"I will tell you all I know," Timu said.
The funeral ended, the chief led them to his hut. At the doorway, he said, "We can speak here— outside— if you wish."
"I am not frightened of your ailment," Smith said.
They went inside. Timu gave Chiun the place of honor, facing the narrow doorway, with Smith to his right. He began slowly, as if he had rehearsed the telling of his story many times over the years.
"He was always called Zoran, nothing more. He is a doctor, although he does not wish to be addressed that way."
Smith felt his heart quicken. "A German?" he asked. It was the same man. It had to be.
"A foreigner," the chief said. "He came to Molokai, where my people lived, many years ago. He did not practice at the main hospital, but in his own clinic, where he accepted only the worst cases— those the hospital could no longer treat. He made miraculous cures. Dying men who could hardly breathe walked with ease under his care. Women whose bodies had been damaged beyond repair by sickness were able to bear children. We looked on him as a god."
Smith nodded. There was no doubt that Zoran Lustbaden had a brilliant medical mind. Josef Mengele himself had said as much in one of his rare references to his associate.
"While my sister Ana went to college, she worked in Zoran's clinic. She continued after she began medical school. He was her hero in those days," the chief said ruefully. "It was her dream to become like him, to take over his clinic after he died. Then— the thing— happened. The terrible event." Timu squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled with his emotions.
Chiun laid a delicate hand on the chiefs arm. "Try to tell us everything," he said. "It will help."
"Please," Smith urged.
Timu swallowed. "Yes. It is necessary," he said grimly. He steeled himself with a deep breath. "One day while she was walking to the clinic, she was violated by a group of men. She was raped and beaten almost to death. Zoran himself found her and took her to his clinic. It was weeks before she regained consciousness. Since she was covered with cuts, he isolated her from us until she was completely healed, to protect her from the contamination of leprosy. We did not see her for six months."
"Who did this to her?" Smith asked.
"She did not remember. She still does not remember. Not a face, nothing. Only that there were many men."
He shook his head. "After that, she was changed. She never left the colony again, and could no longer work at the clinic. She chose to live as a leper, as far away from the outside world as possible."
Chiun said, "It is a sad story. But how did you come to leave Molokai for this godforsaken place?"
"It was for Ana," the chief said. "You see, after her wounds were healed, Zoran continued to treat her in her mind."
"Hypnosis," Smith said. It was one of Lustbaden's specialties.
"He said it was to help her recover from the shock, but later Ana told me in private that he used the sessions to perform shameful acts on her."
Smith felt a wave of disgust. He remembered Dimi's beautiful daughter, used by Lustbaden until the day she killed herself with a broken bottle.
"But he had her mind," Timu cried out. "He had words that brought the rape on the road back to her. He had her trained to remember the pain and fear whenever she refused to do his will." He clasped Chiun's hand. "That was why I told your son not to befriend Ana. Zoran's power over her is such that she cannot even feel friendship toward another without reliving every terrible moment of that day on the road."
"Odd," was all Smith had to say.
"The villagers stay away from her. They must, although they love her as I do. Many have gone to their deaths for befriending Ana. The pain comes to her, and it controls her. Only Zoran can stop it then. She goes to him. Zoran has twisted her so that she belongs to him, not with her heart, but with the terror in her mind."
"I understand," Chiun said. "So when Zoran left Molokai, Ana had to go with him. But why did you and your people follow him also? You could have stayed in Hawaii, where you could live comfortably."
"He would not take her without us. He said she would suffer until she died of the pain. Fifty lepers of all ages, he demanded. It was up to me to convince them to come." He spoke to the ground. "My people were sold into slavery by their chief, because they trusted me."
Timu's face was streaked with silent tears. Smith cleared his throat.
"Zoran promised us the best care," the chief went on. "Medicines, schools, hospitals, homes. I did not know it was all a lie. He said he would find a cure for us."
"What about Ana?" Chiun said. "She said he was a liar."
