Father to Son td-129 Read online

  "What the hell?" Remo snarled as the driver tried repeatedly to stab him. Remo dodged the thrusting blade. The knife made a mess of the upholstery of the back seat.

  "Death to the infidel!" the driver yelled in garbled English. He slobbered around his stick of dynamite. "I thought you said he couldn't speak English," Remo demanded of the Master of Sinanju.

  "That?" Chiun asked. "Oh, they pick that phrase up like litter off the streets of Kabul."

  The cab began to slow in traffic. The instant it did, a bounce came hard from behind. The rear bumper of the taxi had been tapped by a fast-moving truck, propelling the taxi forward in a more-or-less straight line. Tires squealed. A horn honked angrily.

  In the rear Remo hardly noted the noise or the jostling. His face had grown very cold.

  "Kabul?" he asked. "Like Afghanistan Kabul?"

  "Death to America!" the driver said, saliva dripping from the end of his dynamite. When he spoke, he almost lost the hissing stick. He had to pause in midstab to reposition the dynamite. He clenched the far end in his molars.

  "There is only one Kabul," Chiun answered. "The world has not excreted enough dung that it has need of another."

  The driver was frustrated beyond understanding. Face glistening sweat, he continued trying to stab Remo, but only managed to shred the back seat. His frantic mind realized it didn't matter. The American was seconds from death. There would not be satisfaction from seeing him die by the knife, but the explosive would do the job the blade could not.

  Even as the man was attempting to stab him, Remo noted the burning fuse. The driver gave one last jab with his blade when Remo finally nodded.

  "Okay, that's long enough," Remo announced when the fuse was mere seconds from burning completely away. He promptly plucked the stick of dynamite from the cabdriver's mouth.

  He plugged it hissing-fuse-first down the man's throat. Grabbing the cabbie by his dirty pajamas, he heaved him out the window and over the bridge. The gagging driver couldn't even scream. He was halfway to the Thames when his fuse burned down deep in his gullet and his body went boom.

  Afghan meat splattered silvery waves.

  Up on the bridge, Remo scrambled up over the seat and dropped in behind the taxi's wheel.

  He hit the gas and pulled away from the honking truck. Swerving through traffic, he left the truck and its angry driver in their wake.

  "What the hell just happened?" Remo demanded over his shoulder as he sped off Westminster Bridge.

  "You killed our driver, that's what happened," Chiun clucked unhappily. "What is wrong with you?"

  "He tried to kill me first," Remo snarled.

  "Yes, but he had not taken us to the airport yet. You could have waited until then to remove him. Now we will need to find another. Pull over."

  "Like hell."

  "Remo, in this country they drive on the other side of those little lines in the street. I do not trust that you will stay on the proper side of the little lines in a coloring book, let alone on the streets of a foreign land."

  "Screw the lines," Remo said. "I want to know why that guy just tried to blow my head off."

  Chiun's weathered face grew annoyed. "Apparently the British learned from you Americans how to keep a secret, that's why," he muttered. "And now, thanks to their loose lips, we need to find another taxi. Stop the car."

  "No. And for the record, U.S. security only started to suck once we turned over all our national secrets to the ACLU and People for the American Way for safekeeping. What did that guy learn from the British?"

  Chiun folded his arms, irritated. "That you were going to be here, obviously." He released a long, weary sigh. "You are going to make this difficult for me, aren't you?"

  "If you mean am I going to go tra-la skipping along like nothing happened after two attempted murders in less than a half hour, no, I'm not."

  And because he saw now that his intransigent pupil would not be persuaded to continue without an explanation, the Master of Sinanju reluctantly agreed to offer one.

  "Although it is against my better judgment to betray one of our most beautiful traditions," the old Korean warned.

  "Nothing beautiful about people trying to kill me."

  "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

  Chapter 9

  Chiun instructed Remo to turn the cab around. They headed back over the Thames into the tourist heart of the city. Remo ditched the cab near Hyde Park. It was just as well. After the incident on the bridge, the car had probably been reported to the police by now.

