"This is your deal, Little Father," Remo reminded him. "At this point I'm just going along to zap Kluge."
"Remember that when we find the gold," Chiun cautioned. With that, the Master of Sinanju fell silent.
Remo rolled his eyes. "If we find it," he muttered.
"We have three-quarters of the map," Heidi reminded him. "Success may be in our grasp." She nodded serenely. "It is as it was intended to be."
"How so?" Remo asked, bored. He was looking out the window for the regimented runway lines of Tegel Airport.
"Siegfried was actually quite clever," Heidi said. "According to my family records, which date back to the time the carving was made, Siegfried wished that the money be divided equitably at the time of his passing. His son would have a segment, as well as each of our ancestors. At the time of his death, the location of the fourth piece would be revealed and the three interested parties would be able to find the Hoard. We could then divide it in thirds."
Behind them, Chiun snorted. "Poppycock," he volunteered.
Heidi pressed ahead. "With our two factions united, we need only bring aboard the descendant of Siegfried. If he is willing, we could all be much richer by morning."
"Wait a minute," Remo said, spinning away from the window. "You're not talking about cutting a deal with Kluge?"
"If necessary," Heidi admitted.
"Any separate deals you make will come out of your fifty percent," Chiun piped in.
"Think of another option," Remo told Heidi. She shrugged.
"We do not necessarily need to make a deal," she suggested. "As long as we acquire his portion of the block carving."
"No deals," Remo said firmly. He turned back to the small window. The airport runway was racing rapidly up to meet them.
Heidi sighed. "As you wish. It is a shame, however. We have come so far to fulfill the wishes of an ancient hero. This quest was intended by Siegfried to be a group effort by those deserving of the treasure."
"I deserve it all," called the Master of Sinanju's squeaky voice.
The Korean jet touched down with a heavy jounce and a shriek of tires.
AS HE WAITED in the car, Hirn Zeitzler touched the small flesh-colored bandage on his nose with delicate fingertips.
It still hurt, but nowhere near as much as it had when his nose rings had been ripped out.
That was two weeks ago.
Two weeks since the killer with the dead eyes had assaulted Hirn and his neo-Nazi friends in the Schweinebraten Bier Hall in Juterbog. Two weeks since the same man had killed Gus Holloway and Kempten Olmutz-Hohenzollerkirchen. Two weeks since the deaths of Nazi sympathizers had stopped. The assassin was obviously gone.
And with his departure, those who had been lucky enough to survive his attacks had woven tales of great heroism in which they played the dual role of both victim and hero.
Hirn's nose had been shredded so badly that it had required more than forty stitches to piece it back together. He had spent much of the past two weeks in great pain and with his proboscis swathed lavishly in gauze bandages. However, any discomfort he may have felt was not enough to stop Hirn from claiming that he was one of the ones who had stopped the assassin in his tracks.
Since the attacks by the killer had ceased after his encounter with Hirn, he felt safe making this boast.
Of course, he had had the good sense to wait a week and a half before bringing it up among the neoNazi beer-hall circuit. After all, Hirn wasn't completely stupid. The last thing he wanted was to invite the angry return of the man who had liberated him of not only his nose rings, but also of much of the cartilaginous ridge between his nasal hemispheres.
Once he had begun weaving his tall tales, it had taken just under two days for Hirn to actually begin believing his own stories concerning his deadly encounter with the mysterious assassin.
As they waited in the car, Hirn and his skinhead companions whiled away the time laughing and cursing as they recounted the story to one another. Each of the men managed to embellish the account further.
One of the other two-a youth named Erwin-had already gotten the remnants of his nose pierced. A silver swastika dangled on a chain from out the cluster of deep red furrows where his skin had been pieced together.
"Did that hurt?" Hirn asked, pointing to the chain. At the moment, he had no strong desire to have anyone poke anything through his nose.
"Not as much as it hurt for that American!" Erwin said with a raucous laugh.
Though they hadn't a clue what he meant, the other skinheads laughed uproariously.
The air inside the vehicle was fetid, the interiors of the windows covered with a thick fog of condensation. Their laughter carried to the sidewalk outside. Eventually, and with much difficulty, they got control of themselves. Eyes watering, they took long drinks from cans of thick German beer.
"Is he coming?" Erwin asked after he was through swilling his beer. He scratched the tip of his nose.
Hirn could not yet bring himself to do that. He was afraid his nose would come loose under his fingers-"What time is it?" he asked.
As if on cue, the rear door of the vehicle popped open. The trio of skinheads searched through the pile of trash on the seats and floor for their guns. Only Erwin found his. From the passenger's-side seat, he pushed the gun toward the figure who was climbing in the rear of the car next to Hirn Zeitzler.
As Erwin did so, Adolf Kluge grabbed the gun in his left hand, at the same time launching forward with his right. The rabbit punch connected with Erwin's quilt-work nose.
Howling in pain, Erwin released the gun. He grabbed at his nose, which had begun to spring several major leaks, none of which at the customary openings.
Kluge settled in beside Hirn, tossing Erwin's gun to the mountain of discarded cans in the footwell. "I do not have time for your stupidity," Kluge warned.
"Heil Hitler," Hirn said proudly. He slurred the words.
Kluge ignored him. "We must hurry," he said to Hirn.
Erwin cried anew as a fresh seam opened up along the bridge of his nose.
"Shut him up," Kluge hissed to the man behind the wheel.
The other skinhead in the front seat did his best to quiet Erwin. It seemed to help, for it gave the bleeding neo-Nazi someone against whom he could vent his anger.
As the two men in the front seat got into a slapping fight, Kluge concentrated on Hirn.
"You have contacted your men?" the IV leader asked.
"Yes, sir," Hirn enthused drunkenly. "How many?"
"Almost one hundred," Him said.
"How many?" Kluge repeated, more angry this time.
Hirn glanced up at Erwin. He was still bleeding as he fought with the driver. His hands were slick with blood.
"Fifty-eight," Hirn admitted. "But I called one hundred," he added quickly. "More than one hundred. But this was all that agreed to go. You must understand, Herr Kluge, the failure in Paris over the summer weakened the movement. No one has the belly for it. And the American killer who was slaughtering our men did even more damage. The three of us stopped him too late."
"You did not stop him at all, idiot!" Kluge snapped. "Save your tales of glory for the fools with whom you spend your drunken nights."
Hirn was like a chastised dog before his furious master. He grew very quiet, staring nervously at the head of IV.
"Fifty-eight," Kluge complained to himself. He shook his head. "It will have to do." He turned to Hirn. "You have rented the vehicles?"
"I had my men do it this morning."
"Good. See to it that all of your men show up at the designated rendezvous. I want fifty-eight there, Hirn. Not fifty-six. Not fifty-seven. It is going to be difficult enough with so few. Is that understood?"
Hirn looked at Erwin. The bleeding was slowing, but he was still a bloodstained mess.