"Weeks!" Chiun shrieked. "It has been more than two months. Nearly three. Why, oh, why am I being denied the vengeance that is my right?"

And so saying, he faced a pristine white wall and inserted nine of his ten fingers into it. The wallboard made a sound like cardboard being murdered.

Then he dragged both hands all the way down to the baseboard, leaving nine ripping tracks.

"Tell you what," Remo said suddenly. "Why don't I check with Smith?"

In answer, the Master of Sinanju inserted his surviving nails into another part of the wall and waited expectantly.

Snapping a telephone off a taboret, Remo hit the one button. Relays clicked, initiating an untraceable call to Folcroft Sanitarium, the cover for CURE. After a moment, a distinctly lemony voice came on the line.

"Remo."

"Smitty, you owe me."

"Remo?"

Remo made his voice hard. "You framed me for a murder I never committed, railroaded me into the electric chair and buried me in absentia."

"I am still looking for your missing daughter," Smith said hastily.

"This isn't about her. It's about Chiun."

"What is wrong with Chiun?"

And Remo lifted the receiver in the Master of Sinanju's direction.

As if on cue, Chiun brought his nails ripping down again. He threw in a low moan of repressed rage. "Is he dying?" Smith asked anxiously.

"If he doesn't get another crack at the Nishitsu Corp, someone will be," Remo said pointedly.

"I am still working on the logistics of it. I may have a safe plan of attack for you soon."

"How about we get on the road to speed things up.

"Are you certain it is necessary?" And Remo lifted the receiver again.

This time Chiun punched a hole in a new wall and pulled out a mass of wiring.

"My honor must be avenged!" he cried. "Why will the gods not hear my beseeching entreaties?"