Timu hung his head. "Zoran is a man of strong will and polished words. He told me that Ana's accusations against him were false, that she was crazy. For a time I believed him. Or perhaps I only wanted to believe him, in order to save my sister.
"We came here by sea, in the hold of a fishing boat. It was a long journey. Zoran kept us alive with drugs from his clinic, but we were not permitted on the deck with him and the crew. The air was heavy and stinking. We were treated like cattle. The fifty chosen ones," he said with a bitter smile.
"You mentioned words," Smith said. "Words Zoran used to bring on your sister's attacks. Can you remember what they were?"
"Foreign words," the chief said dully.
The sound of a stifled sob very near the hut brought Smith to his feet.
Chiun looked out the small doorway. A flash of red cloth, a tan leg disappeared into the rain forest.
"What was that?" Smith asked.
"The girl, Ana. She heard us."
The chief placed his head in his hands. "She has gone to the waterfall," he said. "She seeks comfort there. If only she could come to us. But Ana must remain either alone at the waterfall, or out of her head in Zoran's cave."
Smith considered for a moment. "Is she familiar with the interior of the cave?" he asked.
"Completely. When Zoran has her in his power, she is permitted to walk freely in his domain."
"She's got to help us get inside," Smith said urgently to Chiun.
"I can get inside," Chiun said.
"I know," Smith said. "But we need her as a guide once we're in there. I wonder where Remo is."
"So do I," said Chiun. "He should have returned by now. Let us talk to the woman."
The two men left the hut, thanking Timu for his honesty. "Be careful, my friends," the chief said to their backs as they entered the steamy darkness of the jungle.
?Chapter Twelve
Remo awoke in a drugged haze, his wrists and ankles bound to his cot by steel bonds. Slowly he began to indentify the din that had been throbbing through his sleep as the soundtrack of an old anti-American propaganda film projected on the darkened wall. It was idiotic military pap, running repeatedly.
In the cot next to his, a young man sat transfixed, his bleary eyes staring blankly at the vintage film.
"You Caan?" Remo shouted over the blare of the soundtrack.
The man didn't answer.
Blinking hard to clear his mind of the fuzziness brought on by the injection in his back, Remo snapped off all four bonds and reeled slowly to the projector. With a shaky two-finger thrust, he snapped the motor in two.
The sudden silence sounded like an angel chorus to Remo, but the other man continued to sit forward on his cot, staring fixedly at the blank wall in endless fascination.
"Are you Richard Caan, the pilot?"
The man turned his head so slowly that it looked as if the movement were guided by a run-down mechanism. His eyes wouldn't focus.
"Lieutenant Junior Grade Richard A. Caan, U.S. Navy, 124258486," he mumbled, his lips dry and stringy with saliva.
"Jesus, what's that nut been doing to you?" Remo said, appalled by the man's condition.
"My mission is to fly the F-24 over New York City at the appointed time," he said mechanically. "My mission is..."
"New York?" Remo asked. Caan repeated his drill. "But why New York?"
"My servi
ce will help to nullify the Soviet-American bloc, which terminated the divinely appointed Third Reich," Caan droned. "Through my efforts, the glory of the Fuhrer and his legions will rise again. My instructions are— my mission is..." His face twisted with confusion. "New York City..."
"Christ, Wacky Street," Remo said, snapping the bonds from Caan's legs. He draped his arm around the pilot's shoulders and lifted him up. "C'mon, kid," he said. "We've got to get out of here."
The pilot flailed in alarm. "I can't leave," he said.
"Sure you can. Just hang on."
But Caan fought him with all his strength. "I was told not to leave! Zoran ordered me," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"Come on, screw Zoran," Remo objected. "Just look what he's done to you!"
Caan turned his vacant stare into Remo's face. "I am a Jew," he said matter-of-factly. "It is not my place to question my superiors."
Remo exhaled noisly. "Well, you're not staying here. You can go conscious or unconscious. Pick one."
