Next of kin, p.8
Next of Kin, page 8
“Mr. Remo—”
“Where’s Chiun?” The old man had vanished. Remo took a quick look around the house, although he knew Chiun wouldn’t be there. He had known about the card, and for some reason he had kept it from Remo. The end table where he had placed the card was empty. Right now the old Oriental would be making his way, swiftly and silently, toward a place where Remo was not invited.
“Take care of the girl,” Remo said on his way out the door.
He reached the shipyard in a few minutes at a dead run, passing near a tangled swamp where bamboo grew in tall shoots. The fence surrounding the yard hummed with its charge of deadly high voltage. Chiun was nowhere in sight. Remo doubled back to the swamp, hacked off a long bamboo pole, then carried it back to the fence and vaulted over.
“Chiun,” he called.
“I am here,” a voice came from the interior of the shipyard. Chiun was standing near some battered truck bodies, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. He said, “Go home, Remo. This is not your affair.”
“I just want to know what the hell’s going on here. Since we started this so-called vacation, I’ve been shot at, hung off a cliff, maced, and told to break the arms of a dead man. Now Fabienne’s been half strangled, our house is a disaster, and here you are in the middle of a shipyard in a goddamn ceremonial robe. You can’t expect me to just turn around now and go home.”
Chiun shrugged. “Then stay. But remember. When the time comes, what we will encounter is my business, not yours.”
“Maybe,” Remo said.
Chiun withdrew one slender hand from his sleeve and swung over the blood-stained door to the refrigerated truck container beside him. He was silent as Remo peered in.
Inside, nine bodies lay sprawled in grotesque positions. Icicles hung from their mouths and eyes, where their last dribblings had frozen, and their shabby clothes lay in stiff folds around them, stuck to the metal walls and floor. The frigid air inside the container smelled like a meat freezer, the stale odors of flesh and steel mixing together as the container’s motor whirred unceasingly.
“Did they freeze to death?” Remo asked.
“Look closer. Look at their wounds.”
Remo stepped up into the truck and examined the stiff bodies. “This isn’t real,” he said, his breath turning the ends of his hair white with new frost. “They were all killed in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Karate does not kill this way,” Chiun said, stepping into the truck. “That is hand-to-hand. So is atemi-waza, aikido, bando and t’ai chi chuan, but those methods were not used on these men.”
Remo shook his head. “It’s weird. It looks like one of us killed them.”
Chiun sniffed. “It could hardly have been I,” he said. “Does this look like perfect technique? But the work is of Sinanju.”
Remo stared at him for a long moment, incredulous. “You don’t think I did it, do you?” he asked finally.
“Emperor Smith thinks you did. Another truck filled with bodies slain in this manner was found in the ocean. He ordered me to kill you. Naturally, I was interested to see more of this work. The style is quite masterful.”
“He ordered what?”
“He ordered me to kill you. That is part of my agreement, you know. A contract is a contract.”
“But… but I didn’t do it,” Remo stammered. “I’ve never even been here before…”
“Stop babbling,” Chiun snapped. He jumped off the end of the truck to the ground, his robe billowing. “Of course you didn’t do it. This is not the work of a bent elbow. Only one highly skilled in the art of Sinanju could kill this way. A clod could never achieve such skill.” He waved Remo out and shut the door.
“Wait till I get my hands on Smith. That C.I.A. looney.”
“There is no need for spitefulness,” Chiun said calmly. “In this truck is more than enough evidence to vindicate you in Emperor Smith’s eyes. That was why I had to come here first.”
“First? Before what?”
“Before confronting the killer of those men in the truck.”
“But I thought we were the only two people alive who still practiced Sinanju,” Remo said.
“Alive, yes.” Chiun reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out the yellowed scrap of paper bearing three Korean characters. “I knew you were not the killer when I received this.”
“‘I live again,’” Remo whispered.
“One who is dead has passed the knowledge of Sinanju on to another.” Chiun folded the paper and replaced it in his robe.
“Nuihc?” Remo whispered. “But he’s dead. I saw him die.”
