“I’m supposed to take an heir,” Remo said, without really meaning to.
“This I know.”
Remo wondered how much Sunny Joe did know about him, about Sinanju traditions. The Native American tribe was descended from Sinanju, from one of the twin brothers who were Sinanju Masters centuries ago. Two Masters was a violation of tradition, so one twin, Kojong, left behind his village on the rocky coast of Korea and vanished. His fate was unknown in Sinanju until discovered by Remo and Remo’s adopted father, Chiun, Master of Sinanju Emeritus. They learned that Kojong had journeyed to the North American continent and become the spiritual leader of a small tribe, who called him Ko Jong Oh.
The series of events that had occurred over the centuries to intertwine Remo Williams by blood and by training with this ancient Arizona tribe and the Korean art of Sinanju was so intricate that there was no way to rationalize it, no way to name it coincidence. The implications of it not being coincidence were mind-boggling. Remo preferred to not think about it and to stay blissfully unboggled.
“I didn’t even know it myself, that I had it in the back of my head. You know, that maybe Freya would be the right choice to be my heir. Then it occurred to me that she was all wrong for the job, and that’s when it hit me that I’d been sizing her up.”
“Is that why you came here this time?” Roam asked.
“No. Just came to visit.” They walked a few more paces. “Maybe. Maybe that’s why I came.”
“What reason do you need to have an heir now?”
“No reason. I mean, Chiun’s harping on me occasionally to find somebody, but I think he just uses that as filler when he’s got nothing else to complain about.”
“But something makes you seek an heir now?”
They walked a long way under the stars before Remo answered. “Something makes me seek out Freya now.” He smiled. “I think I wanted to rule her out. See, she was a candidate. Now she’s not. She’s safe.”
Sunny Joe nodded. “Safe from your life?”
“Yes.”
“Is your life so bad?”
“My life fits me. I was meant to be who I am. But I wouldn’t wish it on Freya.”
“What of Winston?”
“What about him?”
“But he is your son, in blood. Is he a possible heir?” Remo suddenly experienced a flood of new questions. If he had come to the village with the subconscious intention of evaluating Freya, had he meant to evaluate Winner, too? If not, why not? If so, why had he decided at some level already that his son, an experienced commando with battlefield kills, would be unfit?
“I don’t know, he’s kind of a jerk,” Remo said finally. “Plus he’s like Freya—he’s a Sun On Jo now. He’s not a killer anymore.”
“Huh.” This ancient Sun On Jo word translated into “bullshit”.
“He’s a child,” Remo added. “He’s immature. He’s an egotistical brat. Most Sinanju Masters do begin training when they’re young, but they grow up with their training. I’d be pushing the envelope enough by taking a trainee who’s already grown up. But one who’s grown up and still acts like he’s in junior high school? Now that would be asking for trouble.”
“I think that is good thinking,” Sunny Joe Roam said. “But I think one day Winner will knock your socks off. Boys have a way of surprising their fathers.”
“I guess so.”
They were miles away and gazing down on the village, peaceful and dark.
“Don’t look like too much when you look at it from all the way up here,” Roam observed.
“Looks like the whole world to me,” Remo said.
“Yep.”
Remo squinted. There was a flicker of tight on the horizon. Car headlights, coming toward the village. Sun On Jo didn’t often get visitors, let alone in the dead of night. Who would that be?
“My son.”
The familiar words, said in that gruff Native American voice, caught Remo off guard and he looked at Sunny Joe Roam.
“Yes?”
“You were saying true words, that you’re satisfied with the life you lead. You believe that.”
“Yes, I believe that.” Remo said.
“There could come a day, maybe, when you won’t feel that way.”
“I guess it’s possible, sure.”
Sunny Joe looked out at the village.
“Remember what I told those people when I showed you off to them the first time?”
Remo thought about that, trying to remember.
“That’d be the prince,” Roam said, starting back toward the village as the headlights burst over a rise in the road.
“Huh? Prince Junior?”
“Said he’d get here by midnight,” Roam said. “It’s almost three. Thought I gave him pretty good directions.”
Remo caught up and they paced quickly back to the village. “You talked to him?”
“He’s been calling since ’bout an hour after you got here. You told us to hold your calls, remember?”
“Sure.”
“So he finally said he’d come to talk to you in person.”
“Dammit. Why can’t they leave me alone?”
Chapter 6
Mark Howard stopped the car amid the dark buildings. The place didn’t feel abandoned; it felt as if it was ignoring him.
So what did he do now? Which house was Roam’s anyway? He took out his mobile phone, feeling stupid, but there was no other way than to simply phone Roam and ask him to wave from his doorstep or something.
The phone turned to air in his hands. The car turned itself off and the lights went dark. There was something black and menacing standing outside the rental car, and for a second Mark Howard’s mind conjured an irrational riot of possibilities.
“Shut up. Don’t make another freaking sound. Isn’t it good enough that you had to wake the whole place up?”
“Remo,” Howard said. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Come on.”
Mark Howard felt himself extracted through the window of the little rental car like a cooked snail being I forked out of its buttery shell. His yelp was flattened behind a rough hand clamped over his face, and he struggled for a minute as the village melted away and he found himself in the desert.
Unexpectedly he was free and he crashed onto his feet. If he hadn’t landed on sand he might have snapped a bone.
“Ouch! That hurt!”
“Lower your voice,” Remo growled.
Howard glared at the village. “We’re a half mile away.”
“It’s the desert. Sound carries. You already woke up everybody in town with your racket and your lights.”
“I didn’t see anybody.”
“Yeah. They saw you and everybody was wondering who the fool was who didn’t know enough to douse his lights and turn off his car when he comes into a sleeping village.”
Mark Howard was getting his wind back. “Remo, look,” he said angrily. “I’ve got about a hundred reasons to be pissed off at you right now. You refuse to stay in communication with us, you ignore our messages, you make me come down to get you in person! You know how long I’ve been wandering around Arizona trying to find this place?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Go home.”
‘Tm not going home. I came here to give you a mission briefing.”
“A mission briefing?” Remo asked incredulously. “Listen, braniac, did you or the emperor in the ugly clothes ever stop to think about why I put up the Do Not Disturb sign?”
“We need—”
“It’s so I won’t be disturbed.”
“We have a situation that requires your involvement.”
Remo folded his arms on his chest, staring at the village. It wasn’t just that CURE was interrupting his vacation time; it was that Sun On Jo had been violated by this intrusion of Remo’s other world. “Junior, go tell Smitty I don’t want a mission briefing and I don’t want to be involved in any situation. I want to have some time. That’s all. Just a few days of peace and quiet.”