[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
This house had been given to Chiun when his father knew that his time to pass
the body into the earth had come. Chiun had spent all his life preparing to
receive this house, preparing to pass it on properly. Even during the darkest
times, when it looked as though there would be no one to pass the house on to,
he had not despaired like this.
For he, Chiun, had lost all that had been gained; all the references in the
scrolls of Sinanju to this treasure and the other were now cast in doubt
because coin and ingot, gem and bullion, had vanished into the world.
Still and all, the reference to the Greekling with blond hair who ventured too
close to the House of Sinanju could be proved again with the tribute coin.
But he who would one day have all of this was squandering his time and
Sinanju-taught talents on unworthy causes. Chiun had lost both the treasure to
pass on and the one who would value receiving it.
The House of Sinanju, if it was not dying, wished it was dying on that day of
dark gloom on the chill shores of the West Korea Bay.
Chiun could feel tremors and then heard far-off explosions. Eventually even
the villagers heard them, and with great fear they came to him, saying,
"Protect us, O Master."
And Chiun turned them away, saying, "We have always protected you, but what
have you done to protect the treasures we left in your care?"
He did not tell them it was just another war going on. Wars never came to
Sinanju because generals were taught that they would not survive a battle, no
matter who won.
The ground continued to shake and many planes roared overhead, dropping bombs
on soldiers in gun emplacements. The battle went on until the morning when the
guns on shore were silenced. And then the villagers came again up the path to
the house where the Master was and they said:
"Master, Master, two submarines have come with your tribute. They are
heavy-laden, and they seek thy presence. "
"What color are the bearers?"
"White, the color of those who used to bring tribute."
"Is there a thin white man there with thick wrists?" said Chiun. He did not
know how many could recognize Remo. Long noses and round eyes all tended to
look alike to these good simple people.
"There are many whites."
Remo has come, thought Chiun. And while the house was empty still, there would
now be two chasing the treasure. They had the coins, he and Remo would get the
rest, would make the world respect the property of Sinanju. Who knew what all
this public retribution might earn? Governments might bring back the golden
Page 62
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
age of assassinry, disbanding large expensive armies for the more civilized
hand in the night.
Chiun moved quickly into the village and to the loading docks as the people
parted for him. He looked on the two submarines. Remo was not there. Gold
bullion was being off-loaded onto the dock that groaned under the weight. The
white captain wanted to speak to him.
"What happened to the agreement with your government? We had to fight our way
in here. We had to bring the fleet and bomb the shore batteries. What happened
to our deal?"
"That is a minor diplomatic matter. I will fix it. Tell Remo I do not wish to
speak to him. Tell him he cannot make up to me his desertion in an hour of
need."
"Who?"
"Remo," said Chiun. "Tell him he cannot leave one day and expect to find me
waiting for him with joy. I am coming down for my gold."
"Look, you have ten times the amount of gold ever delivered before, and one
message. Contact someone called Smith. You know the number."
"I am going to take my gold and return to the house he should have loved from
the very beginning. Tell Remo he is not welcome in Sinanju anymore. One must
serve Sinanju to be welcome here."
"We don't have any Remo," said the white captain of the submarine. "Do you
want us to drop the gold here on the wharf or carry it up to that warehouse
you people keep?"
"Remo is not with you?" asked Chiun.
"No. No Remo. What do you want done with the gold?"
"Oh, whatever. Whatever."
"You will make the phone call to the Smith person?"
"Certainly," said Chiun, but his voice was as dreary as the bay. He walked
slowly back through the village to the house.
He had lost the treasure of Sinanju, but more important, he had lost the
person who should have cared about it. He had lost tomorrow as well as
yesterday.
A child came to the door with a message. A great battle had taken place and
Korea had lost. Still, there was a man who wished entrance to Sinanju, for the
greater battle might yet be won. The man was Sayak Cang, and he entered the
village bowing.
Chiun sat in the empty treasure house, his legs crossed, his eyes vacant as
Cang talked. They had thought the extra submarine signaled an invasion, but
now that they had seen it was tribute, they would allow future submarines in
as before.
"For the tribute to Sinanju is a tribute to everything proud in our great
race." Thus spoke Sayak Cang before he gave the important information.
His intelligence network had found yet another who dared to sell the treasure
of Sinanju. This time it was the modern form of the old Roman office, Pontifex
Maximus. The modern people called him pope.
