Next Of Kin td-46

by Warren Murphy

  In silence the girls fell in near Remo and Chiun. From the rear of the line, a little terrier scrambled forward, stopping to beg at Sidonie's feet.

  "Who are those people?" Chiun asked.

  Sidonie picked up the dog and slung him onto her shoulder. "They the Dutchman's women," she said. "Sinners, all of them. Prob'ly pretty good at it, too, by the looks of them," she added with a wink. "I take them out of the castle after I sabotage the furnace."

  "You what?" Remo asked, looking up at the flaming ruin on the hill.

  "I take the gasoline tank what was in the Jeep Pierre stole. I drag it into the basement, I throw it in the furnace. Boom."

  "You made the boom," Chiun acknowledged.

  "Bomb," said Remo.

  "I be in the French Resistance, remember?"

  "And the Dutchman thought it was Nuihc's vengeance," Remo said.

  Fabienne and another woman, who was strangely swathed in veils of sooty white gauze, came limping from the direction of the castle. "Remo, Remo!" Fabienne called, waving wildly. Her dirt-streaked face was happier than Remo had ever seen it as she jumped into his arms, sending shooting pains from Remo's fractured ribs.

  "It's all right," Remo said over her loud apologies. "It's only my chest."

  The woman in white reached over with a visible effort and took the dog Sidonie held out to her. The terrier whined and tried to lick the woman's scarred face beneath her veil.

  "Adrianna will testify that the Dutchman used some kind of— how you say— hypno— hypno—"

  "Hypnosis."

  "Yes. He hurt many people, Remo." She took the hand of the veiled Asian girl. "Adrianna was nearly blinded. She thinks also that the Dutchman killed people in the shipyard. Perhaps if the police investigate—"

  "They will. And they'll find plenty of bodies. You won't have any trouble getting your father's business back. You're rich, Fabienne."

  She kissed him, but a shadow of worry passed over her face. "Will the Dutchman go to prison on Sint Maarten? You know, he's very clever. He may escape."

  "He's not going anywhere, Fabienne." He turned toward the jagged rock where the Dutchman had fallen. "He's d—"

  The blood-spattered rock was bare.

  ?Eighteen

  He was crawling, wounded and bleeding, down the cliff side of Devil's Mountain, heading for a cluster of fishing boats below. His blond hair bobbed in the twilight as the Dutchman struggled to free a small dinghy while holding his smashed shoulder in place.

  "Take these persons to the police," Chiun told Sidonie. "But do not mention Remo or me."

  "I get it," Sidonie said. "I knew you wasn't no tourists." Yelling happily, she bullied the girls toward the road leading to Marigot.

  The Dutchman wobbled in the small boat. With his good arm, he pulled out the throttle to start the outboard motor. It coughed twice, then purred.

  Remo touched his broken ribs. They wouldn't stand up to a descent down a cliff. There was only one way to catch the Dutchman, and that would have to be done perfectly or not at all. "What the hell," Remo said out loud. He'd done it perfectly twenty-four times in a row. He might as well press his luck. He stepped back a few paces and ran off the cliff to begin the Flying Wall. Arms outstretched, he soared over the Dutchman's dinghy, shifting his weight to land alongside it. Painless, he thought as he skimmed on top of the water like a sea bird. The Dutchman watched him with grim resignation.

  The boat circled crazily when Remo grabbed hold of it, still traveling fast from the momentum of his dive.

  "Just felt like dropping in," Remo said.

  The Dutchman stomped on his fingers.

  "Is that any way to treat the guy who thought he killed you?"

  "Go back to shore," the Dutchman said.

  "Sorry, kid. There's a nice girl on the island who doesn't want you running around loose. Not to mention a truckload of dead men who aren't that crazy about you, either."

  The Dutchman kicked hard at Remo's head. When he moved out of the way, the Dutchman shoved the throttle up full and sped away. Remo caught up to the boat in two strokes, dove, and caught hold of the outboard's whirling propeller with his hands. Underwater, he heard the motor clink and die.

  "Looks like you're staying," Remo said, tossing the propeller into the boat with a clang.

  For a moment the Dutchman looked at him with disgust, but his attention was drawn further out to sea. Two deep lines settled between his eyes as he held out his hand to Remo.

