The Final Crusade td-76

by Warren Murphy

  "What?"

  "One of Chiun's sayings, loosely translated. It means that if I'm to do my job, I should stick close to Reverend Sluggard."

  "Good point. But we're more concerned about Iranian assassins, not unruly volunteers."

  "Whatever you say. I guess I'd better tell Chiun," Remo said, walking back to the gate, where the Master of Sinanju stood watching the approach road as darkness began to seep into the air like billowing ink from an octopus.

  Victoria Hoar watched him go. Since that first day, only a week ago, she had subjected Remo to the daily attention of her flirting sexuality. Much to her surprise, she found herself attracted to Remo. There was something about him, some animal magnetism that was so subtle that Remo himself didn't seem aware of it. She had decided that she would sleep with him. Out of curiosity more than desire. And with luck, she would learn his true purpose, if any.

  But suddenly Remo hadn't seemed as interested in her as he had been. It was puzzling. Who was playing whom? she wondered as she strode back to the docked Mary Magdalene.

  "Change in plan," Remo told Chiun. "I've been assigned to guard Sluggard."

  "And what will I be doing?" Chiun asked tightly.

  "You stick with security control."

  "That man shows ridiculous judgment, choosing an assistant Master to guard his person. Does he not know who we are?"

  "No, and let's keep it that way," Remo said. "Tonight he's giving a speech at that Christian Campground we've been hearing about. I'm supposed to be there."

  "It is possible that the answers Smith seeks are to be found there."

  "That's what I'm thinking," Remo said seriously.

  "And your feelings toward this Sluggard? Are they any clearer?"

  "Whoever or whatever he is, the Iranians hate him enough to come gunning for him. That still keeps him in the good-guy column as far as I'm concerned."

  "Pah! At least your attitude has improved," Chiun said unhappily. "Perhaps I can find time to accompany you to this Camp of Christians."

  "Too risky. Just stick to headquarters. In case there's an attack, we want prisoners for interrogation."

  "Done," said Chiun. "And how was your talk with the harlot Victoria?"

  "Who?" Remo asked vaguely, his eyes on the wheelhouse of the boat, where Reverend Sluggard was snoring peacefully, his shorts down around his ankles.

  The Master of Sinanju allowed himself a secret self-satisfied smile.

  Chapter 19

  Rashid Shiraz drove across the U.S.-Canada border without incident. In the strangely named city of Burlington, Vermont, he boarded a plane for the more strangely named Savannah, Georgia.

  Lamar Booe sat quietly beside him on the flight. He spoke only once, to complain about the food. Rashid heard other passengers complain about the food. He could not understand it. Compared to the food of his native Iran, it was wonderful fare. He even asked for seconds.

  By the time he landed in Savannah, Rashid Shiraz had lost his earlier fear about traveling through America. He was not harassed by the men, and the women were beautiful. But he refused to allow himself to become complacent. His was a dangerous mission. Capture would mean terrible things. Although he imagined the prison food would not be bad.

  In the Savannah airport terminal, he looked around for the contact he was told would be waiting for him. He was not given a description, but was simply told that he would recognize his contact.

  And he did. There was a handsome bearded Iranian in black accosting almost everyone who passed him. He showed them pages from a book of some kind. Was the man a fool? Rashid wondered. Was it possible that he was showing Rashid's picture in an effort to locate him?

  Crabbing Lamar Booe by the shoulder, Rashid quickly intercepted the Iranian between accostings.

  "Rahe kojast shomaal?" Rashid whispered the agreed-upon code hotly. "Which way is north?"

  "Ma baradar has team. Wallahi!" came the countersign. "We are brothers. It is written."

  "It is written that you are an idiot!" Rashid hissed back. "Why do you call attention to yourself so?"

  "Look," said the contact, displaying his open book. Rashid saw photographs of mullahs executing Iranian citizens. There was a petition calling for the overthrow of the Grand Ayatollah. Many signatures had been collected.

  "Who would suspect an antirevolutionary agitator of being a spy?" the man said, smiling. "Come, a car awaits us."

  Hours later, Rashid found himself sitting in a bus filled with other Iranians. His contact man, whose name was Majid, drove. The bus had been rented at the suggestion of Lamar Booe, who sat huddled in the back, his eyes burning with hatred with every mile that took them closer to the place of Reverend Sluggard.

  "Every day buses like this go to gate of Sluggard," Majid said. "They are filled with rowdy young men."

  "Not like these," Rashid grinned wolfishly, waving at the passengers. Every Iranian carried a weapon. Their kaffiyehs were in their pockets.

  They pulled up short of the gates. The gates were closed.

  "We could ram gate," Majid suggested.

  "I have a better idea," said Rashid, drifting back to where Lamar Booe sat.

  "You recognize where we are, Cross-Worshipper?" he asked.