"A Christian holy man," said Chiun.
"Yes. It is disgusting how their shamans add to material treasure already so
great."
"Yes, holy men are sometimes not holy," said Chiun, who now knew who had
really stolen the treasure. It explained why the Frankish knight had told the
truth, and why people could move so freely into the village of Sinanju.
"The pope must die," said Sayak Cang, the Pyongyanger.
Chapter 9
For the last fifty miles the roads were ice and rock and a vague outline that
some other vehicle had been there before. That was called a road. Up ahead on
the map, where Colonel Semyon Petrovich was leading the command, were no
roads.
Behind him were enough hydrogen warheads to incinerate the entire Yakut region
of Siberia and irradiate Mongolia as well. What absolutely terrified this
missile officer leading the eighty-seven-truck convoy for the four-missile
Page 63
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
battery were the missiles themselves. He had never been near missiles like
these, and had been assured that Russia would never build them, for "the
safety of mankind." The problem with these "burning hells," as he made every
one of his men call them, was they could go off right here, right behind him,
right in the middle of Siberia, leaving a crater the size of two Leningrads.
The road, what there was of it, was colossally bumpy, and the warhead had come
out of the factory armed, a lunacy never before heard of in atomic weapons.
Even the Americans with the first atomic bomb did not arm it until the
airplane carrying it was near the target. You did not arm the weapon until
just before firing. Everyone knew that. And now all Russia had gone mad.
This madness, this strange new missile he and every officer had once been
promised Russia would never build, was all over Russia. It would be mass
murder, not war. He would murder millions without even the flimsiest excuse.
There could be no excuse for the madness he was now so carefully trying to
guide to its new base in Siberia.
It had started just a few days before. In his apartment at Saratov, a central
farming city southwest of Moscow, Petrovich had received the first strange
word. He had just finished waiting in line for a fresh batch of writing paper
for his grandchild. He had retired the year before, and getting fresh paper
had always been difficult when he no longer had access to military supplles.
His wife was waiting in the apartment with a block leader of the party who had
not even taken off his coat, but stood with his hat tapping his side and his
feet tapping the floor. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
This house had been given to Chiun when his father knew that his time to pass
the body into the earth had come. Chiun had spent all his life preparing to
receive this house, preparing to pass it on properly. Even during the darkest
times, when it looked as though there would be no one to pass the house on to,
he had not despaired like this.
For he, Chiun, had lost all that had been gained; all the references in the
scrolls of Sinanju to this treasure and the other were now cast in doubt
because coin and ingot, gem and bullion, had vanished into the world.
Still and all, the reference to the Greekling with blond hair who ventured too
close to the House of Sinanju could be proved again with the tribute coin.
But he who would one day have all of this was squandering his time and
Sinanju-taught talents on unworthy causes. Chiun had lost both the treasure to
pass on and the one who would value receiving it.
The House of Sinanju, if it was not dying, wished it was dying on that day of
dark gloom on the chill shores of the West Korea Bay.
Chiun could feel tremors and then heard far-off explosions. Eventually even
the villagers heard them, and with great fear they came to him, saying,
"Protect us, O Master."
And Chiun turned them away, saying, "We have always protected you, but what
have you done to protect the treasures we left in your care?"
He did not tell them it was just another war going on. Wars never came to
Sinanju because generals were taught that they would not survive a battle, no
matter who won.
The ground continued to shake and many planes roared overhead, dropping bombs
on soldiers in gun emplacements. The battle went on until the morning when the
guns on shore were silenced. And then the villagers came again up the path to
the house where the Master was and they said:
"Master, Master, two submarines have come with your tribute. They are
heavy-laden, and they seek thy presence. "
"What color are the bearers?"
"White, the color of those who used to bring tribute."
"Is there a thin white man there with thick wrists?" said Chiun. He did not
know how many could recognize Remo. Long noses and round eyes all tended to
look alike to these good simple people.
"There are many whites."
Remo has come, thought Chiun. And while the house was empty still, there would
now be two chasing the treasure. They had the coins, he and Remo would get the
rest, would make the world respect the property of Sinanju. Who knew what all
this public retribution might earn? Governments might bring back the golden
Page 62
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
age of assassinry, disbanding large expensive armies for the more civilized
hand in the night.