  "What? So friendly? I thought you were the last of the bluebloods. No handshakes with the proles."

  "Get in," he said urgently.

  A gray fin followed in Remo's wake as the Dutchman pulled him aboard. Remo did an unconscious doubletake when he saw the shark's form passing near the boat.

  "Guess I owe you one."

  The Dutchman stood glaring at him, his hand clutching the red-stained clothing over his shoulder.

  "So I'll tell you something. Nuihc's spirit didn't blow up your castle. My housekeeper did. She practices on explosives between dusting and ironing."

  The young man said nothing, but his eyes registered a disbelieving relief.

  "It's true. Nobody's going to hurt you now. Except for me, that is. Or Chiun. Or the cops." He smiled, but the Dutchman only looked at him silently, his eyes shining and alert with fever.

  "You helped me out. I wish you'd tell me why," Remo said.

  The Dutchman spoke quietly. "That is not an honorable way for an assassin to die."

  Remo grimaced. "You sure don't make it easy to kill you."

  "Perhaps I'll kill you first." The blood from his shoulder was streaming through the Dutchman's fingers. His knuckles were pressed hard into the flesh, and his hand was trembling.

  "You're hurt."

  The Dutchman shrugged.

  "Look, Chiun'll never let me hear the end of this, but if you let me take you in to the police station, well leave it at that. After you get that shoulder treated, you can break out of any jail they put you in. Just give me your word that you'll leave Chiun and me and the girl alone. And my housekeeper too. Deal?"

  "I broke my word to you before."

  "I never was a very good businessman, but I'd trust you."

  The Dutchman's eyes glistened. "You are a fool. Like the old man."

  "I guess there are worse things."

  He breathed deeply. For a moment their eyes locked. Then the Dutchman straightened, his quiet arrogance reasserted.

  "I have made my promise to Nuihc. You and Chiun must die by my hand." Slowly he moved toward Remo in the rocking boat.

  "Sorry to hear it," Remo said.

  The Dutchman lashed out an elbow and a knee. The elbow caught Remo in his broken ribs, the knee in his hurt leg. Remo tumbled backward, making the dinghy roll wildly and half fill with water. He kicked out with his legs, rolling off his back. He landed in a crouch, his arms free to launch two fists into the Dutchman's belly. The wind whooshed out of the man.

  The Dutchman lunged for Remo, his eyes blinking away the river of blood that filled them. Remo twisted out of the way, dangerously unbalancing the boat. The Dutchman tottered on the edge for a second, his arms windmilling, then fell head first into the sea. He emerged a few feet away from the boat, blood spurting from the bridge of his nose. Nearby, a familiar gray fin hovered uncertainly.

  "Quick, give me your hand," Remo shouted. The Dutchman made no move. "It's the shark. He's back. Hurry up."

  The Dutchman smiled slowly. "No, thank you, my friend," he said.

  "For Christ sake, I'll finish you in the boat if you want. Don't get torn up by a shark."

  "It doesn't matter," the Dutchman said, his voice eerily calm. "Please give my regards to your esteemed father."

  "Father? I'm an orphan. Get in here, Purcell."

  "Your true father. The Master of Sinanju. He has trained you well, in your heart as well as your body. He is right to be proud of you."

  He was swimming away awkwardly, a stream of blood behind him. T
he fin in the distance wavered as the shark smelled prey, then homed in quickly toward the blond head receding in the water.

  "Purcell."

  "Till we meet in a better life," the Dutchman said.

  Then the water churned and bubbled as the fin dipped beneath the surface. Other gray forms slid past the small boat to the frenzied activity in the sea. A pool of red spread through the darkening water. The fins disappeared. The sea quieted. The last rays of sun sank away.

  The Dutchman was gone.

  ?Nineteen

  Remo stood alone in the small boat, ankle deep in water, enveloped by darkness. High on the cliff he could make out Chiun's outline, still and silent as the sea. He felt tired and pained and lonely.

  Out of sight, the distant whirring of a helicopter grew louder. Then the machine appeared over the horizon, sending a searchlight out over the cliff. The light traveled the expanse of the castle, now a smoking wreckage licked occasionally by dying flames, then settled on Chiun. The old man shielded his eyes from the glare and pointed out to sea.

