It was well past midnight. They had been driving for hours and they hadn't come across a single Juarezista to interrogate.
"I say we head into the forest," Remo- suggested.
"You must carry my trunk," said Chiun.
Remo eyed the steamer trunk with the blue phoenixes in the back seat.
"Can't we leave it here?"
"It will be stolen by thieves."
While they were arguing, an armored column roared past.
The faces of the soldiers were grim. And they were in a fierce hurry.
They blew on past without stopping to ask questions.
"Maybe they're on the trail," said Remo.
"Let us follow them," Chiun suggested.
"Beats walking," said Remo, getting the Humvee in gear. He sent it back up the road. They fell in behind the armored column.
They followed a half mile before it abruptly left the highway and disappeared up a winding road.
"Here goes," said Remo.
The road led to a military installation. It was ablaze with lights, and soldiers were climbing into armored vehicles parked in front of it.
The column screeched to a disorganized stop, and men started piling out, blocking the way out.
"Looks like they're getting ready for war," Remo told Chiun. "Wait here with the trunk."
The new arrivals began yelling at the soldiers preparing to leave. They were being yelled at in return. All of it was in Spanish, and Remo understood none of it.
It was a great, noisy confusion in which his "Anyone here speak English?" was completely lost.
Noticing a main building, Remo entered. No one tried to stop him. They were too busy arguing and trying to get their vehicles lined up so the fresh soldiers could depart by the one winding access road.
Remo found the commanding officer fussing at his desk. He was digging through a sheaf of communications while trying to talk into two phones at once, one perched on each shoulder. His nameplate said ZARAGOZA.
"You speak English?" asked Remo.
The commander looked up.
"Si. Now go away."
"Can't."
"I am very busy with the present emeryency."
"It's about Subcomandante Verapaz," said Remo.
"You are too late," the commander said distractedly. "He is defunct."
"Dead?"
"That is what I have heard. But it is only an unsubstantiated rumor. Go away now. I have no time for gringo journalistas."
"In that case, I demand to see the body. Inquiring minds want to see it all."
"You cannot see the body because there is no body," the commander hissed. "Officially."
Remo came around the desk and relieved the commander of his telephones, his disorganized papers and his ability to rise from the chair of his own volition by squeezing his spine.
"Now, you listen very carefully," Remo said. "I've had a long day. I've traveled a long way, eaten expensive food and been soaked by every Mexican whose path I crossed. Not counting the ones who tried to shoot me."
"I understand."
"Good. I'm looking for Subcomandante Verapaz. I don't care if he's alive or dead. I just want to find him. Once I find him I can go home. Comprendo?"
"Comprende. The proper tense is comprende. "
"Thank you for the Spanish-grammar lesson. But stay with me here. I want to go home very badly. In the next hour if possible. So if you'll kindly point me in the right direction, I won't place you under cardiac arrest."
"Cardiac-?"
"Also known as commotio cordis. "
"Como-?"
"Don't bother. You'll only get tongue-tied like everybody else."
The commander spread his helpless hands. "I cannot point you to the body, senor. I am most sorry. Colonel Primitivo took this Verapaz from my hands and out into the jungle for summary execution."
"He come back?"
The commander looked helpless. "How can he come back if he is dead?" he asked plaintively.
"I meant the colonel, not the subcomandante. "
"Ah, I understand. No, the colonel did not come back. He is not-how you say?-attached to Chiapas Barracks, which this is. He has done his duty, now he is gone forever, no one being the wiser."
"Except you and me," Remo corrected.
"It is a military secret, senor. I hope you will keep it."
"Cross my heart and hope to spit, as the Beaver used to say."
"Que?"
"Never mind. Look, if Verapaz is dead, what's all the commotion?"
"We go to battle the monster."
"What monster?"
"The monster on the TV, senor. "
Remo followed the commander's pointing finger.
In a far corner of the room sat a TV set. It was on. The sound was off.
On the screen was a thirty-foot-tall stone monster striding through the night. Helicopter searchlights played over it. It was the same monster movie that had been playing in Chi Zotz hours before.
Remo thought the special effects were pretty good, but the camera work and editing were terrible.
"You going to fight that?"
"Si. It is a terrible emeryency up in Oaxaca. All my forces have been called up."
"Good. You have a nice monster fight. I just have one last question."
"What is that?"
"Where did the colonel take the body?"
"Into the jungle. But I would not go into there."
"Why not?"
"Because this is Maya country and it is after dark."
"After dark Kamazotz comes out."
"Kamazotz?"
"Yes. Kamazotz is the bat god of the Maya." The commander shook his head slowly. "Terrible. He will drain your blood and do other unpleasant things to you.
"Thanks for the warning. I'll take my chances."
"You are very welcome, senor. But there is one thing more I ask of you."
"What's that?"
"Could you undo the thing that you did to my neck? I would like to use my legs to join my men to fight the monster."
"Oh, sorry," said Remo, returning to release the cervical manipulation that had disabled the commander's vertebrae.
Outside, the soldiers were still fighting. The column looked like a wagon train trying to get itself pointed west. Only no one knew west from south.
