"Pah!" Chiun spit all at once. "You are an obstinate fool." He spun away from Remo, his kimono swirling wildly at his ankles. He marched into the bedroom, calling angrily over his shoulder as he went, "If you will not listen to true reason, perhaps you will give ear to the idiot logic of another blockheaded white."
"YOU WHAT!?"
The voice of Harold W. Smith over the international line was a mixture of shock and horror. Remo could actually hear the crack of Smith's arthritic knuckles as they tightened on the receiver.
"Aside from his overuse of the word 'lunatic,' Chiun got it about right," Remo replied thinly. The Master of Siaanju had placed the call to Smith from the bedroom. He was on that extension now as Remo spoke on the living-room phone.
"It is the waning days of his illness that has made him do this thing, Emperor," Chiun interjected. "The Master's disease I told you about many years ago has nearly run its course. He has decided to mark the occasion of his recovery with an act of utter lunacy."
The old Korean had mentioned Remo's illness when first he called Smith. It had been so many years since he had heard of it that it took the CURE director a moment to remember.
"Illness or not, this is totally unacceptable, Remo," Smith insisted.
"Accept it," Remo said flatly.
"How many bombs are there?" Smith begged.
"I don't know," Remo replied honestly. "I only saw the one. But Deferens said there were more."
"You must find out their exact locations," Smith said, trying to inject a reasonable tone into his lemony voice. "They must be disarmed."
"No way," said Remo. "I didn't decide on this on a whim, Smitty. We've been presented with a real opportunity here. Think about all the skunks who are in this town right now. We could get them all. No more of this nickel-and-dime water-treading crapola we've been doing all these years."
Smith did not allow his own earlier doubts to invade their conversation. "That cannot be a factor," he said.
"Why not?" Remo pressed, his voice passionate. "These creeps are like weeds. We pull one out, and another five sprout up. We've been giving the world's problems an ounce of CURE all these years when what they've really been screaming for is a pound of prevention. We can do that here. Today. Think about it, Smitty. We'll finally have the upper hand after all these years. That's got to be worth one crummy city."
Smith remained unmoved. "And what of the innocent people in Bachsburg?" he asked. "Have you given them any thought at all?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I have," Remo said. "What's the population of Bachsburg?"
Smith hesitated. "About one hundred and fifty thousand, including the wider metropolitan area," he replied slowly.
"And how many people are victims of crime every year?"
He saw now where Remo was headed. "On a global scale, those statistics are not available," Smith insisted.
"You don't have to tell me," Remo said. "I know it's more than the population here. A lot more."
"You would not stop common criminals, Remo. Everyday killers, pushers and rapists would still exist."
"But we can cut off the head of crime," Remo stressed. "Local police can mop up the rest. The guys who are here today are the ones running the show. They have the network that gets the drugs to the addict who has to steal to feed his habit. You know I'm right, Smitty."
"I know nothing of the sort," Smith answered tartly. "And if you will not follow orders, let me speak with Chiun alone."
"Don't count on him to do the heavy lifting," Remo said. "I think his Luzu gig's turning into a full-time job."
"Silence, madman," the Master of Sinanju snapped in rebuke. "I am here, Emperor," he said to Smith. "It is as I warned you. Remo is not given to many thoughts, so when one roots in his granite skull, it is difficult to dislodge."
"Sweet-talk me all you want," Remo warned. "It ain't gonna work."
"Remo, hang up," Smith ordered.
"Look, Smitty," Remo said. "Why don't I save you both some grief. Deferens is the only one who knows how to turn them off, and Elvis has left the building. He's out cold someplace safe, and I'm the only one who knows where he is."
"You did not eliminate him?" Smith asked, his sharp tone growing puzzled.
"No. Listen, Smitty, I have to go. Chiun and I are gonna need tickets out of here before the fireworks start."
After he hung up the phone, he heard Chiun speaking in hushed tones a few moments longer. The old Korean made it impossible for Remo to hear either side of the conversation. When he was through, he hung up the phone and padded back into the living room, a dull expression on his wrinkled face.
Remo was loitering near the door. "Smith is not pleased," Chiun said flatly.
"He'll get over it."
"Perhaps," Chiun said. Like a collapsing parachute, he settled cross-legged to the living-room rug.
"What are you doing?" Remo asked.
"Waiting," the Master of Sinanju said blandly. "Thanks to you, there is nothing else for me to do."
"You're just gonna sit there?"
"There is time. You have said so yourself."
"But don't you want to go back to Luzuland and get your stuff?"
Chiun shook his head. "Bubu has already returned with the chief's vehicle. I doubt a taxi would take me there. I am content to wait." With his long tapered nails, he fussed with the robes at his knees.
"If you're waiting for me to change my mind, don't bother," Remo warned. "I'm not going to."
"Of course not. The seed has already germinated in the sidewalk that is your brain. And because of this, an entire city must be made to suffer. Perhaps more."
"Guilt won't do it, either," Remo said. "I'm right and that's that. Case closed." He turned for the door.
"But consider," Chiun called after him.
Remo had his hand on the doorknob. "Consider what?" he asked, turning warily.
"The lesson of Nuk," Chiun explained. "For although it is written that his sole purpose in this land was to exploit the rich diamond mines of the Luzu, there has always been a sneaking suspicion among later Masters that he had more esoteric reasons. A paternal fondness for the Luzu people."
Remo's face fouled. "Chiun, I don't give a wet fart in a windbreaker about those people."
"No," Chiun agreed, his eyes flat. "Your concern is far greater. You care for the entire world. You are Remo Williams, the Great Preserver of Peace and Justice for all Humanity. And because of your great caring soul, hundreds of thousands will die this day."
And having delivered his final word on the subject, the Master of Sinanju closed his papery eyelids.
Across the room, a scowl formed deep on Remo's face. And in the furthest recesses of the cruelest lines, the shadows of doubt appeared. He refused to entertain them.
"Put a sock in it," Remo growled, flinging the door open. The hotel door slammed violently behind him.
Chapter 28
The helicopter grew from a tiny black speck in the pale white African sky. It swept across the plains to the south, cutting up over the bungalow-lined street in the small village at the outskirts of Luzuland.
Standing on the great, flat roof of the huge meeting hall, Mandobar watched the helicopter close in. The rear wall of the big auditorium was set into the side of a rocky hill. The hill itself was a natural plateau that had been made perfectly level. The helipad would soon be filled to capacity. A few helicopters were already there, rotor blades sagging inert.
Mandobar held a knot of fabric from the billowing skirts of the burnoose to keep it from blowing immodestly up. Another fat hand held the big fruit hat in place.
Almost time...
"THERE ARE NOT enough houses here," Don Giovani complained over the radio headset. He was a portly, white-haired man of seventy with a tomato-garden tan.
The chopper was flying over the last of the bungalows.