  The two Masters of Sinanju strolled along the paths of Hyde Park, sitting in the brown grass in the shadow of a great spreading ash. Children played in the sun.

  As he sat cross-legged on the ground, Chiun fussed at his silk kimono, smoothing it at the knees.

  "As part of your training in the awesome magnificence that is the art of Sinanju, I have taught you the lessons of the Masters who have come before us," the Reigning Master of Sinanju began without preamble.

  Remo felt an involuntary chill. For years Chiun had hammered home the legends of his ancestors. A lot of the information Remo had been forced to memorize had to do with who begat whom, what they ate for lunch, as well as every little niggling detail about how they managed to score an extra denarius from a certain emperor of Rome. Because of this, Remo had become expert in avoiding listening to the tales. But it was different this day.

  Those men were with him now, in death forming the Masters' Tribunal. The eyes that had been with him for the past year crowded around him in Hyde Park. The Masters who had bequeathed their hard-won lessons to the ages watched from some other realm. In the heart of London, Remo Williams felt the history of Sinanju all around him.

  Feeling the weight of hundreds of disapproving stares, all Remo could do was nod.

  Chiun accepted the silence with understanding. "Of all the tales you have learned, most important is the tale of the Great Wang," the old man said. "For though other, lesser Masters preceded him, Wang towered above them all. The truth of the Sun Source was his to discover and explore, and so he is remembered as the first. Know you, Remo, the tale of Wang?"

  Remo was surprised to even be asked the question. "Of course I do, Little Father. You've drilled it into my head over and over practically since the day we met."

  Chiun raised his chin, stretching his wattled neck. "Tell it to me," he commanded.

  There would be no argument. Remo knew his teacher thought it important for him to speak the words. Feeling self-conscious about his invisible audience-one member of which was doubtless the Great Wang himself-Remo began.

  "Wang lived at a time when there were many trained in the art of early Sinanju," Remo said. "These were called night tigers, the soldiers of Sinanju. Now, even in that age of many students, there was still only one Master who was head of the village. When the time came for him to retire, he would choose from the night tigers the one who would succeed him as Master. One day the older Master died before choosing a successor. There was fighting among the night tigers to see who would assume the mantle of Reigning Master. As the others fought, Wang went off to the wilderness to seek guidance from his dead ancestors. While there, legend says that a ring of fire descended from the heavens and, in an instant, gave Wang enlightenment. With a new vision and strength, Wang returned to the village and slew the quarreling night tigers. Afterward he assumed the title of Reigning Master, establishing the tradition of one pupil, one Master that has survived for millennia, all the way down to the modern age. Which brings us to this afternoon, Hyde Park, London, 5:17 p.m. Greenwich mean time."

  Chiun had listened to his pupil's recitation in silence.

  "Is that all?" he asked once Remo seemed finished.

  "Pretty much. That's the Reader's Digest version. I can give you the director's cut if you want."

  The old Korean shook his head. "For the time being I will forgive you the glaring omissions, for you have gotten the basic elements of the story. However, in the near future
we must go over that lesson again, for it is likely your wandering mind needs to be refreshed. Remind me."

  "I'll make a note of it," Remo promised, swearing silently to himself to never bring it up again.

  "Very well," Chiun said. "Now, while it is plain you know some of the beginnings of Wang's masterhood, you do not know all of what followed his ascendancy to his lofty position as first Master of Sinanju of the New Age. It is true that Wang was given in an instant the knowledge of true Sinanju, knowledge that took the remainder of his life to master. But not everyone believed in his newfound gifts."

  The old man's singsong voice settled back into the familiar cadence of teacher.

  "Not long after Wang had slain the lesser night tigers, an adviser to a Japanese shogun did come to the village to seek the counsel of the Master of Sinanju. He was greatly disappointed to find that the old Master had died and that Wang had taken his place, for he had dealt on several past occasions with Wang's predecessor. Still, Sinanju's reputation was already old by this point, and so the adviser did explain his master's problem to the young Wang.