Taking the wheel, Remo met Chiun's quizzical gaze.
"They're off to fight the monster."
"What monster?"
"The one on the TV."
"But that monster is not real."
"You're talking about an army that's afraid to go into the forest after curfew because the bat god lives there."
"I fear no bats," sniffed Chiun.
"That's good," Remo said, gunning the engine, "because we're about to hit the jungle. Verapaz is out there, maybe dead, maybe alive."
"It does not matter."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because we are not paid by the slaying. If someone else has felled our victim, we will still be paid."
"Me, I like my work. And I still have a few frustrations to get out."
"Perhaps you suffer from ingrown cuticles," Chiun said aridly. "They can be very painful unless pointed in the proper direction."
"The proper direction of Verapaz is the only direction I care about right now," said Remo, chasing his own bouncing headlight beams.
Chapter 33
Rodrigo Lujan was worried. He was very worried.
The federal army no longer worried him. They had hurled their all into the teeth of the goddess Coatlicue.
And their all had been hurled back into their own teeth, breaking them.
Military barricades had been erected. No one dared man them, but the roads were blocked by all manner of obstacles.
Massed tanks. These had been trampled and crushed as if by great stone pistons.
Burning wood and fuel had been next. She strode through that unfazed. Not so fortunate were the indios who willingly followed her in the confl
agration and were consumed.
The smell of their roasted flesh was that of roast suckling pig. Rodrigo veered closer, and spying a rigidly raised firecrackled arm, stopped and yanked on it.
The cooked black flesh slid off in his hands, exposing pinkish meat, but by struggling he succeeded in pulling the arm from its socket, carrying it away for later consumption.
Farther along, a great ditch had been dug and covered with thin wood and camouflaged to resemble in the darkness a patch of unpaved road.
One great foot touched the ruse, sensed its unnatural hollowness and responding, lurched over the snare and onward.
All obstacles were defeated. Coatlicue was prescient and indomitable. Everyone knew this. So the army had curtailed their futile operations and withdrawn totally. Coatlicue made wonderful progress until she reached the outskirts of Oaxaca.
The chilango army had all but ceded the old seat of the Zapotec nation to Coatlicue the invincible. Victory was assured.
That was not what concerned Rodrigo Lujan.
It was Coatlicue's voracious, all-consuming appetite.
The indios continued to pour out of the zinc-roofed huts and village hovels. They replenished the newly fallen.
The problem was those who fell, fell not to the enemy but to Coatlicue herself-now a crazy quilt of marbled flesh, stone and armor. She continued feeding. Her appetite was insatiable. It was said of the Aztecs that in the days before the Spanish came, they were sacrificing hearts to the sun at a ferocious rate, far more than were required to keep the universe continually in motion.
Rodrigo Lujan did not wish to become one of the sacrificed.
That was one reason he had commandeered a green Volkswagen taxicab. Should Coatlicue become blindly hungry, she could not take him into her immense body as long as he stayed behind the wheel.
He was following his goddess at a decorous pace when the brilliant notion birthed in his brain. He pressed the accelerator to the floor. The little bug pulled up and was pacing the striding deity that shook the earth that was already shaking.
"Coatlicue! I have the most brilliant idea!"
Coatlicue did not reply. That was good. Sometimes it was good not to be noticed. Also gratifying.
"Coatlicue, I know how you can ensure your survival."
The behemoth took another step and stopped, bringing the trailing clawed foot in line with the first.
The two reticulated serpent heads rolled down. One mouth parted, issuing a grating word. "Speak...."
"You must cease consuming your followers."
"This is contradictory. I grow larger and stronger by assimilating them."
"Yes. But now you are strong enough. For to grow stronger would make you a greater target to your enemies."
"I am greater in size, mass and volume than any bipedal meat machine. This equals survival."
"In the jungle it is said that the lowly mouse lives longer than the monkey. For the mouse's small size allows it to hide from predators who would otherwise eat the little mouse."
"I have attempted the survival strategy of feigning an inoperative state. This has failed. My new strategy appears to be working. My enemies have withdrawn because they fear my vast size."
"Yes. They fear you. But you are also striking fear into the hearts of your worshipers. This is not good."
"Previously you encouraged this survival tactic."
"I did. I do. But now it is different. You have all the vastness you require. And now you must emulate the survival tactics of the jungle guerrilleros. "
"That word does not match any in my memory banks. "
"I am thinking of the greatest master of survival in all of Mexico. By name, Subcomandante Verapaz. He dwells in the jungle, and although the same forces that have so miserably failed to destroy you also seek his destruction, they have never succeeded."
"Explain these survival tactics to me."
"Verapaz surrounds himself with loyal companeros, much as you do."
"Thus, my strategy is equal to his."
"Yes, except that Verapaz does not eat his loyal ones."
"Nor do I. I assimilate them. None are converted into waste products for disposal. The absorbed become inextricable from my present form. Nothing is wasted."
"This is good. For waste is bad. But having consumed your fill, is it not better to permit your followers to protect you with their numbers, their courage and their willingness to sacrifice themselves for you?"
