Neil didn’t know how far they went, but it was a long distance. Impossibly long. Not that he cared. What did he care about some deep caves? He was going to die, and he was going to die horribly.
He tried to crush his own head against the cavern walls and only succeeded in giving himself a headache. After that the creatures kept him firmly in hand.
They marched through hot streams and ice-cold waterfalls. He began to starve. How many days was it? Five? Seven?
One day he saw a light ahead.
He heard human voices, speaking English, and he dared to hope that he might be saved.
Neil Velick waited at the entrance to the cave where the light was. There was a creature there, like the ones who captured him, but different. He was talking. He made the same creature sounds as the others, but these sounds came together in a way that made Neil Velick know it was intelligent speech.
The creatures, and Velick, stood at the gate while the speaking one went through the entrance. Inside, in a dim glow that was brilliant as the summer sun to Velick, he saw structures. He saw a machine.
Then he saw a human man. The man was wearing clothing. The man had hair. And truth be told, it was just a teenager.
“Hey,” the kid said by way of greeting. Neil Velick tried to say hello and only croaked.
“What do you do?”
“What?”
“Job. You worked in the Pit, right? You a radiological expert? Nuclear-materials handler? What did you do there?”
“Security,” Neil said, very confused.
“Security guard?”-The kid turned on the talking creature. “You worms went all that way to the Pit and came back with nothing but one security guard?”
“I sorry,” the talking creature said in English so guttural it was like listening to someone choke. “Waste of time,” the teenager said.
“Please, let me go,” Velick pleaded.
“Dude, you couldn’t find yourself topside again in a million years. You’re food. Deal with it.” The kid said to the talking creature, “Send ’em back to the Pit and tell them not to come back without five prisoners. This many.” He held up his hand with splayed fingers. “Got it?”
“Yes, got it.”
The kid stepped through the door and was gone. “Where are you taking me?” Velick asked the talking creature.
“To the feeding,” the creature answered.
“Kill me first.”
“No. You must stay fresh. We like fresh.”
When Velick finally was eaten, he was still quite fresh. The band that had gone to all the trouble of bringing Neil fresh from the surface never got their teeth into him. They were on their way back to the Pit for more prisoners.
This time they came back with five struggling hairy things, and, to their amazement, they didn’t get to eat any of them. Not one.
Chapter 8
When Harold Smith gave Remo a picture of a bloody cave floor in Kansas, he wanted to know what it had to do with finding and delimbing United States Senator Herbert Whiteslaw.
“Nothing.”
“Then I’m not interested.”
“People are being killed on the site of the biggest commercial radioactive waste storage facility in the United States. That doesn’t interest you?”
“Real world to Smitty, we have a rogue U.S. senator to deal with.”
“Remo, hush,” Chiun insisted.
“Remo no hush. Remo mad. Remo go berserk maybe.” He said to Smith, “I want Whiteslaw. If you had your priorities straight, then you’d want him, too.”
“I am not certain how you rationalize putting Whiteslaw ahead of the perpetrators in Kansas,” Smith said sourly. “Whiteslaw is powerless. His support system no longer exists. The fact that he vanished in the Middle East means he’s aware that he’s being investigated for treason.”
“He wanted us. Remember, Smitty? CURE. He got damn close to getting us, too.”
“Jacob Fastbinder was the real threat, and Jacob Fastbinder is dead. Senator Whiteslaw had nothing except a few ideas for drawing yourself and Chiun into his traps.”
“His traps almost worked.”
“I doubt Whiteslaw has another source that can support him in further efforts to expose CURE—a task we seem quite capable of handling internally.”
“Oh, man, not that again.” Remo got to his feet. “Smitty, we’ve been through it all.”
“On the contrary, we have not yet started going through it,” Smith said. He was at his calmest and sourest
“What more is there to talk about?”
“Your commitment to CURE. You have a contract with this organization. You violated that contract. You, a Master of Sinanju, are in breach of contract.”
“When?” Remo demanded, noticing Chiun’s brows knitting.
“The most egregious example comes in the form of your violation of CURE’s status as a secret entity. You told the Sun On Jos about us.”
‘T didn’t tell them anything about CURE. Winston knows who you are. Any other knowledge they may have came from when you tracked down Sunny Joe and started phoning the place and sending Junior visiting. You did it, Smitty, not me. You are a dangerous security leak that needs to be plugged ASAP.”
“Remo!” Chiun barked.
“You’ve been generally careless and unavailable,” Smith persisted. “This is not exactly a nine-to-five job.”
“This job is not the reason for my existence, either. I usually jump through every damn hoop you hold out for me, but you can’t expect me to be at your beck and call 365 days a year.”
“I do expect it.”
“Then you’re setting yourself up for real disappointment.”
“And you are obliged to meet my expectations.”
“Says who?”
“This is stipulated in your contract with CURE.”
“His contract with CURE.” Remo gestured carelessly at Chiun.
“Remo, your temper tantrum is out of hand,” Chiun declared. “This behavior is childish and unbecoming.”
Remo flopped in a chair and glared at Chiun, who was uncharacteristically reserved through all of this. The old Korean liked his gold, and Smith paid them plenty of it. So why wasn’t he going ballistic about now?
“I want the contract rewritten,” Remo said.
Chiun’s lips were a hard white line.
“The contract will not be rewritten,” Smith replied, full of condescension. “Let’s learn to live with it the way it is.”
“No.”
‘The contract is written, signed, sealed—there is no need to change it. Can we please discuss the killings in the mine in Kansas?”
“No. I want Whiteslaw.”
“Whiteslaw is not a threat”
“Bulldookey.”
“Also, he has vanished.”
“And you aren’t finding him.”
“We’re scanning the global nets constantly.” It was the first comment Mark Howard had dared make. “He’s gone deep undercover, and he knows how.”
“Junior, I’ve seen you guys really looking for somebody, and you aren’t doing that now.”
“Remo,” Smith said abruptly, “how positive are you that Jacob Fastbinder is dead?”
“Why do you ask about him?”
“I am uncomfortable raising the subject. I feel it is wildly speculative, but so is your contention that Whiteslaw remains a threat.”
“Not following you.”
“Okay. You want Whiteslaw. You had him in your sights once but never had the opportunity to remove him. He remains a threat, maybe a direct threat. So you see a need to deal with him as soon as possible. Am I correct so far?”
“Yeah,” Remo admitted.
“What if the Kansas mine killings are the work of Jacob Fastbinder?” Smith posed. “Another of your targets at work, only this time there’s tangible risk. People are dead.”