  "According to the Japanese, his master, the shogun, had three wicked sons whom he had recently learned were plotting against him. The father was concerned, for all three sons had been tested in battle many times. All three were possessed of great physical strength, all three had powerful armies and all three were popular in the lands over which they ruled, lands given them by their father. Even after dividing his land among his sons, the father's kingdom remained the largest in the region, and was thus coveted by his heirs. They planned to kill their father and divide his land between them. To neutralize the threat to his kingdom and regain the land he had mistakenly turned over to his ungrateful offspring, the shogun wished to hire ten of Sinanju's greatest night tigers.

  "'Summon them and they may return with me this day,' the adviser said, 'to deal fluttering death blows to the wicked children of my master.' But Wang-who was still Wang at this point, he having not yet earned the title 'Great'-did shake his head. 'This I cannot do,' he said.

  "The adviser did not understand. 'My master will pay you well,' he promised. 'This you already know, for he has paid tribute to Sinanju five times for past services.'

  "But Wang did explain that it was not the tribute that was the problem. He told the adviser that Sinanju no longer used night tigers. The skills and reputation of the art of Sinanju were now invested in but a single man. In Wang himself. And when the adviser protested, Wang did instruct him, 'Go and tell your master that the tribute will be double, for such is the cost of skills unequaled. Further, inform him that the threats to his kingdom are already bound for the grave. This is the promise of Wang of Sinanju.'"

  Chiun paused in his recitation. This was long past the point in a story where Remo should have interrupted with an ill-timed and inappropriate remark. But Remo didn't interrupt. Sitting on the grass of Hyde Park, the younger Sinanju Master listened with rapt attention to the words of his teacher.

  Nodding his satisfaction, the old Korean continued. "The adviser was not convinced that Wang was all he claimed to be. But he had no choice, for the shogun had commanded that he seek help from Sinanju, and this young man with the eyes of joyful death was now the Master and head of the village. The adviser went on his way by boat to give the shogun the news. A day later, after the rituals of departure were complete, Wang did follow.

  "When he reached Japan, Wang did travel to the lands once controlled by the shogun. The kingdom of the eldest son was nearest, and so Wang did venture there first. On the road to the first son's palace, Wang was stopped by a group of five brigands who had been lying in wait for him. These highwayman did not demand his purse or tunic. Without a word they fell on Wang with clubs, intent on relieving him of his most valuable possession, his very life.

  "In an earlier time five men might present a threat to a mere night tiger of Sinanju. But the Sun Source was known to Wang, and so his swift hand did fly left and right. Thwack, thwack. Faster than the human eye could follow did Wang deal with the brigands, until all five spilled their blood on the road. And verily did Wang continue to the palace, whereupon he slew the first wicked son of the mighty shogun."

  Chiun paused again in his storytelling. Remo was still watching him intently.

  "Then what happened?" Remo asked.

  "You do not have any questions?" the old man asked.

  "No, I'm fine," Remo promised. "Go ahead." Nodding, Chiun opened his mouth to speak. "Except," Remo interrupted.

  "Yes?"

  "You said Wang was young. I thought you told me before he didn't become Master until he was in his fifties."

  "Fifty is a child still learning," the Master of Sinanju replied. "Sixty is the beginning of understanding. Seventy is the application of knowledge. It takes many years for a man to shed the false promises of youth, for the child only slowly becomes father to the man. Even for a Master of Sinanju who has reached his full physical peak, it takes time to shed the vestiges of youth."

  Remo's brow grew troubled. "How long?" he asked.

  "In your case? Ten million years," Chiun replied. "Do you have any other stupid questions?"

  Remo crossed his arms. "None that I'd dare ask after that," he grumbled. "And you're the one who asked."

  "You were silent for more than three seconds. I was afraid you were dead."

  The old Asian resumed his tale.

  "Now Wang did travel farther into the lands once owned by the shogun. And on the route to the palace of the second son he did encounter a small army of men. There were ten in total, all dressed in armor, all carrying heavy swords of forged iron. These were the men who would one day become samurai, but at this time they were merely hired killers without a name. Now these ten men did not order Wang to stop. They did not command him to turn around or step off the path so that they might pass. When Wang appeared on the road, they simply attacked without provocation.