  Remo waited unmoving in the boat as the helicopter's searchlight spanned the coral reefs and black night water of the ocean before it reached him. When the helicopter was overhead, a rope ladder dropped from its belly, and Remo climbed onto it. Halfway up, he spotted the sour lemon face of the pilot.

  "Come here to see if I'm still alive?" Remo shouted above the noise of the propeller, and climbed up the rest of the way.

  Smith turned the helicopter around without a word. The moon had risen, and in its light Smith's sallow face glowed a ghostly greenish white.

  "Great tan you got there on Saba with your wife."

  "It was a matter of national security," Smith said, as though that vindicated his order to have Remo annihilated.

  "National security? What about my security?" Remo yelled. "You order my teacher to murder me because you found a couple of stray bodies, and all you have to say is 'national security'? Well, Chiun's not going to do it. If you want to have me offed, you're going to have to fight me yourself."

  "For a time, all the evidence pointed to you."

  "For your information, someone else killed those guys in the truck or whatever you found in the ocean."

  "I know. Jeremiah Purcell," Smith said.

  "His name's Jeremiah— what?"

  "I know. It all came out in the wash. Glad the whole thing didn't go further than it did."

  The helicopter hovered over the cliff for a moment, then drifted down.

  "You've got some gall," Remo grumbled as Smith killed the engine. Chiun walked over and bowed politely. Remo and Smith stepped out.

  "Where is he?" Smith asked.

  "Who?"

  "Purcell."

  "You're a little late for him," Remo said. "A half-dozen sharks beat you to him."

  "Oh."

  "There's plenty of evidence against him. He had another truckload on ice at the shipyard, and a harem full of French hookers are on their way to the police to spill the whole story."

  "It is so," Chiun agreed.

  Smith grew even paler. "You mean the police are going to be notified about your part in all this?"

  "Relax. Nobody even knows we're here."

  "The housekeeper does," Smith said quietly.

  No one spoke for a long moment. Finally it was Smith who broke the silence. "We can't have witnesses," he said.

  "She's not going to talk, Smitty," Remo insisted.

  "You can't be sure of that. Also, I've run a check on the Soubise girl."

  "Oh, no you don't. Uh-uh. As far as she's concerned, Chiun and I are just a couple of happy sun bunnies. I'm not going to kill Fabienne now that things are finally looking up for her. No way."

  "She was spotted leaving your place with the housekeeper. She knows your name."

  "That's a lousy reason, Smitty."

  "It's national security."

  "That's a lousy reason, too."

  "I'm afraid I have to order you to eliminate them."

  "Yeah? Well, you can shove your orders—"

  Chiun put a restraining hand on Remo's arm. "Silence," he said.

  Smith was looking up at the smoldering castle. "I'll radio in a call to the fire department," he said. "Meanwhile, the two of you had better go back to the villa and collect your things. You're leaving in the morning. Pick up your tickets by eight at the American counter."

  As he was walking back to the helicopter, he said over his shoulder, "Don't be surprised at the condition of your house. It's been ransacked. Some idiot even threw the television through the wall."

  "Some idiot," Remo muttered. Chiun elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey," he called, "what about the rest of our vacation?"

  "This vacation is over," Smith said flatly. "You'll have to wait until next year. Don't forget to take care of those two women before you leave."

  The helicopter roared to life, lifted up, and disappeared.

  "He's got the heart of a cod," Remo said.

  Chiun wasn't listening. He was staring out at the ocean, a rippling film of black streaked with the moon's lone white ray. "I shall mourn our strange young Dutchman," he said.

  Remo felt a knot in his stomach as he recalled Purcell's last words as the sharks closed in on him, bidding Remo to meet him in a better life. "Hell of a way to go."

  "If Nuihc had only..." Chiun's voice trailed off.

  Remo put his arm around the old man. "Let's go, Little Father."

  They walked together down Devil's Mountain. Beyond the cliff, the ocean slapped peacefully against the shore. Chiun looked back once, saw nothing, then turned away.

  ?Twenty

  Chiun's seven lacquer trunks were stacked in front of the destroyed villa. Remo was inside, changing into his spare set of clothes. His other garments were stuffed into the wastepaper basket.

