"How are they going to blow up all of middle America? They're not the Russians," Remo said.
"They don't have to be. Besides, some things could be worse than a few atomic bombs," Smith said.
Reginald Woburn III wore shorts, a white T-shirt and sandals, and happily hummed to himself. He was watching a film. There was Du Wok with a sword. There was the notebook. Reggie ran it backward and the notebook went from the sword hand back to the thrower. The film had been taken with an incredibly highspeed camera. If it hadn't, it would not have caught the motion of the man in the pink-gray suit. One of the problems was, there were seventeen suits just like it. But this was one of the only three in the front row. And the film he had was the only one shot with enough frames per second to capture the movement of the notebook. Indeed, the book had been moving so fast it was shredding because the air acted like sandpaper against its pages.
Reggie recognized the man. The American. The second plum. It was all so clear it was almost easy. First the eavesdropping devices that did not work. That showed what they did professionally, because only professionals would be used to being bugged. If indeed this American was somehow from the family of the old Korean, they would be working for only the highest power in the land. And the old one had mentioned something about the government when he was talking to Reggie. So it had been naturaclass="underline" threaten the President and they would have to come to his aid. When Remo left the Del Ray condominium suddenly after the notes to the President, Reggie was sure that he had found his men. Or more accurately, that they had come to him, for the great secret of the seventh stone was that they themselves were going to show him how to kill them.
Reginald watched the high-speed camera catch the action again. It was a white wrist and a white hand. It was indeed the second plum. Reggie had set the stage and there was the actor. He ran the film again and calculated the force of the notebook. And the wrist had hardly moved in throwing it. Phenomenal.
They were the ones he sought, Reginald knew. He had expected them both to be Koreans with Korean features, but he was sure that the white one was somehow related to the old one, and he knew the old one must be just as awesome as the white. He could see how one of these would be able to chase a prince and his army across the world and off the maps of the world. They were frightening. He watched the movement of the wrist again. It was so natural, so economical. He knew others might be impressed with the result, but he was looking at the source. If he had not been searching for this, if he had not known it was there, he never would have seen it in the one true way of seeing anything. Understanding it. But there it was, more frightening and somehow more desirable than even that first bull elephant he had killed.
And the two of them had looked like only human beings at first. Reggie found himself humming an old prayer and then he realized it was in the language his father had taught him for gods long dead in lands not even remembered. The kingdom Prince Wo had ruled was gone. But the power of the Korean was not. It had been worth the wait.
His telephone was ringing. It was his father. The Woks from Djakarta, Indonesia, were complaining to his father that Reggie had killed their blessed son Du and that while they recognized the first son of the first son as the true lord by right, this did not include getting killed. "Father," said Reginald. "it does."
"How do you expect to keep the line of the family together if you get them killed?"
"We'll take care of that," said Reggie.
"Do you have others with you?"
"No, we don't," said Reginald. "But we will take care of it."
As he hung up the telephone, Reggie thought that while he might have people working for him, he had no one with him. Princes never did. They were always alone.
In Djakarta, the family of Wok received a special silver-and-jade platter sent by the firstborn of the firstborn in the direct line of Prince Wo.
In the center covered by fine silks was the special surprise. Of such wonder was it, such grandness were the jewels under the silk, that Reginald Woburn III had one request. He wanted the children of the Wok family present for the unveiling of the gift. He was truly repentant for the loss of one of their members serving him and while the gift could never compensate for a life, it most certainly would show his feelings.
It had one warning. They could not remove the silk hastily because it would ruin the fine lacquers and spun gold. It had to be unwrapped under precise instructions and for that they would have to be talked through it on the telephone. Considering that the outside corners each held gems worth over a hundred thousand dollars, the Woks could only imagine what the value of the center would be.
"Are the babies there? I want the babies, no matter how young, to be there," said Reggie. "They must remember this day."
"Yes, everyone."
"Everyone?" Reggie asked. There was a long pause.
"Why would you not think everyone is here?"
"Because we suspect that Ree Wok is disloyal. We do not wish for him to share in this treasure if he is not there," Reggie said.
"Reginald, you really do have eyes across seas for thousands of miles. The one of whom you speak was reluctant. How did you see that?"
"We will start without him," Reggie said, "because we see greater things. We see into your hearts. Now, is the platter on the floor?"
"Yes."
"There are no tables or chairs there?"
"No."
"Everybody gather round," said Reggie. "Now place the youngest child directly over the silk pile. Is it there?"
"Yes, yes. My arms are getting tired holding him."
"Just put him down."
"Feetfirst?"
"Any way," said Reggie. Suddenly there was a clicking on the line and all he could hear was transoceanic interference, a crackling and then the line was dead.
"Hello," he said and no one answered.
Within the hour, Ree Wok, the man who was not at the family gathering, telephoned.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for saving me."
"Did any escape?" Reggie asked.
"None. The entire house collapsed. Pieces were found a half-mile away, I have heard."
"Ree Wok, we declare you now head of the Wok clan."
"Yes, great Prince. But there are no Woks left."
"Take a wife," said Reggie. "We command it."
"Yes, great Prince."
Father was on the phone shortly thereafter and Reggie had to explain that he had reasons for what he did and the family had grown quite sloppy over the centuries and that finally the family would return to its full glory with the Koreans gone.
"Father," he concluded. "We just don't have time for you."
"Are they gone yet, the Koreans?"
"You don't even know who they are," said Reggie to the silly old man.
"Have you killed them?"
"We will," Reggie said.
(History of Sinanju from the gracious pen of Chiun, for those to come, that the House of Sinanju shall in its glory prosper and survive.)
"And through the years, Chiun would accept no obstacle, even though the pupil was not from precisely what was considered the old borders of the village. As has been mentioned in the histories, these borders changed often. Sometimes those who lived west of the mill were considered Sinanju. Sometimes not. Who was to say where the borders in one age began and where in another they left off? As has been mentioned in previous histories by Chiun, there might be those who would question, not without some foundation, whether Chiun's pupil was indeed born within the formal boundaries of the village. There are always those who will quibble.
"Nevertheless, through the years, Remo showed that Chiun could raise him to that level which could not be denied. He was Sinanju, even if he had been born as far away as the south village. Nay, even Peking or Tokyo, which he was not.