Warren Murphy - Lost Yesterday

“Yes, I do believe the Bayonne disaster just as much as the hijacking was the result of America's persecution of religion.”

In the Oval Office the President gave a single order to Smith.

“I want your two specialists. I don't care how you go about getting them. Get them.”

“The organization's system located them in Newark, sir, but after that I don't know where they're going to be. I believe that Remo was the one who kept both of them here, but we can't count on that now.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I don't know if he knows anymore that he's working for us.”

* * *

Remo felt it was great to finally meet the image that had been talking to him.

“All I wanted to do, Little Father, was to go home, but I never knew where that was. Now I know. Sinanju, right?”

“The most perfect village in the world, where your ancestors came from,” said Chiun.

They were in an airline terminal, and Chiun had placed his long fingernails under Remo's shirt just under the breastbone to synchronize his breathing, to make his lungs and the pores of his body work in unison so that his bloodstream would reverse the process of absorbing substances and now eject them.

But Chiun did not think of it in terms of bloodstream, rather as the poetry of the body, as he had learned from the Master before him and as the Master learned from the Master before him, from those first days when Sinanju learned the true powers of the human body and became the sun source of all the martial arts, only to be copied by others over the centuries.

Remo felt the fingernails and tried to concentrate, but the clank of coin machines and the smell of passing perfumes bothered him. It was then that he realized the coin machines were at the other end of the airport and his hearing was coming back. The perfumes were faint scents, which meant his smell was coming back.

His memory came only in pieces, though. He remembered looking at the star, and then he realized it was at that moment in the universe when it was decided what he would become, and his mind remembered it even if he couldn't.

He remembered Chiun. He remembered the lessons. He remembered thinking so many times that he would die. He remembered hating Chiun, and remembered learning respect, and later knowing and loving the man as the father he never knew.

He remembered Sinanju, the muddy little village from which came the greatest house of assassins of all time. He remembered to breathe. He tasted the onion-and-garlic essence of the liquid he had touched back in California. He remembered reaching into a tub to save a grown man, acting like a child, who was drowning. He remembered losing control of his skin.

He was not up to peak. And this had set him back a little farther.

Some things were still spotty. He knew Sinanju was the village, but his home was not in the place itself but in its teaching. He was raised in the orphanage in Newark. He got that right.

“Yes, you are Sinanju, Remo,” said Chiun, who was now not a vision anymore. And Remo knew why he could see him when he had forgotten everything else. He could see him because Chiun was within him like any good teacher. And Remo thought Chiun was the greatest teacher the world had ever known.

“I remember. I am not Korean at all,” said Remo.

Chiun's fingers stopped. “Don't go that far. You are. Your father was Korean.”

“Really? I didn't know that. How did you know that?”

“I will explain it later, but you will see the histories of Sinanju, our histories, and you will understand how you have been able to know so much.”

“It's because of your great teaching, Little Father. I think you are the greatest teacher the world has ever known,” Remo said.

“That too,” said Chiun.

“Hey, I forgot. I've got to check in. The people I was after got away.”

“Everyone gets away in America. We don't belong here.”

“I do, Little Father. That's the problem,” said Remo, who still remembered the contact number for Smith.

Remo was apologetic and Chiun was outraged.

“Never admit to an emperor you have done wrong,” Chiun said in Korean. But Remo ignored him.

“What are we all doing in the White House? Isn't this the worst possible contact point? Talk of risking exposure.”

“Somehow the Dolomos have gotten through to the President. I am afraid they will again. If the President turns into a hostile three-year-old, the whole world can go up. I brought Chiun here for that reason.”

“Ah, so. That is the excuse he will use to seize the throne,” Chiun said to Remo in Korean, and to Smith in English, “Most wise.”

“He's not going to take any throne,” Remo answered. “He had you here because he couldn't kill the President himself. He wanted you to do it. Then he would demolish the organization and kill himself.”

“On the eve of his enthronement?” asked Chiun, so incredulous that he forgot to speak in Korean.

“I've told you this, you just don't want to know, Little Father,” said Remo.

“I have since worked out a way to defend against an intrusion of that sort,” said Smith. “The question is, how fit are you?”

“I'd be vulnerable to that solution.”

“You stay here. Can you do what is necessary if the President is stricken by the Dolomos?”

“You mean can I kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Sure,” said Remo.

“No problem there?”

“It's the right move, Smitty.”

“Yes. I suppose so,” said Smith. “Maybe I'm getting old. I couldn't do it.”

“He couldn't do anything, the crazy lunatic,” Chiun said in Korean, and in English added, “Benevolence is of course the signal character of a great ruler.”

“Chiun, with Remo here we can send you. We need to free a group of passengers being held prisoner on an island, and make sure, above all make sure we get control of a formula created by two people, Rubin and Beatrice Dolomo. Get them too while you're at it.”

“Another stupid shopping list from the lunatic in residence,” Chiun said to Remo in Korean, and in English told Smith, “We fly with the speed of your very words.”

“No. Remo has to stay here.”

“Then we shall guard your honor with our lives.”

“No. I want one to do one thing and the other to do another.”

“Both shall do both simultaneously and add to your glory in greater power than a single leaf on a single branch.”

“We have got to have Remo here to do what must be done and you in Harbor Island to do what you must do.”

“Ah,” said Chiun. “I understand. Remo and I will be off to Harbor Island immediately.”

“Smitty, he's not going to let me be anywhere alone in my condition. So give up on that plan of splitting us,” said Remo.

“Why did you say such a thing to Smith?” asked Chiun in Korean, and in the same language Remo answered:

“Because it's true.”

“So?”

“So if we all know what we are doing we don't have to play games.”

“Treating an emperor properly is not a game. Woe be to the assassin who always tells his emperor the truth.”

And in English Remo said to Smith:

“You've got to choose.”

“All right. I have something worked out here if the President is stricken. Go to Harbor Island. But stay in contact. The phone system there is shaky. We'll give you a communications device that links you with a satellite. This whole thing is going to be tricky. I want control from here. I care about the hostages, I want to get the Dolomos, but that stuff is a nightmare.”

“What is it exactly?” asked Remo.

“They're finding out now. The real problem is that some of it won't break down with time.”

“So bury it.”