"This really is your lucky day," said Remo, holding on to his peculiar smile. "He makes the best damn Chinese food you ever tasted."
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try him out, then," Teach replied. "Not promisin' you anything, o' course, if he don't pull his weight."
"I understand," said Remo. "Every man for himself."
"That's it in a nutshell," Teach agreed. "Now, as to walkin' that there plank, we haven't really got a plank, as such. It's more a matter of you jumpin' o'er the rail, you see."
"Just diving in?"
"Simple as that," Teach said.
"And you won't shoot me, once I'm in?" asked Remo.
"I already give my word on that," Teach answered, frowning. "You're not tryin' to insult me, are you?"
"Not at all," said Remo. "I'm just making sure we understand each other."
"Fair enough, then. Off you go."
Remo strolled past Chiun and muttered briefly in Korean. "Keep them from killing her. Please. I'll catch up soon."
"There is very little an old Chinese cook can hope to accomplish," Chiun protested.
"Goodbye, old friend," Remo said formally, in English, for show.
"For me, Little Father," he added in Korean.
"I'll do what I can," Chiun sniffed.
Cripes, Remo thought. He was going to be doing all the cooking for the next six months.
"What'd you say to him?" Teach asked.
"I asked him to refrain from killing the lot of you before I could catch up," Remo said.
Teach chuckled as he and a couple of his crewmen herded him along the deck, their weapons trained on his back. Remo reached the stern rail, stepped up onto it, arms spread for balance and pitched forward, out of sight.
Teach wasn't chuckling now. He actually admired the man, going so stoically to his death. When the pirate on his left prepared to aim and fire his shotgun, Teach thrust out a hand and jarred the man off balance, cursing him.
"I give my word, you scurvy bastard! Make a liar outta me an' I'll be forced to do for you."
The pirate with the shotgun glowered but didn't protest the insult. Moments later, Teach came back to Chiun, surrounded by the other members of his boarding party.
"Mr. Chin, I hope for your sake that you make some mighty fine chop suey, because that's the currency yer gonna be buying your mortal existence on."
Chiun, Master Emeritus of Sinanju, said in a squeaky voice, "I understand, Captain."
But what he was thinking was, That inconsiderate white son of mine is going to be doing the cooking for the next six months. Maybe longer.
"Where are we going, Captain?" he asked.
"A true pirate's home," said William Teach. "A tropic island paradise, and no mistake."
REMO STRUCK THE AZURE surface of the water in an imperfect swan dive, making sure to create a splash. He could have entered the water soundlessly, without a ripple that the eyes of the pirates could see, but he didn't want them getting suspicious.
Plunging deep, he left a trail of bubbles in his wake for some distance, also for show on the surface. He submerged to thirty feet and began releasing only the tiniest carbon dioxide bubbles as he progressed rapidly. When he surfaced he was 150 yards due south of the Melody and her companion vessel. Without field glasses, he knew his head would be invisible to anyone on board the boats. He watched the activity. His plan was to board whichever vessel Stacy ended up on and get her safe. There was a sudden fury of activity, men passing between the vessels, and Remo was heading for the trawler when he smelled a distraction.
A slight tang in the water. Human blood. So Teach wasn't so honorable after all. He hadn't shot at Remo, as he promised he wouldn't, but he had taken some steps to insure Remo died in the water, one way or another.
Remo wasn't worried that the blood might be Stacy's. He knew she was a valuable prize and they wouldn't sacrifice her. And he didn't even consider it might be Chiun's. If the pirates tried to slit Chiun's throat, the sea would be scarlet with blood-pirate blood.
The faint smell had the odor of slight decay. It was one or both of the deceased DEA agents, steeped in the ocean to serve as a kind of dinner bell. And it worked.
He spotted a dorsal fin heading in his direction just as the boats were separated and the engines started. He didn't know what kind it was, but from the rough dimensions of the dorsal fin, he guessed that it was ten or twelve feet long. Too far away for him to get a decent look by ducking underwater, but he knew that any fish that size could be a problem if it caught his scent and felt like having him for brunch. Maybe it would just swim on by.
The dorsal fin became a thin knife in the water. The shark was coming directly at him. The trawler and the Melody started moving.
Remo made a swim for it, heading for the trawler with a sudden burst of speed that sent him through the water like a torpedo. The shark didn't know human beings well enough to understand that Remo was moving faster than humans were supposed to. Remo was just another fast-swimming, warmblooded creature to the shark. It ate them every day.
It veered at Remo, who was coming more or less in its direction anyway. When Remo had his first clear view of the shark, he guessed it was a tiger. There were no stripes readily apparent, but the broad, flat nose sparked memories of something he had seen once, years ago, in an aquarium. The gaping mouth was sickle-shaped and bristling with curved, serrated teeth, located well behind the snout, so that he guessed the fish would have to roll sideways to execute a strike.
The twelve-foot tiger shark changed directions in a heartbeat and did a good job of staying on an intercept course. Its muscular body convulsed to veer its trajectory to match Remo's long-range dodges. He realized he had a choice to make. He could go around the tiger shark or through the tiger shark.
The first option meant the boats would leave without him. Catching up would be iffy. Following their trail would be impossible, eventually, which meant he'd be swimming for the nearest land-not to mention depending on Chiun to handle the situation with Stacy.
The second option meant, well, that he had to deal with a tiger shark.
Remo had no choice at all, really. He hated that. Fate had a bad habit of spinning his life out of control without consulting him first. Fate was a bitch. Remo Williams swam at the shark.
Streamlined and perfected by several million years of evolution, the eating machine aimed itself directly at Remo's midsection, bearing down upon him like a gap-toothed juggernaut.
Lots of people had wanted to kill Remo over the years, but they usually had motivations other than lunch. He would be damned if he was going to end up being digested by this or any other fish, mammal, bug, whatever. He was distantly aware of the engine noises from the trawler and the Melody, moving away from him.
The tiger shark thrust its great body into Remo with a burst of speed and brought down its great jaws.
This wasn't Remo's first encounter with a hungry, huge elasmobranch, and he knew just how to dampen its spirits. As he corkscrewed in the water and the shark found its maw unexpectedly empty, Remo jabbed his fist into the exposed dental work. It was a hard, fast strike that shattered several serrated teeth and sent the fragments flying into the thing's mouth.
The tiger shark gyrated away, momentarily frenzied by pain and confusion, but came back around a moment later, moving faster, spurred by its frenzy.
It shot at Remo and snapped at him, but Remo was still too fast. He punched out another handful of shark teeth and when the shark whipped away he grabbed for the gills, digging his fingers like grappling hooks into the fleshy slits just forward of the big pectoral fin. The shark thrashed wildly, and Remo ripped out a handful of flesh along with a square foot of skin and gills. Blood clouded the water.