"Remember that the worries of those who made this empire have long since turned to dust. The woes that burden you will one day be the same. You flutter here and there, hoping that each moment will bring you happiness. But a mere moment cannot be so powerful. It is but the lost blink of an eye, forever locked in time. True joy comes from within. Do not struggle so hard to find it, and perhaps it will find you."
"Sometimes I've thought I had," Remo admitted gently. "But every time things seem to get okay for me, the world comes along and kicks me in the nuts."
Chiun offered a flickering smile. "At those points, my son, it is always important to kick back harder." His eyes darted over his pupil's shoulder. "Your ride is here."
When Remo turned, curious, he saw that Bubu was picking his way around the broken baobab. The young man had changed back into the suit he'd worn at the airport.
Remo noted that Bubu was lean, but not emaciated. His stride was that of a confident feline. There seemed a quiet grace to him as the young man stopped beside the rock on which sat the two, Sinanju Masters.
"If you wish to return to Bachsburg tonight, Master Remo, the chief has said I may take you," Bubu said with a polite bow. "Provided you are staying, Master Chiun."
Remo turned to his mentor. "Chiun?"
The old man shook his head. "I cannot go," he said.
"Okay," Remo said, scampering down the rock. "You're on. Name's Remo, by the way. You can cut out that Master stuff."
The Luzu offered another short bow. "I am Bubu."
Remo's eyes took on an amused glint. "You're kidding."
The native seemed puzzled. "No, that is my name."
"Well, make sure you stay away from my picka-nick basket," Remo warned.
"Do not embarrass me," Chiun hissed, scurrying off the rock.
To Bubu, he said, "Pay no attention to my son. Although he considers himself a wit, he is only half-right."
Remo wondered why Chiun would worry so much about the feelings of a common Luzu native. As the three men started back through the village, Remo leaned close to the Master of Sinanju.
"I don't know the customs around here," he ventured out of the corner of his mouth. "Should I pay my respects to the chief before I go?"
"I will do so for you," Chiun droned. "With the tact you have displayed since arriving, one goodbye from you and the House of Sinanju will be at war with the Luzu Empire."
Chapter 20
The big bulletproof limousine with its black-tinted windows stole like a sleek, silent panther through the streets of Bachsburg. In the rear seat, a lone figure sat.
Bachsburg was alive, vibrant.
A million lights washed over the modern miracle of a city that man had carved out of the inhospitable African wilderness. To Mandobar, it seemed almost possible to reach out and feel the night pulse of that great metropolis. The world's new crime mecca.
At a streetlight, Mandobar lazily scanned the activity taking place beyond the limo's smoky windows. There were whores down the block. Nearer, a man had been stabbed in the belly by a mugger. The sound of an ambulance swelled in the distance.
All of this would end soon. Soon, this city would be ruled with an iron fist. Petty crimes would cease as the energy of a nation was directed outward. With a vengeance, East Africa would foster real criminal activity. All around the world.
The next day, the remainder of the crime lords would descend on the city. In the late afternoon-under twenty hours away-they would be whisked off to the village of bungalows that had been constructed at the periphery of Luzuland. For safety's sake, they would be told. Little did any of them know that they would never return.
Mandobar smiled at the thought.
So many dead. Massive piles of charred corpses. No. Less than that.
Mere stains in the sand. Like the ash left in Russell Copefeld's wake.
The leading criminals of the world. All dead. Crime syndicates everywhere with no one to command them. A power structure already in place in Bachsburg, with Mandobar at its helm. Of course, not without help.
On the phone earlier this afternoon, Don Giovani of the Sicilian Mafia had been quite anxious. Don Vincenzo of Camorra had insisted that Don Giovani be in Bachsburg for the inaugural festivities. Giovani knew what was going to happen in that little village on the outskirts of the dead Luzu Empire, and so did not wish to be anywhere near East Africa. But Vincenzo had said that Camorra would not attend if the Sicilian Mafia did not. Giovani had relented.
Mandobar had done a good job soothing the Mafia leader's concerns.
Camorra would come, Mandobar had said. It couldn't afford not to. And well before the appointed time, Mandobar would personally see to it that the Mafia was safely out of the area. After all, they were going to be future business partners in the new East Africa.
The car phone buzzed to life. Outside the limousine, insects danced around streetlights. Eyes on the flitting bugs, Mandobar answered the phone.
The coolly efficient voice of L. Vas Deferens spoke without preamble. "I have received word from Nunzio Spumoni that Don Giovani will be attending after all," East Africa's defense minister announced.
In the dark of the back seat, Mandobar smiled. "I know."
Deferens did not attempt to hide his surprise. "You do? May I ask how?"
"I have spoken to Don Giovani today."
"Ah..." A hint of confusion. Concern?
It was nice for Deferens to be confounded on occasion. Until that moment, the defense minister had known nothing of Mandobar's private conversations with the Mafia leader.
"What about Don Vincenzo?" Mandobar asked. "Giovani is concerned that Camorra will back out."
"Nunzio assures me that he can convince him to come," L. Vas Deferens said. "I believe in the end he will. After all, he cannot afford not to."
"What about the Luzu?" Mandobar asked. "I don't need that headache now, too."
"I've sent men to Luzuland to neutralize Batubizee. I expect them back with good news by tomorrow morning. As far as today's incident at the palace, it has been contained for now. I cannot promise that word will not leak out, however. There were too many killed and too many involved in the cover-up. We have a couple of days at best."
Mandobar sat back heavily in the car seat. "This is all the fault of that aborigine Batubizee. Things were going perfectly up until now."
An image of the Luzu chief came to mind, a flaming, gasoline-filled tire around his fat neck. As quickly as it came, it went. The streets of Bachsburg again stretched out beside the gleaming black sides of the speeding limo.
"I want him dead, Deferens," Mandobar said menacingly.
"The man I hired for the job is a real find," the defense minister said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "He actually wished to go to Luzuland with only one guide. I insisted that he take a few more men."
"Alone against those savages? He sounds a bigger fool than Batubizee."
"You have not met him," Deferens said with irritating confidence.
"The Luzu may boil him in a pot to feed their starving bellies for all I care. Just as long as Batubzee is dead by tomorrow. Keep me informed." Mandobar hung up the phone.
One man against the entire Luzu nation. Alone in the back of the limousine, Mandobar snorted derisively. Deferens could be so limited sometimes.
That had been the defense minister's problem since the outset. Deferens was ambitious, but not creative. He would never think beyond the initial plan to turn Bachsburg and eventually all of East Africa into a haven for crime.
Mandobar, on the other hand, was not limited like the prim little defense minister. The plan to get the crime leaders to gather here was just a ruse. Leaning back in the car seat once more, Mandobar realized that Chief Batubizee would most likely be dead by the following day, one way or another. If the explosion didn't get him, the fallout would. Picturing mound upon mound of whimpering, screaming Luzus covered in sheets of bleeding, peeling radioactive flesh, Mandobar's smile returned.