It’s time for another installment of my interpretation of the adventures of everyone’s favorite secret government assasin, Remo Williams. Due to the graphic nature of this material, I’ll hidden it behind a fold so that only those who can handle it will be subject to it’s mediocre splendor.
“This better be good, Smitty. It’s the fourth time this month I’ve had to cancel my date” scowled Remo.
The grey skinned, lemony faced man behind the black glass-top desk pulled the corners of his mouth back into a frown of contempt, replying, “What did you say her name was?”
“I didn’t. And I won’t.”
“Remo, be reasonable, I coul—”
“Could do what Smitty? A background check? Look, I don’t want to know how many parking tickets she has, I’m perfectly happy.”
“Remo, don’t take traffic violations lightly. Failure to comply with the basic laws of the land indicates a strong propensity to lie and break more serious laws as well.”
“Said the head of a secret organization that exists to circumvent the highest law in the land” retorted Remo.
He was right. There was nothing Harold W. Smith could say to rebutt that. Smith had been personally chosen by the nation’s most beloved president to head the super secret organization, “Cure.” Cure was not an acronym. Standing merely for principals that exist beyond the law, it was created at a time when the fledgling nation was at it it’s weakest point, beset by failure on all sides. The Constitution that guided the country was a powerful document, and it had been very useful in providing the nation a strong center, but even it had it’s weaknesses. The populace wasn’t ready to accept what had to be done to keep the nation together, and so, that president prescribed the Cure for all the nations ills. Originally a fact finding and subtle operation, Cure had provided service for this country by meteing out justice through framing criminals for crimes they didn’t commit and exposing the ones they had. Some years later, as the evil of the world increased, stronger measures were needed, and so, an elite enforcement arm had been assembled, consisting of the Korean Master of Sinanju, and his pupil, a white from New Jersey, the two deadliest assasins in the world. Harold W. Smith, who had been a rising star in the CIA, and had shown excellence in the “war to end all wars” had been a perfect choice to run Cure. He was a patriot and borderline sevant when it came to analyzing information. He could find intellgible information where there seemingly was none. Yet, his utter lack of imagination prevented him from finding a witty reply to Remo’s jab.
“Hmmm” was all the head of Folcroft Sanitarium could say as he reached into his desk drawer to pull out a bottle of antacids. His impatient face turned back to Remo, and he quietly said, “Where is Master Chiun? He’s really the one I need to talk to.”
Remo turned to look out the window, insulted by that not so subtle hint to shut up. “I’m not sure– he was with me when I entered the building, but then he spotted the new nurses downstairs and I think he stopped to stare— I mean admire them. Sheeze, Smitty, would it kill you to hire nurses who aren’t quite so, uhm—how should I say this— stout?”
Just then, with a flourish of green and gold silk, the ancient Korean glided into the room. “They are not stout! They are sturdy, like a good foundation. All houses are built on sturdy foundations, Remo. Especially castle Sinanju! You would do well to encourage your bride-to-be to follow the new sick-maids’ example.”
Remo looked helplessly at Smith, “He’s been like this ever since Gramma Mullberry moved in. I’m telling you Smitty, the only thing more annoying than Chiun, is a horny Chiun.”
“Ahem, yes, well on to business.”
“Yes, Remo, the Emperor wishes to discuss matters of import with the house. You should pay attention!”
The grey man looked intently at them both, his thin lips made thinner with determination. “Master Chiun, I have some news that is likely to sit well with you.”
“The Emperor may sit where he wishes in the house of Sinanju, as long as he pays proper tribute” cooed the elderly asian.
“As I was saying, Master Chiun, I have news that you will–appreciate. For many years you have requested the opportunity to submit a screenplay for a soap opera, no?”
“I have. The Trials of the House– A tale of drama, art, and true love.”
“Well, your moment in the spotlight has finally come. I’ve arranged for you to film a pilot episode next month… You will need to begin casting right away of course, I presume you have already got a script written?”
“I do, a true artist is always ready. I do not wish to write about those horrid flying machines, though.”
“He’s not telling you to write about airplanes, Chiun, he’s offering you a chance to make a pilot.”
“I do not know how to fly, how can I teach another?” quizzed Chiun.
“No, no, Master Chiun a pilot is a trial episode… sort of a rough draft of a show that networks show to judge audience reaction. If it does well, then they make an ongoing series out of it.”
“I do not understand… my story is about The House, not about a courtroom. There are too many law shows on TV already.” said Chiun.
“Not a show about trials, little father, a trial show– sort of a test run.” sighed Remo, rolling his eyes. “Look, Smitty, are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what kind of damage Chiun could unleash? There’s no telling what kind of twisted story he would release on the airwaves.” groaned Remo.
“Master Chiun has such a flare for the dramatic, Remo, that I’m sure the existence of Cure will be a safe secret” replied Smith.
“It’s not our secrets I’m worried about. Think about he’ll try to portray me.”
“I will merely tell the truth, Remo, I will find a slow, white dullard to act in the role of the ungrateful, slovenly imbecile. No true drama is complete without a clown” chimed Chiun, smiling smugly at Remo. He was getting Remo’s goat, and enjoying every minute of it. Perhaps it was time for them to be apart more– Chiun had been picking up some of Remo’s less attractive habits lately; This would not do, something must be done, distance was a necessity.
“Remo, you stay here and work out the details with the Emperor, I’m going to go and inspect some potential concubines for the House” stated the old man as he glided out of the room, gently pulling the door to on his way out.
“How do you like that?” thought Remo.
“Smitty, I’m not sure what your game is, but there’s got to be something else going on here, I’ve known you too long to think you’d set something like this up without a reason.”
Harold Smith reached under his desk and pressed a small recessed button, causing his desk to light up with a full color video clip from “The Trials of Roscoe Parrish III” Smith had paused the video on the lead actor astride a horse, jutting his large jaw forward.
“Hey, isn’t that the guy from those Nazi Zombie movies? I love those films. He always has the best catch phrases. Don’t tell me that he’s an international terrorist or something. I don’t want to have to off this guy, I really enjoy his movies.”
“No, Remo, he’s a victim.”
“Yes, he’s one of 15 different ‘C’ movie actors that has gone missing in the last fortnight” explained the director of Cure. “There’s a pattern of these actors disappearing moments after filming the final scene of their various projects. It’s all quite strange. There doesn’t seem to be any real connection between the actors, other than they all are known for appearing in straight to video movies.”
Remo rolled his eyes, “So how is this a matter of national security?”
Smith eased back in his chair, “Well Remo, as you know, entertainment is vital for any nation. An unoccupied populace, left to it’s own devices will invent other ways to entertain itself–”
“Yeah, but these guys are ‘C’ list actors, they aren’t exactly packing ’em in at the theatres.”
“Exactly, Remo. The audience for the films that these actors make tends to be made largely of angry white males with a penchant for stockpiling weapons and who don’t trust the government.”
“Ahh, survivalist nut-jobs.”
“So, why not just tell Chiun and I to go check it out? Why all the buildup and hassle of swelling the old man’s head?” asked Remo.
“Our attacker or attackers seem to only be targeting works in production, and Chiun’s been needling me for years… I decided I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. The aggressors here are obviously fairly intelligent, leaving no trace of their activities, if they suspect that we are activily seeking them, it might cause them to alter their modus operandi.”
“So, you think if Chiun doesn’t know he’s on assignment, he won’t give away our intentions?”