Chiun lifted Remo's hands for a look. "These burns are serious," he said quietly. The old man sighed.
The two sentries outside the mesh doorway walked to the entrance and shone their flashlights on the crouching figures inside. They complained to each other as they examined the broken netting where Remo had nearly broken through to freedom.
One of the guards shook an index finger at the prisoners. "Verboten!" he said, pointing to the hole in the netting.
"Go suck a strudel," Remo said.
The soldiers shouted something else into the dark cave, then switched off their flashlights and stood guard over the entrance, their backs to the prisoners.
"I think I see a way out," Remo said, looking at his hands uncertainly.
"You are burned," Chiun said. "Even Shiva must give himself time to heal."
Remo looked askance at his old teacher. Chiun vacillated between calling Remo a hopeless white fool and insisting that he was the reincarnation of the ancient Eastern god of destruction. It was pointless to press him about it. All he would say was that Remo's unusual history had been written millennia before in the prophecies of Sinanju.
Remo didn't hold much with reincarnated gods. At the moment, a rock prison with an electric fence was the only reality he was concerned with.
"I don't know what Shiva would do, Little Father," he said kindly, "but Smitty's dying somewhere in this cave. We can't stay here and let that maniac Lustbaden kill him."
For a moment they stood facing one another in silence. "Very well. Do what you must," Chiun said finally. "But try not to touch the wires again."
"I might not have to."
He strode over to the mesh portal, purposely treading noisily toward the guards. "Achtung!" he shouted as he reached the circle of light.
The guard looked over with a start.
"Warten auf ein augenblick," he said, summoning up all the German he knew. He beckoned the guards toward him.
They stared at him with dumb curiosity.
"La via del tren subterraneo es peligrosa," he rumbled, reverting to the Spanish warning signs he had read on the New York subway. It wasn't German, but it would have to do. "La plume de ma tante est sur le bureau de mon oncle," he whispered with a wink.
"Eh? Was ist los?" one of the guards asked, squinting as he drew near.
"Auf wiedersehen," Remo said, thrusting his hands carefully through the tear in the wire mesh. He grabbed both soldiers by the collars of their uniforms. He pulled them toward the grating, then released them and stepped back.
They screamed when they hit the netting, and their feet bounced off the ground in a jerky tattoo. Their mouths opened, wide and contorted, as the cave plunged into darkness once again. A metal alarm, like the bells used at prizefights, sounded. In the blackness, the scuffling feet of the SPIDER corps took up their positions at the mouth of the jail.
Remo flew feet first through the netting, knocking down two soldiers on his way to the ground.
"Quickly, Little Father," he said as the orange darts of gunfire began to burst in the pitch-black cave.
But Chiun was already out. A heavy body whooshed upward, struck the ceiling with a loud snap, and dropped with a thud onto a group of soldiers. In the light of the gunfire, Remo watched the body twitching in a macabre dance of death from the hail of bullets pumping into it.
"Herr Doktor!" someone shouted as the barrel of a rifle grazed against Remo's neck in the confusion. He took hold of the weapon. With a backward kick he sent the soldier splattering against a wall, then swung the rifle in a wide arc at head range. A chorus of cracks, like splitting melons, rose around him, followed by the moans of the wounded.
"Let us go now and find Smith," Chiun said, and in the intermittent light of random bullets Remo caught a glimpse of his yellow robe fluttering in the distance.
?Chapter Sixteen
Smith was alone in the laboratory, barely conscious. His breathing was labored, and he was covered with sweat. His eyes, for once unshielded by his steel-rimmed glasses, were bright and glazed with fever. Outside, running feet obeyed shrill commands, which grew louder as the soldiers closed in on the lab.
Remo looked around frantically. "There's a room with a window somewhere around here," he said.
Smith waved him away weakly. "Go," he rasped "Get Lustbaden. Have to stop that plane. Urgent. Too late for me. Go."
"Sorry, Smitty," Remo said. "You're coming along."
He snapped the steel bands from the table two at a time.
"He needs care," Chiun said, looking over Smith's wounds. "I will take him."
