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."
Remo waved him away.
"Very well," Chiun said, obviously pleased. He took a couple of steps backward, away from Remo.
"Chiun?"
"Yes?"
"I did fight with a snake back there. The python."
Chiun smiled. "Of course," he said. "But you are a Master of Sinanju. A snake is but a snake." Chiun turned and walked away toward the castle on Devil's Mountain. He bounced merrily as he walked, his blue ceremonial robe fluttering gaily in the breeze. "Still. Think of it. The Dutchman. Someone trainable, at last. I will remember you fondly, Remo."
"Blow it out your ears, Little Father," Remo said as Chiun walked out of his life.
Remo sat on the ground.
"Trainable," he muttered. Chiun was climbing Devil's Mountain, growing small in the distance. The ingrate. Chiun knew what Remo was going through with that nine-foot people-crusher, and didn't even have a good word for him afterward. And now the old beanbag was skipping straight into the clutches of a madman who was out to kill them both. Just because the Dutchman kept his elbow straight. Well, fine. If that was how Chiun wanted it, that was just fine with Remo. He would sit in his spot by the sea till flowers bloomed out his ears, and after the Dutchman had sprung his inevitable trap on Chiun, Remo would go up to the white castle to pick up the pieces. Fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.
With a sigh, he stood up and shambled off toward Devil's Mountain. It didn't matter how Chiun felt about him. He needed Remo, whether he knew it or not, and Remo would be there.
?Eleven
Pierre LeFevre drummed his fingers on the antique mahogany arm of the room's lone chair. The starkness of the castle surprised him at first. Each dark chamber he passed through on his way to the Dutchman was as bare and cold as a dungeon, furnished with a dungeon's sparse amenities.
He shifted nervously in his seat, catching the acrid scent of his own fear-soured sweat. Beyond, in a glass-enclosed room visible through a slightly open door, the Dutchman peered through a long white telescope at the shipyard far below. He closed the eyepiece and came into the anteroom where Pierre waited for his reward.
"You were quite right," the Dutchman drawled softly, brushing back his thick blond hair with sensitive hands. "There were two men in the shipyard, although I can't imagine what they were doing there. The trucks don't even have wheels on them, you know." He looked to Pierre to see if he could detect a hint of conspiracy. Did the black man know more than he said? Had the bodies in the truck been found by people other than Remo and Chiun? Had the authorities been notified? But Pierre said nothing and only stared at the carpet. No, the Dutchman decided. He's not with them. He's too scared.
The Dutchman couldn't let him live, of course. He wouldn't tell Pierre that Chiun was, at that moment, climbing alone up Devil's Mountain. He wouldn't reveal that Chiun and Remo had somehow killed all five snakes in the compound. The two of them were cleverer than ever the Master had told the Dutchman. But the old man was alone now. Alone he would do combat with the Dutchman. And alone the old man would die.
The Dutchman held out the scrap of paper on which Pierre had written the address of the villa. "This is where they're staying, you say?"
Pierre tried to speak, but his throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He nodded mutely, his eyes wide and bulging. Lordie, what a mistake. Something was wrong in this place. It was cold here, and too still. It reminded him of old Mr. Potts's mausoleum in the cemetery, where Pierre and his cousin had broken in when they were boys. Cold and stale and motionless, like the Dutchman himself. He was like a ghost, that one, dressed in white and moving and talking, but dead all the same.
Pierre avoided the ice-blue eyes as the Dutchman eased himself languidly toward another door. He walked like a cat, Pierre noticed. Not a sound, not a ripple in the white satin smoking jacket he wore. He gestured with his hands. An olive-skinned servant came in silently carrying a silver tray with a bottle and a glass.
"Sherry, Mr. LeFevre?" the Dutchman asked. "I'm afraid I can't join you, but I'm told it's very good."
"N-n-n-n—" Speech had long since left Pierre.
"No? Very well. I thought it might warm you. After all, it's quite cold outside."