"I can't give you a human being, Little Father."

"Who am I to expect a little nothing of a remembrance from one who has received so much from me?"

"If you want something warm, I'll get you a cow," said Remo.

"I already have a cow. He talks back to me," said Chiun, and Remo heard that cackle that indicated this saying would be coming back at him for several days. Along with the cackle.

"I have a cow already. He talks back to me," Chiun repeated. As much to get away from the tinkly laugh as anything else, Remo ran the Golden Gate again. This time he heard voices yelling, intruding into his moving world.

"That's him. Stop him. My God. He's going sideways. I don't believe it. Look at how fast he's going. He's going to jump. There. That guy on the bridge. Stop him."

When he returned to Chiun, he received a nod of recognition and hopped down from the railing.

"In Persia, the shah would have given a Master of Sinanju his own daughter. In Rome, the emperor once made an offering of a captured queen. In the great Selucid empire, ah, the great Selucid empire, they knew truly how to treat a Master of Sinanju. In Africa, the Loni [*See Destroyer #12, Slave Safari] showed before your very eyes the proper respect paid to a Master of Sinanju. But in America, in America, I get a cow. A cow who talks back to me."

"Fish again for the meal, Little Father," said Remo, referring to the day meal that was several hours away, but might change the subject.

"If the fish does not talk back to me," said Chiun. "Heh, heh, heh."

A patrol car, its bubble light flashing, dashed past them toward the other end of the Golden Gate Bridge.