"Precisely," Chiun said.
"Okay, Sherlock. If you have it down to a science, what's bothering me? I hadn't exactly sorted it out myself."
"It is many things. A yearning for home is paramount. I sensed that. from the start. That is why I knew you would come here, to Newark. You have known no other place in your sorry existence."
"It hasn't been so bad."
"Have you visited with Sister Mary Margaret yet?"
"Now, how did you know I was even thinking of her?"
"Before me, you had no one. But Sister Mary Margaret raised you."
"All the nuns raised me."
"But she is the only one you ever speak about."
"Well," Remo said, "I haven't seen her. I don't even know where to find her, or even if she's still alive. The orphanage is long gone."
"Your past is long gone, but I understand your yearnings. Sometimes I miss the village of my youth, the pearl of the Orient called Sinanju."
"How anyone could miss that mud hole is beyond me."
Chiun looked around him disdainfully.
"I could say the same of your sordid environment."
"Touche," Remo said. "But you haven't finished. What am I doing here?"
"You wish a place you can call your own. You thought that place was to be found in your past. But having come here, you now understand that you have outgrown this place."
"Fine. I admit it. Just to avoid prolonging this conversation. There's nothing back here for me. Not even Sister Mary Margaret. Besides, she never visited me once on Death Row."
"And it still hurts."
Remo looked away quickly. "She probably figured I was guilty, like everyone else. Or maybe she didn't know."
"After all these years, it still haunts you. That you might have disappointed her."
"Not me."
"No, not you. Never you. For as long as I've known you, you deny your deepest feelings."
"Something's missing from my life, Chiun. I really feel it now that I've seen Newark again."
"Yes, Remo. Something is missing. And I know what it is."
"What?"
"Me."
"No, I don't mean you." Chiun's face shrank.
"Don't take it personally," Remo said dryly. "But I did live a few years before Smith put you to training me."
"An unimportant prelude to your existence," Chiun said dismissively. "Banish those years from your mind."
"I feel empty, Chiun."
"You are filled with the sun source. You are the first white man so blessed. Although it was a long struggle, with you fighting me every step along the path, I have made you whole. I have made you Sinanju."
"Empty," Remo repeated. "See that?"
Chiun looked. His clear hazel eyes narrowed questioningly.
"That spire?" he demanded.
"Yeah. I used to go to church there."
"So?"
"I haven't been to church in a long time," Remo said wistfully. "Maybe I should go."
"Why do you not, if it means so much to you?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought about religion in years. I guess I feel self-conscious."
"White as you are, I do not doubt it," Chiun said critically.
"Don't be that way. I meant self-conscious about the things that I do. I was a Catholic, you know. We're supposed to confess our sins to cleanse our souls."
"Ah, I understand now. You are embarrassed to confess your terrible heinous sins."
Remo's face lit up. "Yeah. That's it."
"You think that forgiveness is beyond the priest's province."
"Something like that. You really understand, don't you?"
"Yes. And let me allay your fears. Go to the priest. Confess your transgressions, and if he balks at forgiving you, tell him that the Master of Sinanju has forgiven you for the years of insults and humiliation you have heaped upon his frail shoulders. And if he further hesitates, tell him that if the victim of your many sins is so forgiving, how can a lowly priest be any less generous?" And Chiun smiled.
Remo glowered.
"Those weren't the exact sins I was worried about," he said.
"No?" Chiun's cheeks puffed out in disappointment. "What other sins have you committed, Remo?"
"All this killing."
"Killing? How is ridding the earth of vermin in the service of an emperor sinful? I do not understand."
"In the religion I was raised in, all killing is wrong."
"Nonsense. If that were so, then your priests would have deserted these murderous shores long ago. For if there is any sin in killing, it is the sinfulness of killing without pay, or in passion, or for mere greed."
"All killing," Remo repeated firmly. "I put it out of my mind for a long time, but it's starting to bother me. A lot of things are starting to bother me."
"Then go confess. I will wait here."
"Can't. It won't work."
"Then I will go with you, and if the selfish priest refuses to ease your conscience, then I will eliminate him and we will search until we find a properly righteous and generous priest."
"Doesn't work that way, Little Father. Besides, I can't tell anyone-even a priest about the work I do. CURE operates outside the Constitution. If it gets out that we've been holding America together illegally, we might as well go back to being a colony of England. No. Smith would have to have the priest killed to preserve the organization's security. Not that I believe it's necessary, but that's what Smith would do."
"So? You would already be forgiven by that time."
"That's not the point. Every mission I undertake after that would only pile more sin on my soul. I can't go to confession every time I come back from a mission, knowing that Smith or you would have to take care of the priest."
"This religion of yours," Chiun said. "It has you completely in its insidious power."
"Not really. I haven't gone to church in a long, long time. "
"But after all these years, its grip still clutches your heart."
"I'm troubled. That's all. Never mind. I can sort it out. Why don't you leave me alone for a while? I'll come back to Foleroft when I'm done."
"You cannot."
"Why not?"
"Because Smith has a mission for you."
"I'm not in a mission mood," Remo said sourly.
"It is a minor mission. It will not take long."
"Why don't you go, then?"
"I cannot. I have a minor mission too."
"Two missions?"
"Minor missions," Chiun corrected.
"What are they?"
"Nothing of consequence. A skyjacking for you. Another skyjacking for me."
"Two skyjackings? Coincidence?"
"Perhaps. But Smith has sent me to find you so that we may settle these trivial matters."
"How many people at risk?"
"Hundreds."
"Then I guess my problems can wait," said Remo, heading for the trapdoor.
"If you call such trifles problems," Chiun said, trailing after him. "Now, I have problems. . . ."
When they reached the street, a prowl car was drawing up. Two uniformed police stepped out, and shielding their eyes against streetlamp shine, struggled to see the rooftop.
"Looking for the jumper?" Remo asked casually.
"Yeah, you see him?" the driving cop asked suddenly.
"Sure did. I just talked him down."
"Any description?" the second cop wanted to know while the first one pulled out a pencil and pad of paper. "Let's see now," Remo said slowly. "I'd say he was about five-foot-five, weight one-eighty, age about twenty-seven, brown on brown, wearing jeans with a hole in the right knee. He had on a hooded peach sweatshirt and orange sneakers. He went up that street just a few minutes ago."
"Thanks," said the first cop as they both piled back into the car.
"If you find him," Remo offered, "I'd stick him in the psycho ward if I were you. He kept ranting about jumping. Over and over. He sounded obsessed with the idea."