  Lamar Booe nodded.

  "We have come to the time when you repay the benevolent Islamic Republic of Iran for your worthless life. Can you get them to open the gate?"

  "Yes," Lamar Booe whispered. He was staring at the floor, his eyes hollow.

  "If you do this, you will not be harmed. We guarantee this. We only want to capture this Sluggard." Lamar Booe stood up. He looked Rashid Shiraz straight in the eye.

  "Not if I get to him first," he said in a dead voice. His shaking hands gripped an imaginary object tightly. Rashid made a mental note to make certain that Lamar Booe didn't get his hands on Reverend Sluggard's throat. He doubted all the force in the universe could pry them loose.

  Chapter 20

  Remo Williams was standing guard at the door of Reverend Eldon Sluggard's shipboard quarters when Chiun descended the companionway attired in a simple saffron kimono.

  "Problem?" Remo asked.

  "I bear glad news for the Sluggard."

  "The Reverend Sluggard," Remo corrected. "Calling him the Sluggard is disrespectful."

  Chiun shrugged. "Lamar Booe has returned to the Sluggard's flock," he reported.

  "Great. Who's he?"

  "Do you not remember, Remo? The missing boy. The one whose parents claim that he never returned from this place."

  "Oh, right. Reverend Sluggard will be happy to hear it. "

  "Then why do you not knock on his door?"

  "He asked not to be disturbed. Victoria is there with him. They're having a prayer session. It's been very quiet, but they should be out any minute. We're casting off for the Christian Campground soon."

  "I see," said Chiun, pushing Remo aside. He looked into the keyhole of the great door. He did not have to bend very far to see.

  "Chiun. That's snooping!"

  "Information gathering," Chiun shot back. He moved this way and that, trying to see.

  "It's our jobs if you're caught," Remo said in a resigned voice.

  When Chiun suddenly withdrew from the keyhole, a look of disgust etched on his wrinkled features, Remo asked, "Had enough?"

  "Judge for yourself," Chiun said, stepping aside. Reluctantly Remo looked. He saw Victoria Hoar's back. She was on her knees facing Reverend Sluggard. One meaty hand rested on her head, the other flailed the air. Reverend Sluggard's face was reddening by the second. His eyes were squinched shut as if in pain. "Well?" Chiun demanded after Remo stepped back from the keyhole.

  "Well what?" Remo asked. "He's leading her in prayer."

  "Who is leading whom is another question," Chiun snapped. "But of one thing I am certain, you are as blind as the Sluggard is disgusting."

  "Reverend Sluggard. And I don't know what you're talking about. So why don't you tell them to bring the kid here? I'm sure R
everend Sluggard will want to talk to him when he's done."

  "Men like him are never done." And with that cryptic remark, the Master of Sinanju stamped up to the deck.

  Minutes later, when Remo heard talking coming from the other side of the door, he decided it was a good time to break the wonderful news to Reverend Sluggard. He knocked loudly.

  "What is it?" Reverend Sluggard snarled. "Ah said Ah was not to be disturbed."

  "Great news," Remo called back.

  There was a flurry of sounds and Reverend Sluggard's face appeared through a crack in the door. His jowly face was flushed, his hair unkempt.

  "Did we nuke Ah-ran?"

  "No. Lamar Booe's back," Remo said cheerily. "Isn't that wonderful?"

  Reverend Eldon Sluggard's face did not register pleasure. At first it registered a kind of dazed blankness. Then, as the name sank in, his blank expression started to come apart. The mouth went slack. The eyes grew wild. His nostrils dilated explosively and Reverend Sluggard's hand on the door edge turned so white his many rings seemed to flush with added color.

  "Whaaaa-" he said.

  "Lamar Booe. The kid whose parents are suing you. He says it's all a big misunderstanding. He wants to see you."

  "Whaaaa-" Reverend Sluggard said again.

  "Lamar Booe," Remo said, frowning. "He-"

  "Ah know who he is!" Reverend Sluggard snapped. "Don't let him in. Ah don't want to see his cowardly face. Stop him!"

  "But Chiun's bringing him aboard."

  "What is the problem?" asked Victoria Hoar.

  "That Booe boy. He's back!" Sluggard's voice was hoarse.

  "Back? How can he be back? He was with the others?"

  "Someone's at the gate sayin' he's him."

  "I don't get it," Remo said. "I thought you'd be pleased. "

  "Tell the captain to cast off now!" Sluggard ordered.

  "But-"

  "Now!" Reverend Sluggard screamed. "Don't you understand the word 'now' ?"

  Frowning, Remo went to the wheelhouse and relayed the order.

  Immediately, white-uniformed crewmen began to cast off lines. The great dual diesel engines began to turn. When Remo, his head shaking in confusion, returned to the deck, he saw that Chiun was directing the uniformed guards to open the electrically controlled gates to the Eldon Sluggard World Ministries.

