"I did!" Shane exulted. Everyone piled on him. They wrestled him to the ground, a dozen hands clamping on his mouth and throat.
When they finally let go, Shane Billiken's eyes were feverish. "I did. I did. I did," he whispered over and over again. "Didn't I? I made a positive affirmation and it worked. Finally."
"Everybody grab as much as they can carry," Dirk ordered. "We'll take this stuff back to the boat in rotating groups of threes. The first group stays with the ship to guard that end. The main force will remain here with the treasure. If we hustle our butts, we can have all this stuff on the boat before dawn."
"Then we sail home, right?" Shane said.
"No. There's natives on this island. I've been at sea without a woman for more than a week. I feel like having me some island girls. When we're done loading, we'll see what we can rustle up in the way of enforced R-and-R. Everybody with me on that?"
Everybody was. Except Shane Billiken. He volunteered to stay with the treasure. His offer was accepted.
The Master of Sinanju sat in the courtyard of the High Moo's palace. He faced the east, his eyes closed. The rising sun warmed his parchment countenance. Sea breezes toyed with the wisps of hair that decorated his wise face. He was transcending with the sun, an old Sinanju custom.
When he had finished meditating, he laid his hands upon his knees and arose like a straightening sunflower. Remo sauntered up from the jungle. He carried something black and shiny in one hand.
"I have decided," Chiun said gravely. "We will leave Moo today. My heart is heavy, but my mind is clear."
"Don't say your good-byes just yet," Remo said evenly. "We have problems."
"I absolve us of any problems associated with the House of Moo. It has sunk into evil ways."
"Not them. I was out for a walk and I found these." Remo held up a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses. "Elvis is on this island," he said.
"Nonsense," Chiun snapped. "Elvis is dead. Or living in Minnesota. Reports vary."
"Not Elvis Presley. Our old pal Shane Billiken."
"Oh, him," Chiun said, waving disrnissively. "A mere annoyance."
"Maybe, but there's a ship outside the lagoon and it's crawling with jungle fatigues. And they're armed to the gills. "
"Our ship is safe?" Chiun demanded.
"So far. But the news gets worse. I happened to walk by the ol' treasure stump. It's been emptied."
"My coins!" Chiun squeaked.
Remo nodded grimly. "Everybody's coins. And I tracked bootprints leading down to the lagoon. The coins must be on that boat."
"They will rue this day," Chiun cried, shaking a tiny fist.
"Why should they be any different than us?" Remo asked rhetorically.
Together the Master of Sinanju and his pupil descended from the lofty summit of Moo. Chiun was a driving storm cloud in an azure kimono. His chin jutted forward. He scorned the treacherous path to the shore and instead took the direct approach. Branches and mangrove thickets were crushed from his path.
"Where are the peasants?" Chiun asked at one point. "I do not see them at their toil."
"While you were transcending with the sun, I had a little talk with them about labor-management relations."
"Be good enough to speak English, not American."
"They're on a sit-down strike on the back part of the island. They won't stand up until the High Moo makes certain concessions. I've been appointed strike leader."
"You are poisoning their minds with foolish notions, Remo," Chiun scolded. "These people need their High Moo. "
"The High Moo needs them, you mean. Uh-uh. After today, things are going to be different. Hold it," Remo said suddenly.
Remo and Chiun froze. Down below, white men were running in and out of the mines, trailing lengths of wire. Others hunkered down in the mangroves, confident they were invisible in their fatigues.
"I count five on land," Remo said. "Yes, five. Let us cut their number."
"Hold on," Remo said. "'They're up to something in the mines."
"Not for very long," Chiun vowed.
Dirk Edwards waited until the last man was out of the mines.
"Okay, everybody get down," he said as he lifted his clenched fist to signal the men with the detonators to be ready.
"Remember," he said, "when they blow, it will bring the natives out where we can pick them off. Just shoot the males. We can handle the women easy. Maybe we'll get lucky and dislodge same of whatever they're mining, too."
And then he brought his fist down and twisted the handle of his own detonator.
The ground lifted under Remo and Chiun's feet. They reacted instantly, leaping into the treetops with the graceful alacrity of gazelles. The palms shook like dust mops in angry hands. They began toppling. The ground beneath collapsed like the sand at the top of an hourglass pouring down.
"The whole slope is crumbling!" Remo shouted.
"Higher ground," Chiun called. He leapt into the next tree, Remo following. They swung from tree to tree as the whole slope seemed to cave to behind them. Remo paused long enough to look back. The sheer western face of Moo, which was riddled with mines and tunnels, was falling like an avalanche. Instead of cascading snows, it was a nightmare of soil and foliage and palms sliding into the sea. The roar of moving earth was like a freight train.
Dirk Edwards saw that he had miscalculated. He called retreat.
"Every fucker for himself!"
They broke for the beach. They splashed into the surf ahead of a tidal wave of soil and stones. Some abandoned their weapons as they swam for the ship.
Belowdeck on the New Age Hope, Shane Billiken was happily counting coins.
"Seventy-seven ... seventy-eight ... seventy-"
The concussion sent the kerosene lamps gyrating in their gimbals. Shane plunged up the companionway. The two men on watch, Gus and Miles, were at the rail pointing toward Moo, their mouths hanging open in stupefaction.
It looked as if the entire island was coming down. Birds flew into the air. Shane saw a scampering monkey buried alive. A faint dust cloud lifted and kept on rising, and Shane realized it was the insects of Moo, fleeing the collapse of land.
"Where are they? Can you see them?" Miles shouted hoarsely.
"No. Wait! There in the water. They're swimming for it. "
Shane saw Dirk Edwards stroking like mad, the others not far behind. One slow swimmer was caught by the sliding wall of soil. He went under a bubbling mixture of newly created mud.
Shane's mind crystallized instantly. The treasure was below. The others were in the water. And he was alone on deck with only two men.
He looked around and spotted an assault rifle leaning beside the mainmast. He tiptoed back and took it in his sweaty hands. His thumb squeezed off the safety and he crept forward.
He shot Gus first. He shot him point-blank in the back of the head, scattering his face across the water. Miles whirled and Shane riddled his chest. Miles staggered back. His mouth gulped like a beached fish's.
While Miles teetered against the rail. Shane sent a foot into his caved-in chest. He went overboard, Shane then hoisted Gus's carcass over the side.
Within what seemed like only seconds, the water was full of churning sharks. They attacked like hungry dogs, turning the water pinkish-white.
Shane called down encouragement to the sharks. "Hey, do what you love!" He started to raise anchor and then took the wheel. He kicked both engines to life. The schooner dug in and raced away.
Shane Billiken was very pleased with himself. He didn't feel like vomiting in the least. In fact, he felt hungry. He decided that once he had cleared the island, he would go below for a good fistful of Limburger, and maybe finish counting his coins.
Chapter 38
The roaring, rumbling, snapping, and splintering sounds began to subside at last.
Remo and Chiun dropped from the shivering trees to the ground on the summit of Moo. They ran to the Royal Palace. Moovians were milling about the palace, their voices high and plaintive.