“He has left an heir. Through him, as his message says, Nuihc and his infamy live again.” Chiun looked up toward the castle.
High above the desolate shipyard, its white turrets shone in the morning light. And within its stone walls, a legacy of destruction and evil waited for its moment of triumph.
CHAPTER NINE
BELOW THE DUTCHMAN’S CASTLE, perched on a rocky outcropping, Pierre lowered his binoculars after the young American and the old Oriental stepped out of the truck body in the shipyard. Ordinary tourists to Sint Maarten didn’t go around stealing magnetic cards and snooping in the shipyard compound on Sunday. The American, Remo, had put on a show of ignorance about the card, but the old man knew.
Something was going on, all right. Fabienne “wasn’t feeling well” all of a sudden after meeting Remo, and the Dutchman’s mute had gone through her house like a hurricane. Not to mention the shots fired at his own truck yesterday. Whoever the Dutchman was, he had something to do with the two figures in the shipyard below. And those two men were up to something very fishy.
He toyed with the binoculars hanging around his neck. This information would be worth something to the Dutchman, maybe enough to fix the truck. Still, it meant climbing Devil’s Mountain and facing the Dutchman himself…
Pierre scrambled down the crumbling path that led back to the village of Marigot. No, nothing was worth the terrors of Devil’s Mountain. White folks’ business was their own. He would go into town, borrow the price of a Red Stripe beer, and forget all about it.
Still, the possibility of making a quick hundred nagged at him as he walked, ever more slowly, down the hill. Five minutes inside the Dutchman’s castle. That was all it would take, and Pierre would have a crisp new C note in his pocket for his truck. Maybe the Dutchman would give him more than a hundred in gratitude for learning about the two men in his shipyard. Man, they’d change their tune down in Gus’s Grotto when Pierre LeFevre walked in and ordered drinks for the house. Those boys would think twice about refusing him the next time he was hurting for change.
The legend was that the Dutchman brought down madness upon whoever looked on him.
A cache of small stones beneath Pierre’s left foot gave way. Dancing and windmilling his arms, he managed to stay upright. Breathing hard, Pierre spit twice on the ground and formed the symbol of the Evil Eye with his fingers. Okay, okay. I ain’t going nowhere but Marigot, boss.
It was going to be a scorcher today. Already the air hung in a damp curtain of mist that would melt and sizzle the island like pork rind by noon. Houses began to appear here and there along the dirt path that had widened into a passable road leading straight to Marigot. Red Stripe’ll sure taste fine, money or no money, even though it’s a stupid legend made up by ignorant islanders who believe any damn foolish thing they hear…
Cool it, Pierre, a voice inside him said. You don’t need no hundred dollars that bad.
Oh, yes I do. And the Dutchman’s what can give it to me, if only I wasn’t such a chickenshit. And lookee here, a Willys Jeep right here on the road with the keys in the ignition and a ten-gallon can of gas in the back.
He walked around the Jeep checking for flats. Nope, all good tires, and even a crowbar on the back seat. That Dutchman try to mess with Pierre, I gonna give it to him straight between the eyes…
Somebody owns this car, the faint inner voice said.
So? I give it back. Just don’t want to go up Devil’s Mountain on foot.
You can’t drive away from the devil, the voice said. It was barely audible.
“You watch me,” Pierre said out loud as he climbed in the Jeep and gunned the engine to life. He sang. “Hey pretty baby, can you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight?”
The Jeep skidded fitfully up the winding road and onto another, smoother path lined with tall shade trees. Easy riding, this road, Pierre thought as he maneuvered the machine up the dark stillness of Devil’s Mountain.
CHAPTER TEN
“SO THE DUTCHMAN’S HOOKED up with dear, departed Nuihc. The only thing I don’t understand is, why did he wait so long to contact us?”
Chiun flashed him an irritated glance. “That is hardly the only thing you don’t understand, brainless one.” He held up a long index finger. “Point one. This Dutchman person has not contacted us. Through Nuihc’s letter, he has contacted me, and me alone.”