  Chiun came into Remo's room and stood inside the door, his face stony. "You promised you would get me another television," he said icily.

  "I didn't exactly have the time, Chiun." He winced as he pulled his T-shirt over his taped ribs.

  "If you had kept your promise, I could have been watching television now."

  "The taxi's coming in five minutes."

  "Five minutes," Chiun mocked. "You act as if five minutes were nothing. Whole empires have collapsed in less than five minutes. Mountains have been leveled. Geniuses are conceived in less than five minutes."

  "Only if their parents are into quickies," Remo said.

  "You are disgusting!" Chiun shrieked.

  "He sure is," Sidonie's voice boomed from the hallway. "Dis place even more of a mess than before. Lookit this." She fished Remo's shirt out of the wastebasket. "How I supposed to wash your clothes what's in the trash?"

  "Throw it out, Sidonie. We're leaving."

  "Already? Why you want to go so soon?"

  "Business," Remo said. "Sorry you had to make the trip over. I couldn't reach you on the phone."

  "Oh, I ain't been home. De police, they keep me at the station all night, eating de doughnuts and drinking de rum. They nice fellas. One of 'em got his horns out for Sidonie, too."

  "Yeah?" Remo smiled.

  "He plenty fat," Sidonie said.

  "That's good. I guess. Uh— you didn't mention anything about—"

  "I don't say nothing, Mr. Remo. I know you like them secrets. I just tell the police I done it all myself. Fight the Dutchman in the boat, everything. The fat one, he like that plenty," she chortled.

  "How about the girls?"

  "I tell them if they talk, I kill them dead. They don't say nothing. Except the Chinee girl. She laying it on good about the Dutchman. 'He a killer,' she say. 'He a maniac.' The cops, they have to shoot her fulla dope just to quiet her down."

  "And Fabienne— is she okay?"

  "Why don't you ask her yourself?" She jerked her head toward the kitchen. Fabienne stepped forward, her face breaking into a big smile.

  "I just wanted to tell you that everything's going to be all right," she said. "T
he police are already arresting some of the shipyard executives. My lawyer says I'll probably get my father's money back and the company, too."

  "Hey, that's terrific," Remo said. "What are you going to do with the shipyard? Sell it?"

  "I'm going to run it," she said. "My father would have wanted that." She touched his shoulder. "Of course, you could help me if you like."

  Remo kissed her gently. "Thanks, Fabienne, but I'm a bust at office work. You'll do just fine on your own."

  "Remo..." Her eyes were searching his face. "What do you do? For a living, I mean?"

  Chiun cleared his throat. "I see the taxi," he said. Outside, a black London-style cab honked and skidded to an abrupt halt.

  "He a salesman," Sidonie filled in.

  "But on the cliff that night. And in the cave. You killed—"

  "Oh, salesmen very handy guys to have around," Sidonie shouted over her.

  Fabienne looked out the window. The cab driver was loading Chiun's trunks onto the roof of the cab. "Are— are you leaving?" she asked.

  Remo inclined his head once, sadly.

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then Fabienne kissed him softly on the cheek. "I'll miss you," she said.

  "Yeah."

  "He be back, little darlin'," Sidonie said, clapping a pudgy hand on Fabienne's back. "Ain't that right, Remo?"

  "Sure. Why not?" he said, but his words didn't ring true. Smith would never send him back to Sint Maarten. It would be too risky.

  "No, you will not return," Fabienne said kindly, sensing his false optimism. "But it is just as well. Later it would not be the same. I will make a new life for myself here. You too, wherever you go. We will be different people, with different dreams. But I loved you, Remo."

  He smiled. "You know, you only look like a French pastry," he said, rumpling her hair.

  "Remo, the taxi," Chiun called from outside.

  "Well, I guess this is it," Remo said. "No more Dutchman, no more Remo."

  "I don't know about that," Sidonie said cryptically.

  "Huh?"

  "Come with me. I think maybe you want to see this."

  "But the taxi—"

  "Dat Jacques. You give him fifty cent, he wait a week."

  Jacques was back in the taxi, drumming on the horn in a lively reggae rhythm. Remo walked over, handed him a hundred-dollar bill, and asked him to wait. Chiun followed him back through the villa, shouting.