One hundred and fourteen, one hundred and thirteen, one hundred and twelve, one hundred and eleven…
"The world can only march forward when you and everything you represent are gone, like the dirt you sprang from and the past you represent."
"It cannot be," Zhava burst. "It will not. Our allies will avenge us."
Delit moved directly under the landing where the pair stood.
"Stupid girl," he said. "What allies? You have no friends, only guilty enemies. Too weak, too hypocritical to say what they feel. Where were your friends during the war? Where were your allies when the six million died? Where were the Americans? Where were your own people in Jerusalem? I am killing you because the world wants you dead. You might say…" Tochala Delit smiled, "… I am only following orders."
The room was shattered by a roar as Yoel Za-bari sprang. His body hurled down upon Delit's, and the two men smashed to the floor.
Remo stood back as Zabari rose, his hands clenched tightly around Delit's neck, tears streaming down the left side of his face.
The death head grew red, then purple, then green. Even as the eyes bulged and the bloodless lips curled back on his teeth, Delit's fuzzing pupils locked onto those of Yoel Zabari.
The gritting teeth parted and a dying voice whispered, "The Nazis will not die. The world does not want them to."
Then the tongue forced its way from between the flaxen lips, the eyes rolled up, the brain died, and the heart stopped beating. Horst Vessel was dead.
Eighty-five, eighty-four, eighty-three…
Zabari let the corpse fall from his hands. Zhava came down the stairs and walked up to him. He looked up at her and said, "I hurt my own men for this garbage." Then he kicked the body.
Zhava Fifer wrapped her arms around Zabari and wept. Zabari looked haunted, his hands like claws. Delit lay still, the thirty years ending as he had wanted them to, in death. Remo turned to Chiun who still stood before the bomb.
Seventy-eight, seventy-seven, seventy-six…
Well, this is it, then, Remo thought. Technology versus the Destroyer, and no one in the world he could kill to make this bomb stop ticking. He was faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive and all that, but give him a machine without a plug to pull out and he was helpless.
Remo walked to Chiun and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Well, Little Father," he said gently, "do you think your ancestors will be expecting us? I'm sorry."
Chiun looked up. "Why?" he asked. "You have done nothing. Do you not know that the only use of machinery is to break down? Stand back."
And with that, the Master began to unscrew the top of the bomb.
Yoel Zabari broke out of his trance and ran forward. "Wait! What are you doing?"
Remo blocked his way. "Take it easy. What do we have to lose?"
Zabari pondered that for a second, then stood back. Zhava fell to her knees in prayer.
Chiun pulled off the top of the bomb and nothing happened. "I would have this fixed sooner," he said, "if everyone had not been talking so much." He bent down and looked into the cylinder.
Fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty…
"Well?" asked Remo.
"It is dark," Chiun replied.
"For the love of Jesus, Mr. Chiun," Zabari began.
"Now you've done it," said Remo.
"For Jesus?" cried Chiun, straightening. "Oh, no. We never got a day's work from Him. Now, Herod, that was something else."
Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three…
"Chiun, really," said Remo.
"If you read the history of Sinanju as you are supposed to, I would never have to tell you this," said Chiun.
"It's hardly the time for a history lesson, Little Father," said Remo, pointing to the bomb.
"It is never too late to learn," replied Chiun.
Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…
"This is what really happened to the poor wretch, Herod the Maligned. Abused by his own people, used by the Romans, he turned in pain finally to his assassin, an ancient Master of Sinanju, and said, 'I was wrong. If only I had listened to you instead of the whores and counselors who abound in this wretched land.' "
Thirteen, twelve, eleven…
"The ancient Master buried him in the desert."
Nine, eight, seven…
"Chiun, please!"
Six. five, four…
"To Herod the Maligned!" Chiun cried, ripping out handfuls of wires.
"It's still ticking," Zhava screamed.
Three, two, one… zero.
Nothing happened.
"Of course, it is still ticking," said Chiun. "I broke the bomb, not the clock."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
No one saw them off.
Yoel Zabari had declared undying allegiance to both Korea and America. Zhava Fifer had declared undying allegiance to Remo's body. Tochala Delit had been riddled with bullets and dropped behind enemy lines, which was not difficult since all Israel's borders were enemy lines.
But Israel still existed, so life went on as if nothing had happened. Israel nearly having been destroyed did not mean anything. Zionism was still outlawed by the UN. The Arabs were still denying the Jewish state's existence. The price of gasoline was still sixty-three cents a gallon for regular, sixty-five cents for high-test. Nothing had changed.
Yoel and Zhava went back to work, wishing Remo well and asking that he give them at least three years' notice before his next visit.
"Israel is not a place," said Chiun. "It is a state of mind. The thought has not stopped, so the thought continues."
Things were not all bad, Remo learned. Smith had discovered the source of the original leak, who had revealed Remo and Chiun's mission to Israel.
"It was a simple matter of elimination," he had told Remo. "It wasn't me and it wasn't you and it wasn't Chiun so it could only have been one other person."
When Smith had mentioned the folly of ever repeating such a leak to the guilty party, the president had apologized profusely and almost choked on a peanut.
Smith had also sent instructions on to Remo to return home immediately since his job was done and Israel could safely get back to its primary national mission: staying alive.
So what the hell was Remo doing on the tea trail?
"What the hell am I doing on the tea trail?" asked Remo.
"I have done you a service, so now you must do me a service," replied Chiun.
They were walking along the centuries-old caravan trail that was lined with prayer-inscribed rocks, into the Sinai Desert.
"What other service do I owe you?" asked Remo. "You got your daytime dramas, didn't you? I sent the Norman Lear, Norman Lear letter, didn't I?"
Chiun had watched him do it, too. Only what Chiun had not seen was that Remo failed to put stamps on the envelope and had written the return address as:
Captain Kangaroo CBS Television City Hollywood, California
"So what other favor do I owe you?" Remo finished.
"Those were not services," said Chiun, "those were obligations. But do not worry, my son, I am merely looking for a sign."
"Well, hurry up, Little Father, or we'll miss the plane."
"Be calm, Remo, we could do much worse than to remain here," said Chiun.
"What is this?" retorted Remo. "Are you getting soft in the head? Where is 'this land of little beauty'? Where are the palaces of yesteryear, remember?"
"They are gone," said Chiun, "gone with the sand and returned to the earth like the bones of Herod. As it should be. The surface beauty of this land has been destroyed but if Israel itself is destroyed, it might be best that the rest of the world be destroyed with it. Except Sinanju, of course."
"Of course," said Remo. "Quit fooling yourself. If Israel was destroyed, the world would probably turn the other way and keep going."