He lifted Smith off the table as easily as if the director of CURE were a stuffed doll.
"My glasses," Smith whispered, but Chiun was already carrying him through the doorway.
A stand of sentries heading down the corridor pointed at the old man and his bloody companion, with a confusion of gruff commands.
"Remo," Chiun shouted. "Stop these fools."
"No problem," Remo said. "Look for a room on the right with a window. It's got bars on it, but it's the only way I can think of to get out of here except through the main walkway."
"Stop chattering and fight," Chiun said as he ran with Smith down the long hallway.
Remo had been right about the room. The window sat high off the floor. Hoisting himself up with one hand while carrying Smith in the other, Chiun balanced himself and Smith on the thin window ledge while ripping out the bars.
From where he landed on the ground outside, he could see the main entrance to the cave, a gaping dark hole carved into the rock. Ahead, the paved airstrip, now cleared of foliage, stood out starkly against the jungle greenery. On the airstrip sat the empty F-24.
Smith was fighting for breath. There was no time for Chiun to waste with the airplane. He carried Smith to Timu who, with the other villagers, had gathered outside their huts to gape at the weird new jet.
"I require the use of your home," Chiun said.
The leper chief took one look at Smith's limp, blood- and sweat-soaked body, and bowed. "Please, Master. Use Ana's hut," he said. "I do not wish that your friend's open wounds attract the microbes of my sickness." He brought them quickly to the girl.
Ana was sitting in the dirt in front of her hut. Her eyes were glassy and insensate. Her arms hung at her sides as her fingers dug meaningless designs into the earth.
"Go in," Timu said. "I will protect you from those who seek you."
Chiun set Smith gently inside. He could tell by Smith's labored breathing that his condition was very bad. Smith was not a young man, and his physical resources had been squandered in his youth. There was little besides his will to live to fight death with.
Chiun placed his hand upon Smith's chest. "Hear me," he said quietly, but with the pointed intensity of a religious rite. "Your body wishes for death. It is weary and beaten. But your mind can stop it. The Void waits. Step away from that place, Smith. Will yourself enough life to heal. Will it, I say."
With that, Smith's body trembled like a feather in a windstorm.
"Breathe."
Beth. Beautiful Beth.
"Breathe."
Not the bottle no not the broken liquor bottle your wrists Beth, oh, the blood everywhere... No, Dimi it was your daughter who killed herself not mine I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so happy it wasn't my Beth... Dimi, I'm sorry...
Chiun lay his fingers on the sides of Smith's head, stilling the trembling. He felt a wash of despair course through him, and knew it had come from Smith.
"Good," he said. "Again. Breathe. It is another step back from the darkness. Take it. Breathe."
Smith exhaled deeply.
Timu brought a dipper of water into the hut. Chiun dribbled it carefully into Smith's mouth.
Smith's lips parted, and a stream of gibberish poured from his lips. It was all a confusion, full of names Chiun had never heard. His own name was mentioned, too, and Remo's. Smith called Remo's name often.
Then he lay still, and was quiet.
"You are safe here," Chiun said, not knowing whether Smith could still hear or not. "I must go gather some herbs for your healing. But I will return."
He left. The jungle was filled with the rare leaves and berries necessary to give Smith strength. When he returned, Ana still sat in the same position on the ground, staring vacantly.
"Is Ana ill?"
"In her mind," Timu said. "You know of her problem. She will recover." He bent down and stroked her hair. "Do your work, Master. No harm will come to my sister. Or to you."
"Thank you," Chiun said, bowing.
The sweet herbs filled the tiny hut with their fragrance. Patiently Chiun wrung poultices from cold water and placed them on Smith until his shivering stopped and his fever began to break.
His eyes flickered open. "Should have... should have had him brought to trial. Lustbaden." He spoke quickly, with the urgency dying men often express. "None of us would have to be going... through this..."
"Silence," Chiun said softly. "You are still in grave danger."
Smith touched his ear, grimacing at the pain. It was covered with wet, sweet-smelling silk. Chiun's kimono sleeve was torn, and Smith knew he had made the bandage with it. "Thank you," he whispered.
