"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.
?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.
?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.