“I suppose trying to bump me off twice doesn’t count as contact,” Remo said sarcastically. Chiun ignored him.
“Point two. The killings in the truck are the work of a young man. Strength and skill without complete control. I have undoubtedly surprised the Dutchman by coming upon his island. He is not yet prepared to face me.”
“I didn’t think he’d be much of a threat—”
“Point three. This is an assassin of remarkable talent. Remember, our last confrontation with Nuihc was years ago. This boy has trained himself in the finer points of Sinanju. Marvelous.” He shook his head in admiration.
Remo reddened. “You sound like you’d rather adopt him than kill him.”
“It is always terrible to destroy something of worth,” Chiun said. “A fine assassin. From good stock, probably, not some rubbish of the streets.”
They neared the entrance to the compound’s electric fence. Chiun handed Remo the metal-banded card. “Oh, to train a talent such as his. To nurture such enormous ability in one so young.” Chiun’s eyes took on a faraway look.
“I don’t think he’s so hot,” Remo said.
“He has tremendous self-discipline.”
“His mother wears combat boots.” Remo jabbed the card into the slot and kicked at the gate.
The shock shot him twenty feet backward. Remo sat up on the ground with his scalp tingling and his ears ringing. He approached the fence again, holding his hands a fraction of an inch away from the wire mesh. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and the fence emitted a low, continuous hum.
“The power’s still on,” Remo said. He slid the card in and out of the slot. “Something’s gone wrong.”
There was another sound, a soft, zipping electronic noise. Remo and Chiun both turned in time to see a metal panel slide open in the corner of the fence. Behind the panel protruded a black six-foot cube with a refrigeration motor attached. Out of the box slithered a nine-foot python.
“Your Dutchman’s a real prince, all right,” Remo said.
Four more snakes, sickly-white cobras, sped out of the box. They raced unerringly toward the two men.
“Give me the white card,” Chiun said softly. He took it between two fingers and snapped it toward the cobras. One of the white snakes split in half, its tail dancing on the ground. The other cobras lunged at its head, their fangs, exposed and dripping. “Now get us out of here,” Chiun whispered.
“Why do I always get the hard part?” Remo muttered. He looked around. The bamboo pole he had used to vault over the fence was on the other side. There was nothing movable in the trucking area except trucks.
A truck. It was bulky, but it would have to do. Remo ran in a quick zigzag pattern to one of the inert truck bodies. The giant python noticed the movement and followed the same meandering route. Remo knew he had to work fast. With the snake close behind, he wouldn’t have time to drag the unwheeled truck over to the fence. He would have to transport it in an instant, before the python had time to get a grip on his limbs and crush them like cobwebs.
At the far end of the fence, Chiun raced back and forth at dizzying speed. The three remaining cobras followed him with their dolls’ eyes, hypnotized, their necks distended with venom.
There was no way to move the truck body. Remo’s mind raced. What happened normally when they had to be moved? Well, first they had to be… He slapped his forehead. Of course! How could he be so stupid? They had to be lifted. He ran toward the compound’s one building. On the far side he found what he was looking for. A crane.
He eased in the throttle, and the great machine began to inch forward. Ahead, he could see Chiun still surrounded by cobras, his back to the fence. The levers to Remo’s right controlled the movements of the crane. It dipped and rose and swung experimentally as he tried them all out, heading faster now toward the high-voltage wire.
Then his vision was all but obliterated by the shiny, sleek body of the python as it draped itself over the windscreen, its reptilian head searching for him.
Remo fought back the impulse to remove the snake then and there. The crane had to get close enough to Chiun to lift him out of danger, and Chiun’s luck with the dazed cobras would last only as long as he kept up his exhausting speed. But with the python covering Remo’s line of sight in the cab, the crane could scrape the fence and force an electric charge big enough to explode both the crane and its driver.
He pressed forward. “Tell me when to stop,” he yelled. He maneuvered the crane upward. Its chain swung wildly. Although he couldn’t see it, Remo knew that the hook at the end of the chain was suspended somewhere near Chiun’s head. If he came too close, Chiun would be impaled at about the same time Remo began to fry.
