftly, others approached, bearing a litter of rosewood and ivory, like those in which the pharaohs of old were carried. They set it at Chiun's feet, and Remo helped him in.