"Thou shalt not steal, Little Father," Remo reminded him. "That's what Sister Mary Margaret taught me."
"A nun," Chiun scoffed. "If she was so smart, why could she not land a man?"
"They have to take a vow of celibacy, Chiun," Remo said, knowing full well that the old Korean was already aware of this. "And don't dump on Sister Margaret. She practically raised me."
Chiun harrumphed again. "At least her vow prevented her from breeding more squalling papists."
"What about the emperor part?" Remo said, steering Chiun away from Sister Mary Margaret.
The Master of Sinanju glanced over at Remo. "You know at one time Sinanju had much work from Rome."
Remo nodded. The House of Sinanju had been home to the greatest assassins the world had ever known for more than five millennia. Remo and Chiun were the latest in a long line of Sinanju Masters that dated back to prehistory.
"When Charlemagne had himself crowned emperor, it was thought that he would give rise to an empire as great as that of ancient Rome," Chiun said. "This in spite of his dubious flirtation with Catholicism."
"Didn't he?"
"Certainly not. The fool set up educational systems in monasteries and encouraged literacy among his advisers. He aided the Roman church in winding its wretched tentacles throughout his vast conquered territories. His lunacy led to what is called the Carolingian Renaissance."
"I take it from your tone there wasn't much work for the House back then," Remo said.
"Work?" Chiun balked. "The fool created a civilization. Assassins cannot function where men are civilized. Even when he embarked on his idiotic crusades, he conscripted local help. The House never got a single day's work from the impostor Carolus."
Chiun was silently thoughtful for a pregnant moment. "Well, perhaps one," he admitted.
Remo tore his eyes away from the gray roadway. "Are you telling me we bumped off Charlemagne?"
Chiun turned a level eye on Remo. "The man believed in education and religion. His interference in history led directly to the Christian West, the Magna Carta and-worst of all-American democracy. You tell me."
Remo looked back to the road "We did in Charlemagne," he said, shrugging to himself.
"A blot on the European continent that has never been erased. He gave an insufferable air of smugness to you whites that lives to this day."
"Listen, can we get through this last trip without the race-baiting?" Remo begged.
"You brought it up," Chiun challenged.
"All I said was I thought that cathedral was impressive," Remo said.
"It is ugly," Chiun stated firmly.
"Yes, that's right." Remo exhaled, surrendering at last. "Of course. I don't know why I didn't see it before. It's ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. It is the ugliest thing I've ever seen, and Charlemagne deserved to have his head lopped off for doing whatever it is he did that caused it to eventually get built. There, happy?" Remo demanded. He gripped the steering wheel in frustration.
Chiun tipped his head thoughtfully to one side. "It was not that ugly," he said lightly.
The scream that threatened to explode from Remo's throat was drowned out by the sound of a high-pitched siren directly behind them. When he looked into the big side-view mirror, Remo saw the small shape of a German police car trailing the rented truck.
"What the hell's wrong now?" he asked aloud.
"Do not stop," Chiun commanded. "It could be a bandit in disguise who has learned of the Hoard and wishes to claim it as his own."
"It's a cop, Little Father," Remo said, frowning. "We've probably got a taillight out or some thing." He pulled the big truck over to the side of the road.
Remo climbed down to the wet pavement, grateful to get out from behind the wheel if only for a moment. He heard Chiun's door close, as well. They met up at the closed rear of the truck.
The markings on the door of the police car identified it as belonging to the small town of Burg, which was roughly halfway between Magdeburg and Brandenburg. The policeman himself was dressed in a dark blue uniform with gold piping. As he stepped out of his own vehicle, the officer pulled an odd-shaped blue cap onto his graying hair. It reminded Remo of a French Foreign Legion hat.
"You vill open the rear of the truck, bitte," the German police officer announced as he stepped up to Remo and Chiun.
Remo raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong, Officer?" he asked.
Standing behind him, Chiun tugged at the back of Remo's black T-shirt. "I told you not to stop," he hissed.
Remo shrugged Chiun's hand away.
"Open it," the officer said, nodding to the door. His hand was resting on his gun holster. Remo noted that the silver snap had been popped before the cop had even gotten from the car. He had been expecting trouble from the start.
"I'm sorry-" Remo began.
He didn't have a chance to finish. The gun was quickly and expertly drawn from the holster. The policeman leveled it at Remo's chest. "I vill not ask again."
"Why do they all sound like Major Hochstetter the minute they get a gun in their hands?" Remo mumbled to Chiun.
"Do not let him see the Hoard, Remo," Chiun insisted.
There had been cars zipping past the busy roadway the entire time they had been stopped. Remo noted the speeding vehicles with tight concern. "I don't have a choice," he said to the Master of Sinanju. He lifted an eyebrow as he looked at Chiun. Reluctantly, Chiun nodded.
"Das is correct," the cop said firmly.
As Chiun stepped back, Remo turned away from the police officer. He found the key to the rear door in his pocket and unlocked the padlock. Turning the latch, he lifted the rolling door several feet from the rear platform.
"Inside," the cop insisted. "Bose of you."
Remo and Chiun glanced at one another. They climbed up from the wet roadway and into the damp, murky interior of the truck. The police officer came in behind them, gun still aimed at the two men. The muted Doppler sound of cars racing by hummed through the shadowy metal walls of the truck. Water splashed from the highway onto the sides of the road.
When the officer caught sight of the open crates of gold and gems packed inside the cold truck, his mouth dropped open. Even though it was only a fraction of the larger amount of the Nibelungen Hoard, it was still a huge amount of treasure. He stared, shocked, at the stacks of ancient wealth.
"I am confiscating all of dis," he announced, voice numb. He had to concentrate to keep the gun aimed at his two prisoners. He wanted more than anything to ram his black-gloved hands into the nearest crate of gold coins.
"Of course you are," Remo said indifferently. "What I'd like to know is where did you hear about this?"
"Hmm?" the cop asked, glancing up. "Oh. My brusser."
Remo looked at the man's chest. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.
"My brusser told me," the cop repeated. He had turned away from Remo once more and was staring, awestruck, at the glittering gold.
Remo was dumbfounded. "You wear ladies' underwear, and it talks to you?" he asked, incredulous.
"Not brassiere, imbecile," Chiun interjected, in a hissing whisper. The Master of Sinanju turned to the policeman. "Can I assume that your brother is the owner of the storehouse where my treasure was secreted?"
"Ja," the cop said. "He vas upset dat you put your own locks on the place. I helped him to set up a surveillance system outside the sheds you had rented. In dis vay ve vere able to see vat you had stored there vile it vas being loaded onto the truck. However, it did not look like so much." He shook his head in awe.
"Where is your brother now?" Remo asked.
"Vaiting for us," the cop said. "Somevere safe."
"Does anyone else know about this?" Remo asked.
The cop looked up, abruptly annoyed. "Dat is irrelevant. Ve vill go now," he said.