Vinnie looked up to see the deadest eyes in the world looking at him as if he was dead meat.
He screamed. And the other hand reached out for the Mak-90.
There was nothing he could do. Vinnie was helpless. As the man brought up the loaded Mak-90 to his head with casual ease to intimidate him into surrendering, Vinnie decided right then and there he would rather be dead than raped by some faggot from the Maine woods.
"I'll show him," Vinnie thought, and pulled the trigger.
REMO STEPPED BACK as the body of Vinnie "Three Dogs" Cerebrini fell facedown onto the dirt floor, wondering why it had been so easy.
As he left the grounds, tossing his last dog treats to the three yellow dogs, he decided the Mak 90 must have had a hair trigger to go off prematurely like that.
Cloudy dirt hung in the afternoon air. It billowed slowly out from the zone of destruction, following him down a path of sticky pine needles.
A quarter mile down the road, Remo came upon the Master of Sinanju atop the largest, ugliest moose Remo had ever seen in his life. The moose had antlers like spreading trees.
"Where'd you get that bag of hair?" Remo asked warily.
"Have a care how you address the awesome Arcadian Hind."
"A moose?"
"Hind," corrected Chiun, giving the moose's hindquarters a whack. Obligingly the moose launched itself at Remo, head down, antlers sweeping ahead like plows.
Remo dodged the first pass easily. The moose turned on its clumsy, ungainly legs and came at him again. This time Remo reached up and grabbed hold of a tree branch. When the antlers were almost into his belly, he snap-rolled up.
The moose clopped past noisily.
The Master of Sinanju piloted him back, coming to a stop under Remo's branch.
"You must come down and defeat him," Chiun insisted.
"I'm not fighting any freaking moose!"
"It is the Hind of Arcadia. You must defeat him as Hercules defeated him."
"If that's the Arcadian Hind, where are its golden horns and brass hooves?" Remo shouted back.
"This is a very old Hind. Sadly, its gold has faded."
"Well, I'm not coming down."
"You cannot stay up there forever," Chiun warned.
"You're right," said Remo, standing up on the tree branch. It bowed under his weight, and when it was at its most springy, Remo launched himself off and into the next tree.
The moose followed.
Jumping from tree to tree, Remo stayed ahead of the galloping moose.
When he reached the edge of the tree line, he doubled back. Doggedly the moose doubled back too. For a solid hour, Remo played the game. He started to tire, but only because he had been through so much in so short a time.
In the end the moose began to show the worst signs of fatigue and disorientation. Its clumsy legs went wobbly. It stumbled.
"You are abusing this magnificent beast," Chiun complained.
"I'm not the one riding him into the ground," Remo shot back.
The moose's long red tongue was hanging out now. Its sides pulsed like laboring bellows.
When the eyes were distinctly glassy, Remo dropped down from an oak and stood there with his tongue hanging out. He stuck his thumbs in his ears and wriggled his fingers like loose four-point antlers.
Chiun urged the moose into action.
The creature took three steps forward-and its legs gave out-completely. They splayed in all directions, and its belly hit the dirt. Chiun found himself standing up, straddling the moose.
"I'd color him defeated," Remo said. "Wouldn't you?"
Angrily Chiun stepped away from his panting steed. "You are a disgrace to your brethren," he spat at the prostrate moose.
"Some hind," Remo said.
"You cannot find good hinds in this land," Chiun complained, joining Remo. They began walking.
"Is this it?"
"How many athloi have you completed?"
Remo made a hasty count using his fingers. "Twelve. Time for you to live up to your end of the bargain."
"We must rest before we go on."
"I won't argue with that."
They found lodgings at a Bangor Holiday Inn, and Remo threw himself on the rug three seconds after he got the bellman to open the door to his room.
Sleep took him instantly.
REMO FOUND HIMSELF wandering through a stand of tall green sorghum that rustled in a sultry breeze. Somewhere to the west, a drum was beating. It sounded familiar. It wasn't the beating of the hourglass-shaped drums of Korea. Nor was it the tom-tom beating of Africa. It sounded, if anything, like the prelude to an Apache attack in an old Western shoot'em-up.
Remo followed the beating drum.
On the way he met a tall, handsome man with intensely black hair who wore a white cotton shirt and black leggings tied at the ankles. Remo had never before seen the man but he instantly recognized him. "You're Chiun."
The young Korean threw back his shoulders proudly and said, "I am Chiun the Elder. And you are the avatar of Shiva who wears the skin of a white tiger."
Remo let that go past without comment. He was in no mood to have an argument with Chiun's father.
"Master H'si T'ang, who completed Chiun's training after you died, told me you knew about my father," Remo said.
One black eyebrow shot up. "I know no such thing. He must have meant my son, young Chiun."
"Chiun denied it."
Chiun the Elder shrugged. It echoed Chiun's own gesture perfectly. It was weird to meet Chiun's father, who had died young, Remo thought. It was like meeting Chiun himself as a young man.
"Do you know where I can find Kojing, then?" Remo asked.
"No. But perhaps the drum beating from the next field is calling for you." Chiun pointed the way.
"Okay, thanks," said Remo, hurrying on. Gradually the sorghum grew less tall and wild. Remo was deep into a field of waving green plants before he realized the sweet sorghum scent had given way to the smell of fresh corn.
"I didn't know corn grew in Korea," Remo muttered.
As he walked along, he saw that the corn was planted in orderly rows. The drumming was very near now. It seemed to find his heartbeat and make it quicken with anticipation.
Remo cut west through the corn until he found the man in the yellow silk kimono seated between two corn rows with his legs wrapped around a drum. He was beating it with his bare hands.
"Kojing?" Remo asked, for he looked exactly like Master Kojing.
The man looked up, and said, "I am Kojong."
"I'm looking for Kojing."
"But you have found Kojong."
"Right. Right."
"Why do you seek my brother, Kojing?"
"He's supposed to know something important about me."
Kojong ceased his monotonous beating. "All of my brother ancestors know something important. That is why we are here. That is why you are here, brother of my blood."
Noticing an eagle feather sticking out of Kojong's thin white hair, Remo asked, "What are you doing?"
"I am calling up the corn."
"That's nice."
"I eat corn. I do not eat rice."
"Good for you," said Remo, looking around for Kojing.
"My people are corn eaters,"
"Uh-huh."
"My people are the people of the Sun."
Remo's head snapped around. "What did you say?"
"I say, my people are the people of the Sun. We do not fight. We are forbidden to kill. That is our way. Our way is different."
"Who are the people of the Sun?" Remo asked, anxious-voiced.
"My people. Your people, as well, white eyes."
"That's what my mother told me. What do you know about my people?"
"Your mother has a message for you, white eyes. You must heed the wind."
Remo cocked an ear to the western wind. It sighed through the corn, making it sway and troubling its golden tassels.
And on the wind Remo heard his mother's worried voice call out, "You must hurry, my son. For he is dying."