In a locked cabinet in this very office, the General Secretary had a file of KGB reports of those mysterious incidents. The file was marked "FAILURES: UNKNOWN CAUSE."
But now the General Secretary knew the cause was no longer unknown. It could be explained in one word: CURE.
The General Secretary laughed to himself. Privately, he admired the boldness of the American apparatus. It was brilliant. Exactly what America needed to deal with her internal problems. He wished he could steal it.
But that wasn't the way the General Secretary did business. His predecessors would have tried to steal it. Not him. He would simply ask for it. No harm in that, thought the General Secretary. And he laughed. He picked up the red telephone which connected directly to the White House and which he was reserved to use only in times of extreme international crisis. This would wake up the President of the United States, the General Secretary thought, as he listened to the tinny feedback ring from Washington. And he laughed again.
Chapter 12
Remo Williams wondered if he was falling in love.
He barely knew the maiden Mah-Li. Yet, even with Chiun weakening daily, Remo was drawn back to the house of the girl the village of Sinanju had ostracized as the beast, like a poor sailor who had heard the siren call of Circe.
Remo could not explain the attraction. Was it the mystery of her veil? Fascination with the unknown? Or was it just that she was an understanding voice in a troubled time? He did not know.
It bothered Remo terribly that Chiun, in his last days, continued to carp and try to lay guilt on him. Remo wanted to be with Chiun, but Chiun was making it impossible to be around. And, of course, Remo felt guilty about that, too.
So Remo sat on the floor of Mah-Li's house, telling her everything, and wondering why the words kept coming out. He usually didn't like to talk about himself.
"Chiun thinks I'm ignoring him," Remo said, accepting a plate of a Korean delicacy that Mah-Li had baked just for him. It smelled good in the darkened room.
"What is this?" he asked, starting to taste a piece.
"Dog," said Mah-Li pleasantly.
Remo put it down abruptly. "I don't eat meat," he said.
"It is not meat," laughed Mah-Li. "Dog is rice bread, filled with dates, chestnuts, and red beans."
"Oh," said Remo. He tried it. "It's good."
"Aren't you?" asked Mah-Li.
"What?"
"Ignoring the Master?"
"I don't know. I'm all confused. I don't know how to deal with his dying. I've killed more people than I can count but I've never lost anyone really close to me. I've never had anyone really close to me. Except Chiun."
"You do not wish to face the inevitable."
"Yeah. I guess that's it."
"Ignoring the dying one will not keep him breathing. He will die without you. Perhaps sooner."
"He seemed okay when I talked to him. It's so hard. He doesn't look like he's dying. Just tired, like he's a clock that's winding down."
"Will you go back to your country when it is over?" Mah-Li asked. Remo realized she had the knack for saying just enough to keep him talking.
"I want to. But I promised Chiun I'd support the village, and I'm not sure what I would be returning to. Chiun has been my whole life. I see that now. Not CURE, not Smith. And I don't want to lose him."
"It can be pleasant living in Sinanju. You will take a wife and have many children."
"I don't want any of the village girls," Remo said vehemently.
"But you cannot marry a white girl," said Mah-Li.
"Why not? I'm white. Although Chiun doesn't think so."
"No? What does the Master think?" she asked.
"That I'm part Korean. It's crazy. With one breath he castigates me as a clumsy white. With the other he tries to convince me of my Korean heritage. According to him, somewhere in the line of Sinanju, there's an ancestor of mine. Isn't that crazy?"
Mah-Li looked at Remo through her veil and he studied her. Mah-Li's face was a pale oval behind the gauze but he could not discern her features. He felt drawn to look, even though it made him uncomfortable.
"I think there is a little of Korea in your face, around the eyes. Their shape, but not their color. The people of my village do not have brown eyes."
"Chiun just wants to justify giving Sinanju to a white man," Remo said.
"Have you ever heard the story of the lost Master of Sinanju, Remo?" Mah-Li asked quietly.
Remo liked the way Mah-Li pronounced his name. She had to force the R and she rolled it in the Spanish style.
"Lost Master? Was that Lu?"
"No, that was another Master."
"You know the story?"
"Everyone knows the story," said Mah-Li. "It was many years ago. There was a Master who was known as Nonga, whose wife bore him many daughters, but sadly no sons. Many were the daughters of Nonga, and each year another was born. And Master Nonga grew sullen, for he was unable to sire a male heir. By law, Sinanju could only be passed through the male line."
"Another strike against this place," said Remo. "One year, when Master Nonga was very old, his wife, who was not so old, finally bore him a son. And the Master named this son Kojing, and he was very proud. But his wife kept a secret from Nonga, for she had in truth borne him two sons, as identical as snow peas. She hid the other son, whom she named Kojong, for she feared that the Master would slay Kojong, for there was a law in Sinanju that only the firstborn could be taught Sinanju. And Kojing and Kojong were born at the same time. She feared the Master Nonga, to solve this dilemma would drown one son in the cold waters of the bay."
"How did she keep the second one hidden?" asked Remo. "This isn't a big place, even now."
"She was very clever, this wife of Master Nonga. She hid the babe in the hut of a sister during Kojong's baby years. And when Kojong was a boy, he was in all ways identical to Kojing, and so she enlisted Kojing and Kojong in a game. On even days Kojing would live with Master Nonga and be his son, eating with the family and knowing parents, and on the other days, Kojong would live in the hut, and pretend to be Kojing. And this went on until the two boys were two men."
"You mean the old guy never caught on?"
"He was very old, and his eyesight, although excellent for seeing far things, was not good for things near. Master Nonga did not suspect he had two sons. When the time came to teach Kojing Sinanju, the trickery continued. Kojing learned the first day's lesson and at night taught it to Kojong, who took the lesson of the second day and passed it on to his brother, and so this went until both had absorbed Sinanju.
"On the day Kojing was invested as the next Master, Master Nonga died, for in truth he lived only as long as he needed to fulfill his obligations, for he was very tired of baby-making and being the father of so many useless girls."
"I bet," Remo said.
"And on that day, Kojong revealed himself. But there could be only one Master of Sinanju, and so Kojong, because he was not Kojing, the boy Master Nonga thought he was training alone, announced that he was leaving Sinanju, and leaving Korea, to live. He pledged not to pass along knowledge of the sun source, but instead to pass along only the spirit of his ancestors, the many Masters of Sinanju, saying to the village, 'The day may come when a Master will sire no sons and the line of Sinanju will face extinction. On that day seek out the sons of Kojong, and in them find a worthy vessel to carry on the traditions.' And so Kojong sailed into the cold mists of the bay."