Shane waited until he was far out to sea before he shook the gasoline all throughout the boat. He poured the remainder over his head. Then he applied flame from his Zippo lighter to the stern. It caught slowly because the boat was already wet.
Then, taking up his guitar, he began to sing what had become the theme song of his life in a pain-choked voice. "It's oooooovvvvvveeeeeerrrrrr," he wailed.
He faced the setting sun, his back to the wavering yellow flames. Shane Billiken was going out like a Viking, a song on his lips. He wondered if he had been a Viking in a past life. Or maybe he would become a Viking in the next. Was it possible to be reincarnated into the past? Shane hadn't studied that, but he hoped all knowledge would soon be revealed to him. He had earned it.
He wondered what was taking the flames so long to reach him. And why did his feet feel so wet? He looked down.
The boat was sinking. Strange long fingernails were piercing the bottom. They withdrew.
"Damn!" he said. The flames hissed as seawater quenched them. In seconds he was floating in a gasoline slick, clutching his Ovation guitar like a life preserver.
A head popped up beside him. "Remember us?" Remo asked.
"You have my treasure," Chiun said. He surfaced on the other side. His eyes were angry and narrow.
"Hey, you can't do this. This is my funeral. I'm going to die. And you can't stop it. My horoscope foretold this."
"Yes," Chiun said gravely. "You will die, but for your base temerity, you will not die the death you prefer, but the one I choose for you. For you have been the instrument of great tragedy."
"You got me wrong. It wasn't me that wrecked that island. It was those mercenaries. Talk to them. I'm just a leaf in the karmic wind."
"No," Chiun said. "You will talk to them for me. I wish you to deliver a message."
"Yeah? And what's that?"
"No one trifles with the possessions of the House of Sinanju."
And suddenly the old Oriental's hand was in Shane's face, and he never heard his Ray-Bans crack and never felt the bone chip fly back from the bridge of his nose all the way through his brain and out the back of his skull. He just sank to the bottom, where he became one with the food chain.
The Master of Sinanju emerged from the surf, his arms full of coins.
"Going back for more'?" Remo asked, wringing seawater out of his pant legs.
"No. This is the amount we earned. The remainder do not matter."
"Be a shame to leave the rest out there with Billiken."
"Pah!" Chiun spat. "They are worthless."
"What do you mean, worthless? They're pure silver. Aren't they?"
Chiun shook his wise head. "Impure tin. It is not the metal that makes Moovian coins so valuable. It is that they are Moovian."
"Then why bother with your share? And why kill Billiken over it?"
"Because, worthless or not, these are the property of Sinanju. Just because others do not treasure it does not mean that we do not. Besides," Chiun added, "These have sentimental value. And as far as any know, they are the only Moovian coins left. The fewer there are, the more valuable they will be. Who knows, one day America might sink and take with it all its precious metal. Even tin might become valuable then."
"Don't hold your breath," Remo said, plunging back into the surf.
"Where are you going?"
"To salvage a couple more coins," Remo called back. "I'm famished. Maybe I can convince some unsuspecting restaurant owner to take them in trade for an order of duck with orange sauce."