"And a happy ending," Remo added.

"Yes, yes, yes." Chiun waved a dismissive hand. "Uplifting pabulum. You have said this already." Gathering up his things, he rose to go.

Remo hesitated an instant before speaking once more. "That's assuming your movie was too good to begin with," he offered to Chiun's departing back. "It might have been something else." He added this last thought vaguely.

Chiun paused in the doorway. He turned very slowly.

"What else could it be?" he demanded.

Remo delayed answering for a moment. He didn't want to come right out and accuse Chiun of writing a bad screenplay.

"I dunno," Remo hedged with a tiny shrug. "Something I didn't think of."

"What you do not think of could fill volumes," the Master of Sinanju responded in a deeply superior tone. With that he flounced from the room.

"See if I come to your premiere," Remo grumbled.

And, rising with silent fluidity from the carpet, he left for his assignment.

Chapter 1

Everyone was armed.

A forest of slender black barrels aimed skyward-rigid testaments to proud Islamic defiance. The choppy fire of old Russian AK-47s rattled occasionally through the hot desert air. Bursts of bright orange fire erupted in angry spurts, followed immediately by exuberant cheers from the teeming, sweating, jubilant mass of humanity.

Far above Rebellion Square, on the balcony of the Great Sultan's Palace, Sultan Omay sin-Khalam watched the activity far below through weary eyes.

Catching sight of the sultan, a few men raised their weapons in a frenzied, sloppy salute. A whole section of the crowd turned to their leader as the ripple traveled outward. Guns were lifted in salute before the exuberance of the crowd finally collapsed into gunfire and whooping shouts. Even as the sudden frenzy of celebration was dying down in one part of the crowd, the cry was being taken up by another.