"They appear to be gratified by the sacrifice."
"Yes, we must have sacrifice. I agree. Let us sacrifice others. Let us from this moment forward vow solemnly to sacrifice only our enemies. For my ancestors understood that to eat the brains and flesh of their enemies imbued them with the strength and skills of the vanquished."
"This is reasonable."
"Bueno. I am glad that you agree, Coatlicue. Now, come. Oaxaca lies behind this mountain before us. We must reach the seat of your temporal power on earth, where you will rule inviolate."
"Yes, l will rule. For ruling brings me followers and power, and these are the elements that will ensure my survival. "
"And mine," muttered Rodrigo Lujan under his breath.
Chapter 34
Blood hung in the air.
Remo and Chiun picked up the metallic taste in the still jungle air. The ground under their feet rumbled slightly.
"Aftershock," said Remo.
They moved through the jungle with the stealthy ease of jungle cats, following the scent. It was strong. Stronger than the pungent scent of crushed onion grass left by the trampling feet of their quarry. Their careful feet picked bare spots to land, crushing no grass and leaving no trail. They had abandoned the Humvee.
"It is the blood of men," Chiun intoned.
Remo nodded. "I smell gunpowder, too."
"We near our quarry."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
They came upon the dead bodies in a clearing. They wore the khaki uniforms of federal Mexican army soldiers.
"Shot," said Remo, looking them over.
There was a coffin. But no one inside.
"Looks like they had Verapaz in that coffin, took him out to execute him but were ambushed first," Remo concluded.
Chiun's hazel eyes were intent upon the ground. Starting from the coffin, he began walking in a widening circle.
"The footprints of men go this way," he said, pointing to the west.
Remo joined him.
"I count three."
Chiun nodded. "Two are hours old, one more recent."
Remo checked the bodies. "The commander said something about a colonel. There are blood spots here and the impression of a body, but no body. I think the colonel was wounded but got up."
"Yes, these are the prints of a colonel's boots."
"Now, how can you tell that?"
"Because I am Reigning Master and I have fingernails of the correct length."
Remo grunted skeptically. He looked around. "I guess we have a hike ahead of us."
"You may continue to carry my trunk."
"Thanks," Remo said dryly.
And taking the trunk up on his shoulder, Remo faced the Master of Sinanju, saying, "If I see a locker anywhere, I'm stashing this for the duration."
"Do not dare."
"You're just busting my chops, hoping I'll cave in to your little blackmail scam."
"You will," said Chiun.
"I will not."
"The night is young, and the trunk will only get more heavy."
"Actually it's pretty light. What did you say was inside?"
"I did not say. But in exchange for a solemn vow to free your nails, I will allow you to peer inside."
"No, thanks."
"I will not make this generous offer again."
"Good. Because I'm not falling for it."
They continued on. His curiosity aroused, Remo laid an ear against a lapis lazuli phoenix. A faint sound came from the trunk. It was hard to place, but Remo had a growing suspicion th
at he was carrying approximately five million loose toothpicks.
Well down the trail, they spotted other spoor.
"Smells like something died," Remo said, protecting his nostrils by switching to mouth respiration.
"Or a man's bowels have rebelled against his stomach."
"Yeah, now that you bring it up, that's exactly what it smells like. Pheew. "
"No doubt the ill one was a corn addict."
"Corn doesn't cause diarrhea," Remo said.
"Is it not said when the bowels fill with water the surest cure is rice?"
"Yeah..."
"And is not corn the opposite of rice?"
"That, I don't buy."
"It does not matter that you buy this or do not, only that it is true. Corn befouls the bowels, which in turn softens the stools. Avoid corn, Remo, if you wish to boast of substantial stools."
"I don't care two shits about my stools."
"You must be aware of these things if you are to achieve my sublime age."
"I can't really imagine myself getting to be one hundred years old."
"Nor can I, who am only eighty."
"Too late, Chiun. I know better. You were born sometime in the last century. You admitted it once."
"That does not mean I am the age you think I am."
Remo stepped over a fallen tree that was perforated by termite burrows. "It does unless you've pulled a Rip Van Winkle when no one was looking."
"Koreans do not reckon time as do Westerners."
"Whatever you say," said Remo. "Is this trunk filled with toothpicks by any chance?"
"No."
Farther along the terrible smell came again.
"I wonder if that's our man?"
"If it is, you may dispatch him," sniffed Chiun. "I do not care to soil my perfect nails with the task."
"Another reason to keep the nail clippers close by. Hey! What's this?"
Chiun froze in place. "What is what?" he hissed.
"That," said Remo, pointing.
Chiun's wide eyes tracked toward the base of a tree.
His parchment wrinkles tightened. "I see no foe."
"I didn't say anything about a foe. Isn't that a book?"
"Yes. So? Books are common."
"Not in the jungle," said Remo, laying down the lacquered trunk. "Hold on."
At the base of the tree, Remo examined the book carefully without getting too close. In Vietnam commonplace objects were often dropped along jungle paths by the Vietcong to lure unwary GIs into stepping on buried mines.
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