Then Caan screamed, a blood-curdling shriek.
"Oh, balls," Remo said as the door flung open and four uniformed guards rushed into the room. "Get out of the way," he said to Caan, shoving the pilot into a corner.
He worked them all at once. One slashing hand went to a throat, dropping the soldier on the spot. At the same time, he sent a knee into another man's ribcage, embedding the bones deep in the man's lungs and heart. He smashed a temple with a fast three-finger attack, then flew feet first into the last soldier, collapsing his chest cavity. It was over in seconds. They had all died instantly.
He grabbed Caan by the scruff of his neck. "I don't want to have to carry you out of here," he said to the cringing pilot. "But if you pull that trick again, I'm going to have to. I've got an old man to check on, and then I'm coming back here, I don't want you around. People are going to get hurt."
"You're an American, aren't you?" Caan asked, squinting at the stranger who could fight better than any commando.
"Yes," Remo said. "And so are you. Try not to forget it next time, okay?"
"I am a Jew," he said quietly, as Remo led him into the maze of underground corridors.
A half-mile or more farther on, deep in the cave complex, the corridor— now little more than a narrow stone walkway— emptied into a massive hall.
The sight was incredible. The huge area, obviously once the main chamber of the cave, was filled with military machinery and soldiers. There were dozens of them, all in the nondescript uniforms he had seen before, but the men in the cave wore armbands bearing insignia of the red and black Nazi swastika.
The walls were hung with forty-foot portraits of long-dead leaders of the Third Reich. At the far end of the cave, draped in thick folds of black, stood an awesome painting of Adolf Hitler.
"Zoran's got a freaking army," Remo mused aloud.
For the first time since they left the room, Caan spoke. "I think there's a channel near here," he said. "I heard the guards talking about it. But we'll have to get there through the hall."
"We'll stay near the wall." Remo looked out. "I think I see it. About thirty feet to the left?"
Caan nodded.
"It's a clear run from here. Let's go." He sprinted out, supple as a cat. Caan followed.
All Remo could see of the channel was a cave opening, but it was exactly what Remo was looking for. It was a perfect hiding place, dark and unobstrusive. Remo darted in. "Hurry up," he whispered.
But Caan hung back at the mouth of the opening, directly beneath the arc lights of the massive work chamber.
"Get in here, will you?"
"You are an American," Caan said glassily. He pressed a button on the wall, and a steel mesh screen crackling with electricity, slammed down between them.
Remo touched his hands to the mesh. The jolt threw him backward into the darkness.
"I could not let you undermine my mission," the pilot said without feeling, staring at Remo's astonished face peering at him from the blackness of his prison.
They faced each other that way for what seemed like an eternity. Then a group of soldiers came quietly for Caan and led him away. He never looked back.
?Chapter Thirteen
Smith sat down creakily on a rock beside the lake at the base of the great waterfall. "Magnificent," he huffed, watching the thundering cascade through a film of sweat. "Just let me catch my breath."
"Wait here, Emperor. I will seek out the girl."
"What's that?" Smith pointed to a high, frail ledge jutting out over the crest of the fall. On it was a speck of red.
"It is Ana," Chiun said, puzzled.
She stood on the ledge for several seconds, her body rigid, her black hair swirling around her like smoke. Then, lifting her face to the sky, she stepped forward.
"Ana," Chiun called.
But the girl didn't stop. Her hands at her sides, she careened off the ledge like a wooden doll, falling end over end toward the rockstrewn waters below.
The instant that she dropped, before Smith's horrified eyes, Chiun was propelling himself over the surface of the lake in a dive so shallow and swift that he appeared to be flying. He clambered up onto the tallest of the boulders at the bottom of the waterfall and waited for the young woman to finish her descent. At the moment when she would have smashed against the rocks, Chiun raised his arms, caught her by the base of her spine and the back of her neck, and carried her back to shore.
She was unconscious. Before she could come to, Smith had joined them, panting from the exertion of the climb.
