When Remo bribed Avital out of jail three days later, she swore that she’d never speak to him. She repeated this loudly all the way back to the airport in the helicopter, and continued to tell him all the way back to Jersey. Remo was tempted twice to put her to sleep, but he figured that despite having her best interests at heart, he probably deserved some of this. Besides, she was nowhere near Chiun’s class when it came to verbal punishment, although what she lacked in quality she made up for in quantity.
She did, however, make a good showing of stomping away from him when they landed, while Remo strolled quietly behind her, whistling as though he were not with her. He was sure that one dinner later—with assurances that they both got drunk, that he was captured by the bomb maker, and that it took him this long to get loose and kill him—would assuage her feelings. At least, that was his plan. And if any extra convincing was needed, well, he was prepared to go the extra mile if duty called for it.
His plan worked as expected, although it took an extra two miles and a knock on the door from La Haule’s management asking that the exuberance please be toned down just a little.
Keeping Avital in the dark as much as possible was important to the world as much as it was important to Remo. It was a needed diversion from his other duty, which was to sit vigil next to the aging Master of Sinanju. He kept a notepad beside his chair as he watched the news, making little tic marks every time an earthquake was mentioned, notating each with the numerical Richter scale measurement.
He was concerned for a while that his efforts had been applied too late. But, eventually, he noticed that the reports came further apart, with lower intensity. The news people also remarked on this, though with less enthusiasm. The middle-aged reporter, who Remo was certain had played professional softball at some point in her life, reminded her handful of viewers that Mother Earth could just be faking them out, and that they should all continue walking to work and continue to keep their electricity turned off.
When the news shows began to lead off with celebrity sex scandals and sports injuries, burying the earthquake (and related body count) news to third or fourth place, Remo was hopeful. He rested his hand on the withered, skeletal hand of his Master, and bent to kiss his wrinkled forehead. “We’re going to make it, Little Father,” he said.
“We’re going to make what?” a thin reedy voice whispered. “Rice? Rice would be nice.”
Remo bolted upright. “You’re awake.”
“Your observational skills are as paltry as ever,” Chiun remarked. “Otherwise you would have noticed that I have been awake for several minutes now, with my eyes closed. What poisons have you allowed these quacks to pump into the temple which is the body of the Master of Sinanju?”
“Just fluids, Little Father,” Remo assured him. “No drugs.”
“Enough.” The Master of Sinanju reached across and slipped the IV from his vein, pulling off the half-dozen heart monitors in the process. The resulting flat line reading and the high-pitched sine wave note brought the doctor and nurses running from their makeshift quarters down the hall.
“Mister Park, you need to sit back!” the doctor exclaimed, amazed to see Chiun alive, let alone moving. Remo stepped between the two of them and gently pushed the doctor backward—landing his hind quarters onto the floor.
“Sorry, Doc,” Remo said. “Believe me, you’d have felt a lot worse if you’d made it all the way to him.”
The doctor picked himself ignominiously off the floor, while the two nurses who came with him wisely kept their distance. Dusting himself off, the doctor glared at the two of them, at the dangling wires, at the small trickle of blood trailing down Chiun’s arm and already coagulating.
“At least let me examine you,” he pleaded.
“Humor the man,” Remo said to Chiun. “He put in a lot of work dealing with Smitty not letting him treat you.”
Chiun snorted. “Because Emperor Smith employs me, he exhibits the wisdom of royalty. And because he is thus wise, and employs this so-called doctor, who am I to question his wisdom, even if the doctor is white?”
The doctor gave Chiun a cursory once-over, listening to his heart, taking his pulse, and largely just shaking his head.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I’ve heard of coma victims miraculously coming back to consciousness, but never have they come out without the slightest signs of muscular atrophy or atrial fibrillation!”
Chiun smiled at Remo. “See, perfect health.”
“I’d still like you to stay in bed for the next few days,” the doctor said. “Just to monitor you for…whatever it is I’m missing.”
“Bah,” Chiun scoffed. “Always the way with doctors. Does the automobile get better by being driven or by being left to languish in the garage? The body must move to heal fully. We shall leave.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” Remo said. “I guess you won’t be needing the present I bought you.”
Chiun turned to Remo. “You have bought the Master of Sinanju a present?” he asked. His eyes, normally vellum slits, widened in surprise, an emotion Remo seldom managed to evoke from him. “Perhaps you are finally becoming appreciative of the Master of Sinanju, as well you should after all I have taught you. What is it? Gold? Silver?”
“Silver-ish,” Remo said. “At least on one side.” He went to the television set, placed on a cabinet facing the foot of Chiun’s bed. He opened a cabinet and removed a small cardboard box, which he handed to Chiun.
Chiun handled the item as though Remo had handed him a fish several days dead. But his expression quickly changed to one of appreciation. He stroked the box gently, as though handling a fragile Faberge egg, and when he looked at Remo, Remo was almost certain there was a tear in his eye.
“Perhaps a few days rest would be good,” he said. “For meditation purposes.”
“Whatever you say, Little Father,” Remo said. He took the box as Chiun offered it back to him, walking it over to the television set.
“Thank you,” the doctor whispered to Remo, as he exited the room.
“It’s easy if you know how,” Remo said with a wink. Then he lifted the lid from the box and removed one of the shiny objects inside, which were indeed, as he had described, silver-ish on one side. A few fumbled buttons, a mumbled curse, and an exhortation from Chiun later, and the television came to life, the screen displaying black and white images of a familiar logo while the speakers played a big band version of a familiar song. The light of the screen glinted off the front of the box, reflected in the metallic letters that also formed the familiar logo: As the Planet Revolves: The Complete First Season, Collector’s Edition.
“Don’t ever do that again, Little Father,” Remo said. “It was flat-out embarrassing.”
“Hush,” Chiun said, sitting up in a lotus position on the hospital bed.
“No, I mean it,” Remo said. “No more comas. You don’t even nap from now on.”
Chiun waved him off dismissively. “I knew you were likely going to make a mess of things,” he said. “I could not bear to live to see it. Now be silent and stop ruining an old man’s appreciation of the arts.”