Chiun nodded. "It is nothing."
Smith gasped for air. "Was it... nothing... when you saved the girl... at the waterfall?"
"Nothing," Chiun said, smiling.
"Remo?" Smith asked weakly.
Chiun's face was impassive. "He did not come out from the cave."
It took Smith a long time before he could gather the strength to speak again. "I changed his destiny," he said.
Chiun looked at him with an odd compassion. "No," he said. "You did not."
"CURE—"
"You do not understand the ways of Sinanju, Emperor. This is his destiny."
Smith tried to clasp the old Oriental's hand, but he was too weak to move. It was just as well, he thought. It would only have embarrassed them both.
He closed his eyes. It was snowing in Vermont, and Irma was burning fudge.
?Chapter Seventeen
Smith knew that SPIDER had been in existence since the destruction of Nazi Germany, and its members had been sheltering its secrets since then, enjoying an invisible power around the world.
Smith knew SPIDER too well not to fear it. Remo did not.
So he had no reason to fear Wilhelm Wolfe that afternoon in the cave.
Chiun and Smith were out of sight. Remo stood alone in the cave's corridor, preventing the passage of Lustbaden's SPIDER corps until he was sure the other two men had escaped.
The soldiers halted to brace and prepare their weapons for firing.
"Come on, you goose-stepping bastards," Remo taunted.
A rumble passed through the troops as they separated to make way for a tall young officer with golden hair and shoes that gleamed with polish.
"Now, who the hell are you? The Student Prince?" Remo asked belligerently, still carefully balanced for attack.
"I am Captain Wilhelm Wolfe." He spoke with the calm assurance of the well-bred and well-schooled.
Remo saw not that Wolfe's shoes were not just highly polished army issue, but handmade and of the finest leather. His uniform, too, made of superb wool, looked as if it had been specially tailored to his body's every contour.
"And you are our friend, Remo Williams?" he asked, drawing a manicured hand over his wavy blond hair. On his right ring finger, he wore an ornate gold ring embossed with the insignia of a spider.
"Two things," Remo said. "One, I'm not your friend and not bloody likely to be. Two, how'd you know my name?"
"Before, when the doctor gave you that injection, you spoke. You spoke of many things," Wolfe said affably.
"I doubt it," Remo said. "My body rejects poison."
"Yes, of course. The doctor noticed that. Only a few seconds after your injection, your body was expelling the poison from your system. It was necessary for Zoran to take extraordinary measures," Wolfe said.
"Like what?" asked Remo. He noticed that the soldiers behind Wolfe still had their guns leveled at him, and he moved closer so that Wolfe was in their line of fire.
"It was necessary for the doctor to give you four separate injections, directly into your arteries and veins. That way, you could not reject the poison in your system without rejecting your blood itself. It was what kept you unconscious. And made you pliable. Clever, no?"
Now Remo understood why the drugs had affected him. But had he talked? Had he really told them about CURE? They knew his name. What else might he have said?
As if in answer to his unspoken question, Captain Wolfe said, "You told us a very great deal. Yes, we know who you work for."
"That's too bad," Remo said.
"Why?"
"Because it's your death warrant," Remo said.
"That is why I have these men behind me," Wolfe said. "To keep you from killing me. Oh, I have every confidence in your ability to do so. You broke the steel bands of the table in Dr. Lustbaden's laboratory. You killed a number of well-trained soldiers with only your hands. And you escaped from a high-voltage electric containment area, sustaining a shock that would have killed a herd of cattle. Yes, indeed, you are a most extraordinary fellow."
"Mail the citation to my house," Remo said. "I'm getting out of here."
"You may," said Wolfe. "Your friends have escaped."
"Good-bye," said Remo, heading for the room with the escape window.
"Except..." he heard Wolfe's voice say.
Remo turned. "Except what?"
"Except the girl. She is still here."
"Then I guess you'll just have to take me to her, won't you?" Remo said.
"If that is your desire," Wolfe said. "But there are things I must first explain to you."