"That was remarkable, Chiun," he said. "I had no idea—"
"Silence. Let her awaken peacefully." He touched the girl on a spot just below her collarbone.
Her eyes fluttered open. "You should not have saved me," she said.
"That was for me to decide," Chiun said gently.
"I have brought only sorrow and pain to those who love me. Even Remo. For his kindness to me, I have returned cruelty. Zoran will kill him now, surely."
"He's still alive," Smith said with relief.
"Zoran has locked him in a channel of the cave," she said. "I just came from there. He is sealed in by an electric fence and surrounded by Zoran's soldiers. He can never get out. I have killed him, as surely as if I held a knife to his throat myself."
She choked on her own sobs. "Let me die. Please, Master. Do not save me the next time."
Chiun spoke crisply. "It is not in my power to keep you from killing yourself if that is your wish. No one can judge the suffering in another's heart. But I tell you this: your death will do nothing to help your people now. It will ease your pain, perhaps, but no good will come of it."
"But I betrayed your own son!" she screamed.
Chiun dried her face with one long sleeve of his kimono. "If you wish to aid us, you will be much more help alive than dead."
The girl blushed. She looked first at Smith and then Chiun. "How can I help?" she asked softly.
"Lead us to him."
"Zoran will find you. He sees everything. You'll be killed, surely."
Chiun shrugged philosophically. "We must all enter the Void at our time," he said. "To fear death is to fear life."
Ana stared at the ground, ashamed. "Yes," she said. "It is life I have been fearing."
"No one need be another man's slave," Chiun said.
Ana didn't answer. Picking up a twig, she drew a diagram on the soft earth. "This is the layout of Zoran's cave," she said. She pointed out the wide mouth of the cave entrance leading deep underground to the Great Hall and to the small cave, like an appendix, where Remo was being held behind the electrified steel mesh.
"A few rooms are above ground. They are for Zoran's use. Some even have windows. But most are deep within the earth." She drew a wobbly line leading from a spot in the Great hall near Remo's prison to the outside of the cave. "This is a secret route leading from below the roots of a tree into the Great Hall," she said. "It was dug by children. Even the strongest security measures
cannot stop a curious child from finding a way into a forbidden place."
"It is ever thus," Chiun said.
As the girl had told them, there was a hollow beneath the roots of an immense yew tree near the edge of the rain forest, facing Zoran's high-domed cave.
"Now, Emperor," Chiun said in his most diplomatic manner. "If you will be so kind as to wait for us here—"
"I'm going in," Smith said.
"Ah..."
But Smith was already lowering himself under the tree's spreading roots, frowning as he squeezed into the narrow passage.
"Crazed," Chiun whispered to the girl. "I brought him along to drive the boat." He gestured for the girl to enter the hollow, then followed her to cover the rear.
The child-sized tunnel was twisting and convoluted, with sharp rocks jutting out at all angles. Chiun seethed with impatience as Smith led the way at a glacial pace.
"Could we possibly move faster, O glorious Emperor?" Chiun asked with forced cheerfulness fifty feet below the ground.
Smith grunted and continued to creep forward at his same scawling speed.
"Why me?" Chiun muttered in Korean, rolling his eyes in the darkness.
* * *
Smith was running out of air. He had been belly-crawling through the barely passable tunnel for twenty minutes or more, and his nose and lungs were filling with loose dirt. There seemed to be no end in sight. No light, no space to breathe, nowhere to go but down, deeper into the airless earth.
He felt himself reeling. His elbows gave out. The girl nudged him gently from behind. "Are you all right?" she asked.
In the utter blackness of the tunnel, Smith recalled the grainy photograph of Zoran Lustbaden, with its cold, translucent eyes and lips twitching in a half-moon smile. He propped himself up again.
He had chased Lustbaden for thirty-six years. He would not allow himself to die now that he was so close to the end of the hunt. Keeping the image of the young doctor in front of him, he pulled himself painfully ahead.
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