Warren Murphy - Line of Succession

"You always do this to me," he complained.

"Is this my thanks for being the bearer of messages?"

"What does Smitty want now?"

"Nothing that I know of," answered Chiun. "This message is from Sinanju."

Remo leapt to his feet. His expression became one of surprised joy. "From Mah-LO."

"Who else would waste ink on a fly-chaser such as you?" asked Chiun, producing an envelope from one voluminous sleeve.

Remo snatched it like a hungry man offered bread. Chiun's parchment face wrinkled in disapproval. "Do not be so eager," he sniffed. "She merely asks the same tiresome question put forth in her last twenty letters. Honestly, Remo, how could you think of marrying such a nag?"

"You read my mail?" Remo asked, shocked.

The Master of Sinanju shrugged casually. "It was damaged in transit. The flap was loose and the contents fell out. "

Remo examined the flap. "It's sealed now."

"Of course. If I had not sealed it with my parched old tongue, the letter might have fallen out again and become lost."

Remo ignored Chiun's answer and sliced one end of the envelope open with the sweep of a sharp fingernail. He read the letter eagerly.

"She says everything is fine in Sinanju," Remo said.

"Tell me something I do not know."

"She wants to know when we're coming home."

"Tell her you do not know."

"Cut it out, Chiun. We've only got another few weeks before our contract with Smith is over. We're free after that. "

"What is the rush to return?" said Chiun. "I have been thinking. How long has it been since we've had a vacation? Perhaps we could tour this wonderful land of America before we leave its shores forever. By train. The airplanes are no longer reliable."

"Neither are the trains," said Remo. "And the rush to return is for my wedding. Mah-Li and I should have been married three months ago. The engagement period was supposed to be only nine months. I've been stuck in America now for almost a year, thanks to you."

"Stuck?" squeaked Chiun, shocked. "How can you say you have been stuck when your every waking hour has been spent in the awesome presence of Chiun, reigning Master of Sinanju?"

"I'm bored," said Remo. "Smith hasn't had any assignments for you lately. And I've been cooling my heels in this room so long I'm reduced to catching flies for entertainment. "

"You could get a job," suggested Chiun. "It is not unheard-of for persons such as yourself to find honest work."

"No way," said Remo. "We'll be out of here before I can read my way through the classified section."

"Correction," said Chiun. "I will be out of here. When my year of service is completed-assuming Emperor Smith and I do not come to a new understanding-Smith will offer me return passage to Sinanju as a final payment for the service I have rendered him. Because you do not work for him in an official capacity, that boon will not be extended to yourself."

"You wouldn't leave me stranded in America, would you, Little Father?" Remo asked quietly.

"Of course not. I would allow you to accompany me."

"Then it's settled. I'll write Mah-Li to expect us on the first of the month."

"Be sure to leave the year blank," said Chiun blandly. "For we are not returning directly to Sinanju."

Remo's expression became stony.

"I am considering going on a world tour," Chiun said loftily.

"You've seen more of the world than a spy satellite. So have I, for that matter. Screw the world. And the tour of it."

"Oh, this is not a mere tour of the world," said Chiun. "This is a world tour, like the ones famous people do."

"World tour, tour of the world," Remo said, throwing up his hands. "What's the difference?"

"The difference is that I will be treated like a star in every capital. I will stay in the finest hotels. I will be feted by heads of state as befits my exalted position in the affairs of the world. And of course I will give a benefit concert in every major city. I am thinking of calling it the Sinanju World Tour."

"You can't sing," Remo pointed out.

"Nor will I."

"You don't do stand-up comedy either."

"I was hoping you would perform that function," said Chiun. "I will require a warmed-over act."

"That's warm-up. Warm-up act."

"A distinction without a difference."

"Then what, pray tell, will you do at these concerts?"

"Why, what I do best."

"Heckle me?"

"No, insolent one. I will show the world the wonders of Sinanju. For a price, of course."

"I thought you said these would be benefit concerts."

"They will be," said Chiun. "They are for the benefit of the starving villagers of Sinanju, who are so poor that sometimes they have to drown their infants in the cold bay because they have no food. Did you ever hear of an Ethiopian doing that? No, yet people give them millions." Remo folded his bare arms.

"The picture is becoming clear. But wouldn't performing feats of Sinanju onstage bring us down to the level of the karate dancers?"

"Remo! I am shocked. I do not propose to waste Sinanju doing stupid magic tricks. No, I will first contact the local governments and offer to eliminate their most dangerous criminals and political enemies-at a reduced rate. They will bring these wretches to the exhibition halls, where I will dispose of them before a live audience, who will naturally pay for the privilege of watching perfection at work."

"I'm not sure many people would be interested in watching you kill people onstage."

"Nonsense. Executing criminals was a highly popular entertainment in Roman times. In fact, that is where I will launch the Sinanju World Tour. In Rome."

"You could clean up, at that," Remo said thoughtfully.

"Oh, the live audience is nothing. They will be there merely to provide applause. The real money is in the TV rights. I will sell rights to the concerts to the networks of countries on the formal tour, which will naturally create interest in further tours."

"This could go on for years," Remo said with a sigh.

"By the time we return to Sinanju, we will be wealthy men and will have created new markets for our illustrious descendants. Think of their gratitude, Remo."

"You think of their gratitude. I'm thinking that if I don't return to Sinanju soon, I won't have any descendants."

"Just like you to think of sex when your mind should be on matters of lasting importance," Chiun scolded.

"I'm not thinking of sex. I'm thinking of Mah-Li. You just don't want me to settle down. You think if we go back to Sinanju, the villagers will fall all over me like they did last time and ignore you because I promised to support the village after you retire."

"You lie. My villagers love me. They worship the very path I walk upon."

"As long as the path is paved with gold, yes."

The Master of Sinanju stamped an angry sandal, but said nothing. His cheeks puffed out in repressed fury.

"And I'm not playing second banana to you in any freaking world tour," Remo added. "That's final."

"I will let you be my personal manager, then," Chiun said testily. "But it is my final offer."

"Pass," said Remo.

Chiun opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Enter," said the Master of Sinanju grandly.

"This is my room, remember?" Remo pointed out.

Dr. Harold W. Smith entered the room looking as pale as the gray three-piece suit hanging off his spare frame. He was a symphony in pallor. His sparse hair nearly matched his white shirt, and behind rimless glasses his frantic eyes were color coordinated with his suit. He tightened his Dartmouth tie until the knot threatened to strangle him.

"Hail, Emperor Smith, Keeper of the Constitution and defender of the secret organization called CURE, about which we are in blissful ignorance," Chiun said in a loud voice.