  "And though their swords were fast, Wang was faster. Iron blades snapped and shields yielded soft to Wang's striking hands, and when he was finished the ten soldiers lay dead on the path. Wang viewed the bodies for a moment with suspicion before forging on to the palace wherein lived the second son. When Wang was through, the second son lived no more. After this second service was completed, Wang did venture on to the home of the third son.

  "While he was still a way off from the third and final palace, Wang was set upon by a group of men who had hidden in the shadows of the woods that lined the path. And when the attack came this time, Wang was not surprised.

  "There were twenty of them. Ninja they were, for it was after the time of Master Sam, who had recorded in the scrolls the theft of some of Sinanju's rudimentary skills by these Japanese. They were skilled in the art of death, these ninja. With fearsome speed they did hurl their shuriken and strike with their ninja swords. But although their numbers were great, the skills of the Master of Sinanju were greater. Wang did go among the ninja and through them, delivering death to them one by one, as only one of true Sinanju can. And when he was finished, the path was littered with ninja dead. Once the road was safe from ninja vermin, Wang did hasten to the near and final palace, where he did slay the last son of the shogun.

  "Once his task was complete and the three sons no longer lived to threaten their father, Wang did travel to the castle of the man who had hired him. There was he welcomed at court, for word of his victory over the shogun's three treacherous offspring had preceded him. And this powerful feudal lord did offer great praise to Wang for the skill and strength he had demonstrated. And as reward the shogun did offer three times the amount that was customarily paid to the night tigers of Sinanju, rather than the agreed-upon two.

  "But when the tribute was brought forward, Wang refused it. 'You will pay thirty and eight times the old amount,' Wang insisted, his voice calm and clear. And at his words a great silence descended on the shogun's court.

  "The Japanese lord did balk at such a grand sum. 'Are you mad?' the shogun dem
anded. 'That is more than it would have cost to raise a whole army against my wicked sons. The amount agreed upon was two times the original fee. And see? In my generosity I have made it three. One for each of my sons.'

  "'Yes,' replied Wang, 'but you forget the five brigands you hired to test me on the way to your first son's palace. And the ten warriors you paid to prove my abilities on the way to your second son's palace. And remember the twenty ninja you sent to verify I was what I claimed to be while I was on my way to your third son's palace. All these were sent by you because of your lack of faith. These nuisance hirelings of yours impeded me on my journey. Sinanju does not work for free. Their disposal will cost extra.'

  "At this there were protests in the court. But as men denounced the Master of Sinanju for his arrogance, the shogun kept his tongue. It was true that he had been troubled by the report of his adviser who had returned from Sinanju with word that the fabled night tigers were no more. It was also true that, unbeknownst to even his closest advisers, he had sent men to test the skills of this new boastful Master.

  "The shogun was no fool. The men he had dispatched to test Wang were some of the most feared in his kingdom. While collectively they were not strong enough to go up against the armies of his sons, none had ever been beaten in individual combat. And now all were dead. The shogun saw that this Master Wang's word was true. Sinanju-which had always been worthy of respect and awe-had indeed entered a new realm. It had become something to truly fear. And with a clap of his hands, the shogun did silence his chattering court. 'I was wrong to question you, O great Master of Sinanju,' the shogun said. 'I beg forgiveness for my impertinence. Your awesome skills are the sun that burns brighter than the flames of all the night tigers who came before you.' And the shogun did order men to his treasury to collect the new sum, which was thirty and eight more than it had been in the days of the night tigers. Servant girls and slaves did the shogun give to Wang, to aid this new and frightening Master on his journey back to Sinanju. And long after Wang had gone home, the shogun did proclaim to all who would listen that something new had been born among the fabled assassins of Sinanju, and the very gods themselves did tremble. But none believed, for men are always doubtful of things they have not seen with their own eyes.