Chiun moved quickly into the village and to the loading docks as the people
parted for him. He looked on the two submarines. Remo was not there. Gold
bullion was being off-loaded onto the dock that groaned under the weight. The
white captain wanted to speak to him.
"What happened to the agreement with your government? We had to fight our way
in here. We had to bring the fleet and bomb the shore batteries. What happened
to our deal?"
"That is a minor diplomatic matter. I will fix it. Tell Remo I do not wish to
speak to him. Tell him he cannot make up to me his desertion in an hour of
need."
"Who?"
"Remo," said Chiun. "Tell him he cannot leave one day and expect to find me
waiting for him with joy. I am coming down for my gold."
"Look, you have ten times the amount of gold ever delivered before, and one
message. Contact someone called Smith. You know the number."
"I am going to take my gold and return to the house he should have loved from
the very beginning. Tell Remo he is not welcome in Sinanju anymore. One must
serve Sinanju to be welcome here."
"We don't have any Remo," said the white captain of the submarine. "Do you
want us to drop the gold here on the wharf or carry it up to that warehouse
you people keep?"
"Remo is not with you?" asked Chiun.
"No. No Remo. What do you want done with the gold?"
"Oh, whatever. Whatever."
"You will make the phone call to the Smith person?"
"Certainly," said Chiun, but his voice was as dreary as the bay. He walked
slowly back through the village to the house.
He had lost the treasure of Sinanju, but more important, he had lost the
person who should have cared about it. He had lost tomorrow as well as
yesterday.
A child came to the door with a message. A great battle had taken place and
Korea had lost. Still, there was a man who wished entrance to Sinanju, for the
greater battle might yet be won. The man was Sayak Cang, and he entered the
village bowing.
Chiun sat in the empty treasure house, his legs crossed, his eyes vacant as
Cang talked. They had thought the extra submarine signaled an invasion, but
now that they had seen it was tribute, they would allow future submarines in
as before.
"For the tribute to Sinanju is a tribute to everything proud in our great
race." Thus spoke Sayak Cang before he gave the important information.
His intelligence network had found yet another who dared to sell the treasure
of Sinanju. This time it was the modern form of the old Roman office, Pontifex
Maximus. The modern people called him pope.
"A Christian holy man," said Chiun.
"Yes. It is disgusting how their shamans add to material treasure already so
great."
"Yes, holy men are sometimes not holy," said Chiun, who now knew who had
really stolen the treasure. It explained why the Frankish knight had told the
truth, and why people could move so freely into the village of Sinanju.
"The pope must die," said Sayak Cang, the Pyongyanger.
Chapter 9
For the last fifty miles the roads were ice and rock and a vague outline that
some other vehicle had been there before. That was called a road. Up ahead on
the map, where Colonel Semyon Petrovich was leading the command, were no
roads.
Behind him were enough hydrogen warheads to incinerate the entire Yakut region
of Siberia and irradiate Mongolia as well. What absolutely terrified this
missile officer leading the eighty-seven-truck convoy for the four-missile
Page 63
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
battery were the missiles themselves. He had never been near missiles like
these, and had been assured that Russia would never build them, for "the
safety of mankind." The problem with these "burning hells," as he made every
one of his men call them, was they could go off right here, right behind him,
right in the middle of Siberia, leaving a crater the size of two Leningrads.
The road, what there was of it, was colossally bumpy, and the warhead had come
out of the factory armed, a lunacy never before heard of in atomic weapons.
Even the Americans with the first atomic bomb did not arm it until the
airplane carrying it was near the target. You did not arm the weapon until
just before firing. Everyone knew that. And now all Russia had gone mad.
This madness, this strange new missile he and every officer had once been
promised Russia would never build, was all over Russia. It would be mass
murder, not war. He would murder millions without even the flimsiest excuse.
There could be no excuse for the madness he was now so carefully trying to
guide to its new base in Siberia.
It had started just a few days before. In his apartment at Saratov, a central
farming city southwest of Moscow, Petrovich had received the first strange
word. He had just finished waiting in line for a fresh batch of writing paper
for his grandchild. He had retired the year before, and getting fresh paper
had always been difficult when he no longer had access to military supplles.
His wife was waiting in the apartment with a block leader of the party who had
not even taken off his coat, but stood with his hat tapping his side and his
feet tapping the floor. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]