He was trying to buy time, Remo knew. But why? To allow the F-24 to take off? But they could can that idea. Chiun was free now. With him and Smith outside, the F-24 had as much chance of getting to New York as a paper airplane.
Remo eyed him suspiciously. "Frankly, I'd rather kill you," he said, although he already knew he would not kill him, not until he heard the strange young man out. "All right. What do you want to talk about?"
Wolfe smiled. "Come with me."
His soldiers still stationed in position, Wolfe led Remo through the cave's labyrinth of corridors until they arrived at a door with a darkened pane at eye level.
"One-way glass," Wolfe said. "Take a look."
The room behind the door looked like a bachelor's apartment. A cluster of sofas, a small table, and a magazine rack were in the front of the room, near the door. Behind them stood a desk covered untidily by maps and flight manuals. On the wall was a large map of the United States, with a single red pin on a spot in lower Manhattan.
Beyond the room was more living space, but Remo couldn't see past the doorway, where a young man walked purposefully toward the desk, straightening his tie.
His back was to Remo. He was in uniform. Remo watched him with mild curiosity as the man affixed a swastika armband to his sleeve. It was a routine motion, obviously one the soldier had performed many times. Then he turned and sat at the desk, unfolding one of the maps.
"It can't be," Remo said, his breath clouding on the glass as he strained for a better look.
There was no mistaking it. The Nazi soldier was Lieutenant Richard A. Caan, U.S. Navy.
"Quite an improvement, wouldn't you say?"
"Depends on how you look at things," Remo said. "His health seems a lot better from this morning, if that's what you mean."
"That is the point. Come. I want you to see something else."
They walked a few more yards down the corridor until they came to another door. Through the glass Remo could see a scarred old man, nearly Chiun's age and with only one leg, performing an astonishing series of rapid calisthenics. He looked strangely familiar, although Remo couldn't remember seeing anyone on the island in such superb condition, especially such a
n old man with a missing leg...
"He's the one your men dragged away yesterday, isn't he?" Remo asked, no longer amazed at anything he would find in Dr. Zoran Lustbaden's cave.
Wolfe nodded. "Yes. During your dinner festivities. Now we can talk. Will you follow me?"
This time he took Remo into a narrow passageway.
"Look, you're wasting your time if you're thinking of throwing me in the slammer again," Remo said.
"I wouldn't think of it."
The passageway led into a large chamber, plastered and curtained, even though it had no windows, to resemble a Victorian drawing room.
Two ornate stuffed chairs flanked a small, round table set with a tea samovar, two cups, and— strangely, Remo thought— an ornament of some kind. It was a transparent red glass ball with a wire filament inside.
"I see Herr Doktor has set out a toy to amuse us," Wolfe said jocularly, picking up the red ball. "He is very considerate that way. Look, this one has a mechanism."
He wound a small silver key at the base of the ornament, and the filament inside began to turn, glowing dimly, then brighter as it gathered speed. Within seconds sparks were flying from the filament, filling the red glass ball with magnificent, rhythmic fireworks.
"Amusing, yes? But I am sure a man such as yourself is not concerned with useless trinkets." Wolfe set the ball down on the silver tea tray in front of Remo. "Now, then."
The pattern of the tiny fireworks display became even more spectacular than it had been. With an effort, Remo tore his gaze from the ball and directed his attention to Wilhelm Wolfe.
"You have seen Lieutenant Caan and the old man down the hall. No doubt you will agree that, from a physical standpoint, their improvement has been quite radical."
"Radical," Remo said, blinking at the red sparks inside the glass ball.
"Zoran Lustbaden is responsible for that. His work with the birds has resulted in medical breakthroughs of the highest order. When the drugs he has developed are perfected, there will be no more sickness anywhere in the world. Just imagine it."
"If he's so good, why hasn't he helped the lepers?" Remo asked slowly, his eyes glued to the ball.
Wolfe gave a short, dismissive laugh. "Why prolong the lives of the unfit?" He shifted in his seat. "Besides, there are still some minor problems."
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