“Closer?” Remo shouted.
There was no answer. The machine moved forward. The snake on the crane’s windshield slithered into the cab and wrapped itself around Remo’s leg.
“Halt!” Chiun yelled.
With all the discipline he could muster, Remo shut down the throttle as the python hissed itself into a huge coil from his ankle to his thigh.
Chiun leaped high into the air, lighting on the hook of the crane’s chain. At the instant he moved, the hypnotized cobras lunged at the spot where Chiun had been. Their fangs grasped the metal fence in a grip of death as their bodies jiggled and waved like ribbons in the breeze. The doll eyes turned milky white, their bodies charred and blackened in seconds. Still they hung onto the deadly steel wire, their jaws lodged in the mesh.
“Move this over the fence,” Chiun demanded. “Climb up here.”
Sweat poured from Remo’s brow. He slammed his fists into the python’s rubbery body. With each blow, the snake coiled more tightly. His foot was already throbbing and numb. If he could only get to its head… But the snake’s head was tucked securely beneath Remo’s thigh, inching toward his groin.
“Remo!”
Get… Chiun… out, Remo told himself. He would deal with the snake when he could. He raised the crane and swung it over the fence. Chiun rode the hook to the far side of the compound, then jumped off, his robes billowing gaily. He was safe.
Remo rolled out of the cab onto the ground, the python around his leg shifting at lightning speed to envelope his entire body. Now, Remo said to himself as the snake’s head darted in front of him. Now. He grabbed the knob with both hands and twisted violently to smash it on the ground. The coils loosened suddenly. Remo pulled himself free, his leg still pounding, and limped to the base of the crane.
The snake periscoped its head unevenly. A shudder ran through its tunnel body. It convulsed once, then lay still.
At the top of the crane, Remo pulled his hurt leg up close to his torso and vaulted in a triple somersault to the sandy earth below. Lying quietly where he landed, he smelled something ripe and burning. He turned toward the fence. The three sizzling cobras were turning into smoking skeletons, their flesh burned to ashes.
“Very slow,” Chiun clucked above him. “I do not understand. I am the one surrounded by snakes. I am the one in mortal danger. You had only to operate that ridiculous prehistoric machine. And yet you dawdle coming over the fence. You lie here, feigning exhaustion. One would think you had been the one to confront death.” His jaw snapped angrily.
“I’ve got to rest a minute,” Remo said, wincing. The feeling was coming back into his damaged leg. He tried to squeeze his toes together. His muscles cramped spasmodically.
“I shudder to think what would have happened if a snake had come after you.” Chiun snorted triumphantly. “You are growing soft, Remo. But perhaps it is not your fault. Perhaps your training began too late. Perhaps your natural ability is limited.”
“Perhaps you piss me off, Little Father,” Remo said.
“Now, with the Dutchman. Ah, there is a pupil. Young, powerful, intelligent—”
“He just tried to murder you.”
“And would have succeeded, were it not for my uncanny timing and quick reflexes.”
“Thanks. Glad to know I could be of help.”
“Do you think that if the Dutchman were in your place now he would be resting slothfully on the grass? Never. He would be inquiring as to my well-being. He would be concerned over any possible injury to my person. He would…”
“He would try to kill you again,” Remo said disgustedly. “Can it, Chiun. Let’s go.” He pulled himself shakily to his feet and limped alongside Chiun.
“He would not be ungrateful and inconsiderate, like some pupils of low talent.”
Remo clenched his teeth together. “Look, if you think I’m so inferior to that murdering maniac, why don’t you just team up with him and leave me alone?”
Chiun’s eyes glistened. “Really? Do you mean that, Remo?” he asked hopefully.
Remo stopped walking. “Sure, if that’s what you want. Nobody said you were stuck with me for life.” He spoke quietly. Any louder and he might not have been able to control the wobble in his voice.
Hesitantly Chiun smiled, then nodded. “Perhaps I shall speak with him,” he said. “I hope you are not offended.”
