"I need a helicopter," he told the ground crew chief at Juliana airport.
"This is a restricted area, sir," the man barked over his shoulder.
Smith took out his old C.I.A. identification. "This is an emergency. I'll return the vehicle."
The chief spoke rapidly into his headset, and the crewman on the airstrip guided in a KLM 747. "I'd like to help you guys out, mister, but I haven't got an extra pilot."
"That's all right. I'll fly it myself."
The man with the headset took a long look at the middle-aged fellow whose I.D. claimed he was Dr. Harold W. Smith, computer information specialist. He was wearing a three-piece gray suit, a straw hat, and glasses. All in all, he wasn't the chief's idea of an ace pilot.
"How many hours you got logged?" he asked.
"Seven thousand. I'll bring it back within a half-hour. You can keep my card."
The ground control chief flipped the card over in his hand. "Well, okay, if it's an emergency. But if that machine isn't back here in time, I'm going to put out an area search for you, including airspace."
"That's fine. Thank you very much."
"In the west hangar." He watched Smith trot off. They sure aren't very fussy about their agents down in Langley these days, he thought.
Then, just as Smith got the chopper off the ground, the air to the northwest lit up in a soaring explosion of flame.
Smith knew his suspicions had been right.
?Seventeen
Chiun's blue ceremonial robe lay folded near a cluster of bouganvillea. The Dutchman's white jacket was strewn carelessly over the balcony railing, where he had tossed it. He wouldn't need it after today. He wouldn't need anything.
It was as it should be, he thought. His life was scheduled to begin after his twenty-fifth year; he would never see it. The Dutchman would instead be claimed by the sea, his freakish spirit drowned for all eternity. There would be no more death urged on by the hungry, senseless thing inside him, no more pain. A long swim out, one struggling gasp, and done. After Chiun's death, his own would come easily. An hour had passed since the two men first faced each other in their fighting gis. Although their movements were constant and spectacular, no blow had been struck. Each was aware of the other's lethalness: one blow was all it would take. The slowness of the battle was agonizing. The Dutchman's body was bathed in sweat.
He jumped high in the air, twisting into a perfect triple spiral that jolted his downward spin to incredible speed. The air behind him sparked. He landed less than an inch away from Chiun. His arm was ready, rocketing in the direction of the old man, but Chiun was already fifty feet away, transported as if by sheer magic.
"Excellent," the old man said. "A beautiful variation. But you waste too much energy in unecessary movement. Prepare your feet before you begin the upward thrust. It should help the angle of your landing."
The Dutchman bristled, his concentration broken. "We are met here in mortal combat," he reminded Chiun with the consummate dignity of youth.
Chiun smiled. "I cannot help it. I am too much the teacher."
"I will kill you."
He shrugged. "Perhaps. What will you do then, Jeremiah?"
The Dutchman's jaw worked. "None of your business," he said finally.
"You need not hate me to kill me, you know." The old man's eyes were smiling.
"You murdered Nuihc!" he shouted.
"He murdered himself through his evil. What will you do, my son?"
"Don't call me that!"
"What will you do when I am dead?"
The words rushed out in a torrent of fury. "I will die! I will go to the sea and end the useless pain of my life. I will find rest." Tears streamed over his face.
Chiun stammered. "You will die?"
"That is all I wish."
"But you are so young—"
"I am an abnormality. A cancer. I set my own parents on fire!"
"That is done, just as Nuihc's life is done. You cannot change that. But you can control your power. It need not be destructive."
"I can't control it. It only gets worse with each year. Soon I will be killing children on the street. Don't you see? I cannot live. I am an evil thing, not a man. I must not live."
Chiun was puzzled. "Then why do you bother to kill me?"
He answered with downcast eyes. "I have made my pledge to Nuihc."
Night was falling. Beyond the terraced lawns of the castle, the tide rushed inward. The tree frogs of twilight began their eerie song. Chiun walked toward the Dutchman slowly. He stopped in front of him.
"Then kill me," Chiun said simply.
"No!" The young man was enraged. "You are a legend. You will fight me. I will not butcher the Master of Sinanju like a defenseless cat." He stepped back. Chiun smiled. "Stop it!"
"I see now," Chiun said. "You did not plan to kill me at all. You wished only that I would kill you."
"That's not true! I promised Nuihc!"
"You are not an evil man, Jeremiah."
"Get away—"
Both men froze in their tracks, their eyes riveted to the silhouette coming over the horizon. Remo stopped, too, looking in bewilderment at the two of them.
"Now I will force you to fight me," the Dutchman said.
The air crackled with electricity. The tree frogs abruptly stopped their song. All was silence.
He raised his right arm slowly. Starting on his shoulder, a ball of light traveled down his arm, growing, glowing brighter, and shot off his finger like a bullet. It hit Remo in the stomach. Remo blinked, stunned, and doubled over with a gasp.
"Halt!" Chiun shouted.