Perfect. Almost.
Mandobar tipped the brim of the plastic-fruitcovered hat ever so slightly.
Now it was perfect.
"All right, all right!" Mandobar snapped. A fat hand waved angrily.
The man dutifully drew the door open fully. Mandobar breezed inside.
The great foyer with its crystal chandeliers and rich imported tapestries was chilled to an icy sixtyfive degrees. A great change from the hundred-degree weather outside.
Feeling gooseflesh rise across exposed arms, Mandobar hurried to a rear office.
As Mandobar settled into a wide chair, a fat finger stabbed in the speed-dial number for the office of the defense minister. It rang several times before the voice of a male secretary finally answered. "Minister Deferens's office. How may I direct your call?"
Mandobar leaned forward. The farthest rounded end of a well-fed belly brushed the edge of the desk. "Get me Deferens."
"I am sorry," the secretary replied. "Minister Deferens is unavailable at the moment."
It was already a risk to be speaking to someone other than Deferens directly. Mandobar's voice was recognizable.
Hoping that the five syllables already spoken would not be enough to alert the secretary to the caller's identity, Mandobar broke the connection. A chubby hand continued to rest on the phone long after it was back in its cradle.
Where was Deferens? This was the most crucial phase of the operation. Nearly all of the dignitaries would be in Bachsburg now. Deferens should have been coordinating with them from his palace office. Those had been Mandobar's instructions.
After a long time, the hand finally left the phone. Mandobar would have an underling at the village make the necessary calls to Bachsburg. The criminal leaders still needed to be told when and where to come. The men who had been brought here so far were always blindfolded. Even Deferens didn't know about the village. He had always been too busy with his work to ask or care where Mandobar's secret meetings were being held.
Of course, there would be no risk of exposure by having someone else call. After all, everyone here in the bungalow village already knew who their employer was. Not that this knowledge would do them any good. Unlike the coordinators in Bachsburg, all of the people in the village would be dead by tomorrow.
Mandobar stood. The fruit hat reflected smartly in a glass picture frame on the opposite wall. Beneath the mound of fruit, a plump face scowled back at Mandobar.
One thing was certain. If an AWOL Deferens ended up torpedoing this deal so late in the game, Mandobar would make certain his death would not come as painlessly as those in the bungalow village. After all, there were still plenty of tires lying unused around East Africa.
Gaily colored burnoose trails swirling wildly behind an ample derriere, Mandobar stormed from the office.
Chapter 27
When he pulled open his hotel-room door, Remo found the Master of Sinanju waiting inside. The old man was fuming.
"Is this where it ends for us?" Chiun accused hotly. "You fleeing with your wretched life while you leave your father in spirit to the mercy of radioactive booms and toadstool clouds?"
"Do I look like I'm fleeing?" Remo asked, perturbed, as he closed the door.
"Worse," Chiun snapped. "You would make yourself a martyr to a cause no one but you understands."
"Nope," Remo said. "Not in the martyr biz. Actually, I was just gonna go get you. I'm glad you're here. You saved me another trip out to that dump."
Chiun's face hardened. "Do not dare speak ill of Luzuland, American. Yes, American," he stressed, as if employing the most vile of curses. "Those simple people have something you will never have."
"Cholera?" Remo suggested.
The tiny Korean stomped his feet in anger. "Respect for their elders," he hissed. "Bubu would never abandon his chief to an idiotic boom device."
"There's more than one bomb, Little Father."
"Worse still," Chiun accused. The anger seemed to drain from him all at once. "Oh, Remo," he lamented. "Have these visitations so hardened your heart? Do you now covet the title of Reigning Master so greatly that you would not even give me time to at least make peace with my ancestors?"
It was an accusation Remo had endured before. This time, however, it took on special meaning. "Don't say that, Chiun," he said quietly. "And I was coming to get you. The bombs aren't due to go off until midnight. We'll get out of here in plenty of time."
He headed for the bathroom. Chiun trailed him inside.
"We are not going anywhere," Chiun insisted. "Well, we're sure as hell not staying at ground zero," Remo replied. Running water in the basin, he splashed some on his face.
As he stood in the door, Chiun saw Remo's sewer clothes stuffed in the toilet. Some water had spilled over onto the tile floor. His nose rebelled at the stench.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"Didn't Bubu tell you?" Remo asked, drying his hands.
"He mentioned some misadventure the two of you shared in a cesspool. I assumed you were on yet another quest to root out other ancestors of yours who are not of Sinanju."
"Lay off," Remo griped.
Flinging down the towel, he left the room. Chiun followed him into the living area of the suite. "Very well," the Master of Sinanju replied. "I will not speak ill of your mongrel heritage or your quixotic search for the ragpickers who hatched you, but if I am going to be that nice to you, you must give something to me in return. The location of the boom devices."
Remo shook his head firmly. "You've got a lot to learn about sucking up," he said. "And I'm not telling."
Chiun pulled at the tufts of hair above his ears. "Stop this madness!" he demanded, jumping up and down. "Do you care nothing for the Luzu? If these devices go off, they will be destroyed, as well."
"You don't know that," Remo said, his brow furrowing. "Luzuland is pretty far away from Bachsburg. If the cloud blows the right way, they could come out of this fine."
Chiun threw up his hands. "Woe to the Luzu that they must risk their futures on your feebleminded guesses."
"Well, why don't you go back and get them the hell out of there?" Remo snapped, color rising in his cheeks. "Chiun, if these bombs go off, the whole world wins. Don't you think I haven't thought about the people here? I have. But when I weighed them against the whole rest of the planet, I'm sorry. They lost."
"I cannot believe what I am hearing," Chiun gasped. "You have truly gone mad."
"I was mad before I got here," Remo said. "Mad that we were losing the fight. Mad that I wasn't making a difference. Now I've been given a chance to do what I couldn't do on my own. When the bombs go off, we sweep the planet clean of nearly every bigwig bastard there is. We can start again with a clean slate."
"Oh, why did you have to be afflicted with Master's disease?" Chiun wailed. "Could I not have a pupil who was blind? Or lame?" He stabbed a sharpened fingernail at Remo. "You say you are worried about the entire world. Tell me, Remo Williams, what has the world ever done for you?"
Remo's shoulders sank imperceptibly. Only the Master of Sinanju would have seen the subtle motion.
"Not much, I guess," he answered quietly
"How dare you!" Chiun shrieked, his shrill voice rising ten octaves. Stemware in the hotel bar twelve stories below rang in protest. "The world has given you me! And what have I ever asked from you? Nothing! I give, give, give while you take, take, take. Well, I am asking for something now. I command you to tell me where those booms are!"
When Remo spoke, his voice was small. "I'm sorry, Chiun. I can't."
Chiun studied his pupil's face for a long moment, his thin lips fading into an invisible rictus of disgust. Remo refused to meet his teacher's penetrating gaze.