Suddenly there was a loud whooshing of air and a sharp crack. The blonde's smile froze and vanished as she fell backward, a metal dart vibrating in her breastbone. Another thwack, and the brunette slumped dead at Remo's feet.
He shook his head, unbelieving, and turned to look at the tiny prison window behind him. Through the bars, he saw his housekeeper's fat face peering hotly at him, a straw peashooter between her lips.
"Sidonie."
"Get up, fool. The old man need you. Get out of there." She shifted her tremendous bulk in a rustle of skirts and produced a length of iron pipe, which she lowered halfway through the bars.
"You push that way, I push this way. We bend the bars, you get out. Got it?"
"Chiun," he groaned through the fog in his brain. The pipe fell to the floor.
"Pick that up, boy," Sidonie said, irritated. "I walk all the way to de Jeep for that. Now you help me use it to get you out, or I knock your block off with this peashooter, okay? It got poison on de end, so don't try no funny stuff." She puffed her cheeks menacingly.
Forcing himself to alertness, Remo reached up to the bars on the window and pulled them apart with his hands, then hoisted himself through the opening.
"Not bad, white boy," Sidonie said, impressed. "Where Pierre? I still got his money. He come in that?" She pointed to the abandoned Jeep.
"He did. He's dead, Sidonie."
Her mouth turned downward. "That boy have no business coming to Devil's Mountain," she said. She waddled heavily in front of him.
"How'd you get here?"
"I can't keep Fabienne in that house, Mr. Remo. Not and keep us both alive. They coming for her, the Dutchman's men. We leave, they come. I seen them. It bad, Mr. Remo."
"How'd you know we'd be here?"
She smiled ruefully. "I be in the Resistance, boy. I know you ain't no tourists. The Dutchman, he something funny. He your business here, I figure."
"Where's Fabienne?"
"I hide her out in these caves near here—"
A scream pierced the air. "Dat her!" Sidonie puffed toward the brush. Fabienne screamed again.
"Where is she? I can get there faster alone."
"Over there." She pointed toward a molehill of volcanic pockets sprouting out of the earth beneath a large almond tree. Remo ran to the mouth of the largest cave, which seemed to be connected to the others.
"Fabienne?"
"Remo!" the girl shrieked below. There was a scuffle and another scream, followed by a series of unintelligible grunts. Remo blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness as he descended deeper into the cave.
In the distance he saw the mute. "Get to the mouth of the cave!" he shouted to the girl. She scurried away.
Deep in the darkness of the cave, Sanchez turned silently to Remo, a knife flashing as he yanked it from between his teeth and raised it above his head to lunge. Remo dodged him and ran even deeper into an obscure channel of the cave. The air was cool and still here. It reminded him of the Dutchman's castle, except that there was no light at all, not even enough to catch the metal of the mute's knifeblade. It was pitch black. Even Remo's trained night vision was worthless.
He reached a hand up experimentally. The ceiling was low. Long stalactites protruded like icicles above him. He tried to find the walls by touch to locate an avenue of escape.
Suddenly the air split as the mute's blade skimmed close by Remo's chest. He backed off involuntarily, breaking off one of the stalactites with a crash. The blade lunged again. By instinct, Remo moved away from the sound a split second before it would have struck him.
Another arc of sound crashed near his left ear. He twisted toward it, bringing his foot up in a ferocious kick. It struck flesh. The mute snarled and brought the knife down over Remo's neck, but it hit only the hard cave earth below. Remo followed the sound of the knife striking and scooped up the mute in both arms. Before the writhing man in his arms could raise his weapon again, Remo thrust him to the ceiling, where a stalactite speared and held him like an insect on a pin.
The mute emitted a low, guttural moan, his arms and legs stirring the dark air briefly, then was silent again. The air returned to stillness.
"Fabienne? It's all right. Say something. It'll lead me to the entrance."
"This way," her voice called from far away, echoing through the empty chambers of the caves.
"Keep talking."
"Over here, Remo." The sound came from a dozen places at once. Over here, over here, over here.
"Never mind. I can't tell where you are." He thought for a moment. "Fabienne, pick up two stones. The bigger the better. Bring them to the dark mouth of the cave, away from the entrance."
After a moment, she spoke. "All right." All right, all right, all right, the walls echoed.
"Now hit the stones together. Put one on the ground if you have to. Just keep hitting."
When his echo died down, he pitched his hearing low. Now he caught the cave's secret sounds: the slow dripping of lime water in the stalactite chambers behind him, the beating of distant bats' wings, soft as night. Silence, Chiun had taught him, was never silent if you listened carefully enough. He fixed his hearing again, to an even more sensitive level.
Now the air he had thought so still whirled and moaned like a desert storm around him. He stepped forward; his shoes squealed. He heard his heart thumping slowly, his blood gushing into his veins. Any sudden loud noise now would have the same effect on him as a syringe full of strycchnine: his nerves would shatter and collapse from the shock. He didn't dare enlarge his hearing further. One level lower, and the sound of his own swallowing would stop his heart.
It was there. Far ahead and to the right: the soft chink of rock on rock. It echoed too, but the hard, metallic sound carried more purely than a human voice. He could trace its source. He followed it slowly, desensitizing his hearing as he inched his way toward the sound.
"Remo?" It was a whisper, but the sound was stunning. He breathed deeply and brought his hearing much closer to the surface.
It was still there. Click. Pause. Click. It sounded further away than ever because Remo's hearing was almost at normal level. He moved quickly toward it.
At last he saw a tiny spark in the distance, repeating with each striking of the stones. A flash... another. Soon he could see the outline of the girl lifting the heavy stone.
"You're a doll," Remo said. She wound her arms around him as he led her from the cave to the shade of the almond tree.
"Wait here for me— or Sidonie, if I don't come back," he said.
"Where are you going?"
"I've got to settle some unfinished business."
?Fifteen
Giuseppe Battiato, the Coppelia's radio operator, was pooling all his spiritual resources to keep from wetting his pants.
Puta, it was the puta in Barcelona who did this. He should never have married her. Alberto was right: what business did a father of four have taking a second wife before he'd gotten rid of the first? Live with her in Barcelona, Alberto said. Sample her honey treasure. Life is short. But one wife is enough for any man.
O stupido! He banged himself square in the forehead with his fist. Bigamy was a bad charge. Why hadn't he listened?