"He works quickly," Chiun said, impressed.
"So will the police," Remo said, turning to Wolfshy.
The Indian blinked in bewilderment. "But I only borrowed those accessories."
Harry clasped both hands to his head and reeled inside.
"Accessories?" Remo shouted. "You call tires accessories?"
"Hold, hold," Chiun said. "This person has possibilities."
"So do a lot of guys in San Quentin."
"Use your head, Remo. We take his car."
Remo looked from the old Oriental to the jeep. "Not bad, Little Father."
"Hey, wait a minute," Sam waffled. "I don't know about that."
"Let me explain it to you," Remo said in the manner of a born teacher. "Either we take your jeep, or you spend the next couple of years in the state pen. Now, what's your answer?"
Wolfshy looked blankly at Remo for a moment, then broke into a broad grin. "Looks like you two just hired yourselves a genuine Indian guide." He held out his hand.
Remo ignored it and pointed to the jeep. "You drive," he said.
Wolfshy climbed in. "We'll be able to drive to the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos, but then we'll have to walk," he said cheerfully.
"So you've been to the mountains before?"
"Not really," Wolfshy said. "A hiker told me a couple of months ago. Loaned me these boots I'm wearing."
"That figures," Remo said.
Wolfshy continued, undaunted, "Nice guy. Said he went to check out an old Franciscan monastery at the top of one of the peaks, but when he got there, the place was swarming with soldiers. They chased him off."
"American soldiers?"
"I guess. He didn't say." Wolfshy revved up the engine.
"Hold it," Remo said. "I need to make a phone call."
Inside the station, Harry was beaming. "So you're going to take him after all, are you?"
"Yeah. Where's the phone?"
Harry pointed.
"Do me a favor, will you, and clear out for a couple of minutes? This call's private."
"Sure." Harry gave him a lewd wink. "Got a little honey, eh?"
Remo thought of Harold W. Smith's pinched, lemony face. "Not exactly," he said.
Smith's computers whirred and beeped for less than twenty seconds before Remo got his answer. "There's no American military base in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains," the lemony voice said.
"That's all I wanted to know," Remo said, and hung up. He climbed into the jeep. "We're going to that monastery. Which way is it?"
"Due north," Wolfshy said with authority,
Jubilantly, Harry waved good-bye to them as Wolfshy turned a slow circle in front of the gas station.
Remo relaxed. "I guess it's a good thing we've got you along after all," he said to the Indian. "I'd hate to get lost in those mountains."
Wolfshy turned another circle, and then went around a third time.
"Think we can stop the parade and get going?" Remo snapped.
"Sure," Wolfshy said. "There's just one thing."
"What is it?"
"Which way is north?"
?CHAPTER FIVE
The petite blonde clutched at her stomach and moaned. "I need a doctor," she pleaded through clenched teeth. "You've got to help me. I think it's my appendix."
She was about to say something more, but instead she drew a sharp breath, doubling over with pain.
The other women stirred to life. During the day, the former chapel let in light from its high windows, revealing the monastery's adobe walls and filthy stone floor. The women huddled together in the corners for warmth, their faces gray, their expressions numb and blank. Some of them bore fresh wounds from the beatings they received from the guards.
Consuela Madera went to the blonde girl. They had awakened together, along with Consuela's sisters, in this damp, terrifying place. When the Madera girls learned that their parents and brother were gone, probably dead, the younger girls became hysterical with grief. Their wails brought the guards who brought their sticks and fists.
Consuela learned quickly to put her own fear aside to help the others. As if sharing an unspoken communication with the beautiful Mexican woman, the young blonde named Karen joined her in nursing the sick and comforting the despairing among them. From their first days together, Karen and Consuela had become the kind of friends who would do anything for one another without question.
"What is wrong, Karen?" Consuela wrapped her arms around the blonde, leading her toward the wall. "How can I help?"
"I'm all right," Karen whispered. "Just go along. Try to get a guard in here."
Consuela obeyed without hesitation. "Guard!" she shouted. "We need a doctor. This woman is very sick."
Karen moaned. Clutching at the folds of her shapeless gray gown, she slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, her head tossing from side to side. "Help me," she screamed. "I'm burning up inside."
Finally Karen heard the sounds of motion overhead, the scraping noise of a chair being shoved back, the thud of boots on a tile floor, and then after a moment's silence, the metallic snick of a key turning in a lock. She drew a deep breath as the big oak door creaked on its hinges. He's coming, she thought. He really is coming.
The small blonde kept her head down as the heavy-footed guard made his way across to where she was resting against the rough adobe wall. The other women moved out of his path, sticking in small groups. Consuela recited a prayer.
The guard, a young, dull-looking man named Kains, hesitated as he passed the Mexican girl. Unconsciously his tongue slid over his lips.
She's so beautiful, he thought. His spark-less eyes ceased to blink as his gaze rested on Consuela's buttocks. His hand reached out to touch her, but he pulled back. No. She's different from the others.
Consuela had been the only one of the new arrivals to look him in the eye. Without fear, she had demanded bandages and water for the others. And when he had brought them water, Consuela thanked him. She's a real lady, Kains thought.
Not like this other pain in the ass who was always causing problems. "What's wrong with you?" Kains asked harshly, stepping toward the shivering blonde on the floor.
"I'm sick," Karen gasped.
Scowling, Kains tugged at his peak-billed cap. Well," he muttered, "we ain't got a doctor." His deep-set eyes mirrored uncertainty. "One of the guards used to be a medic, though. Maybe he'll take a look at you."
"Oh, God," Karen moaned. She reached out and grabbed Kains's arm as if to steady herself. The gesture forced the guard to move in closer or lose his balance. His booted feet shifted. The butt of his shoulder-slung rifle jabbed into his back.
"Screw you," Karen whispered. Using the wall for support, she brought up her knee, driving it into Kains's unprotected groin. The startled guard let out a whoosh of air like a punctured bellows. He doubled over, clutching at his manhood while Consuela jumped on his back, wrapping her thin arms around Kains's bull neck.
"Get his gun," Karen shouted. She pushed off the wall again, ramming her head into the wide, soft target of the guard's stomach. Kains made a dry, retching sound and wobbled, but he managed to stay on his feet. He cocked his balled fist back and slammed it down into the little blonde's mouth.
Consuela screamed as Karen slumped to the floor, a spray of blood shooting from her nose. Overhead, a staccato burst of automatic fire stitched a ragged line across the wall. The noise was deafening, but the weapons were aimed too high to actually hit the women. Loosened clay dust swirled in the air. There were screams, muttered curses, and a thrashing of limbs as the panicked women scrambled for cover.
"It's over now," a deep voice bellowed. "Everybody calm down and you won't be hurt."