  A lone boy walked in. The gate started to close after him. Chiun went to greet the boy, when, suddenly, a bus gunned up the street, executed a sharp veer, and skidding on three wheels, rammed the gate. The gate halves, not fully closed, went flying. One cracked the windshield and bounced away. The other went under the front tires as if swallowed by a voracious maw.

  The bus bore down on Lamar Booe. The boy turned. And froze.

  Remo, knowing he was too far away to affect what would happen next, looked for Chiun. But Chiun wasn't at the spot he had been. Remo's gaze returned to the bus. He caught sight of a flash of saffron. And Lamar Booe was carried out of the way of the juggernaut of a bus.

  "Atta boy, Chiun!" Remo shouted.

  The bus plowed into the quadrangle. It snapped the standing cross in two and only then skidded to a halt. The door flew open and dozens of men in kaffiyehs and faded dungarees stormed out of the bus. Their weapons, an assortment of machine pistols and automatic rifles, erupted all at once.

  The cacophony of shooting and screaming reminded Remo of Vietnam.

  Reverend Sluggard stomped up from below. "What's going on?" he thundered.

  Remo opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of Reverend Sluggard stopped him. Reverend Sluggard wore a greenish-gold uniform. Gold braid decorated his epaulets. He wore a pristine white visored cap and a ceremonial sword in a scabbard. His ample chest was decorated with rows of military-style ribbons. But they were unlike any service decorations Remo had ever seen. Reverend Sluggard's chest looked like a circuit board. Remo saw crosses, circles and other arcane designs, including one that at a glance seemed to read "Order of the Wrath of the Lord."

  "Reverend Sluggard. . . " Remo said dumbfoundedly.

  "Reverend-General Sluggard," he boomed proudly. "When Ah'm in uniform, Ah'm Reverend-General Sluggard, the Lord's fearless right arm. Now, what's goin' on?"

  "Iranians," Remo said, pointing.

  Reverend-General Eldon Sluggard clutched his sword hilt. "How ... how can you tell?" he croaked.

  "See those checkered things over their heads? That makes them Middle Easterners. Probably Iranians."

  "Tell them to cast off."

  "I did."

  "Well, tell 'em to cast off faster. We got to get out of here!" The Lord's fearless right arm looked around frantically. He spied a bullhorn on a deck hook and yanked it to his face.

  "Cast off! Cast this tub off! Hurry!" Then he turned his attention to the quadrangle. People were pouring out of the ministry buildings. Staff members. When they saw uniformed guardsmen fall, they retreated. Some of the new recruits stood frozen in uncertainty.

  "You, there! Boys!" Reverend-General Sluggard howled. "Take up your swords and smite them shitty Moslems!"

  A few of the braver volunteers started forward. They were cut down by a precision stream of fire.

  "Let Chiun and me handle this," Remo said, starting over the rail.

  "Don't be a fool. They're cannon fodder. And I need you here."

  "And Chiun needs my help," Remo said. He hit the dock with no more sound than a paper cup and pelted toward the quadrangle.

  Remo came around the corner of the Temple of Tribute, whose glass walls were already shattered from stray rounds, and paused long enough to fix Chiun's position. Chiun was slipping up from the gate. Remo backtracked him with his eyes and saw that the boy, Lamar Booe, was safely in one of the glass gate boxes where Chiun had left him. The boy was pounding to get out. The expression on his face was so frightened it looked to Remo like anger, not fear.

  Remo caught Chiun's attention with a wave. He raised two fingers in the old V-for-victory sign. He hoped Chiun would recognize the signal for a double Scarlet Ribbon.

  Remo had no time to wait. He began to run. He cut left, then right, not seeking shelter from the rounds that were flying in all directions, sickling leaves from trees and chopping the Spanish moss that decorated the eucalyptus. Remo picked up speed until he was moving in a weaving pattern known to old Masters of Sinanju as the Scarlet Ribbon.

  Bullets flew around his head and feet. No one aiming could possibly hit him, Remo knew, because by the time they lined up on him, he was already moving out of target position. His only fear, strangely enough, was from wild ricochets. But as he wove the beginnings of the ribbon, his mind was free of all fear, all doubt. He was at one with the situation.

  The ribbon started to gain color when Remo encountered his first opponent. He took him out with a slashing side kick to the testicles. Another terrorist spotted him, and Remo paused a half-step, whirled, and as the man opened fire, came up under the bullet track and slapped his larynx loose. He went down gurgling. The dying man's wild fire caused another terrorist behind Remo to scream in agony. His screams attracted the attention of the other terrorists and Remo became the focus of that attention.

  Which was exactly what he wanted.

  It was then that the Scarlet Ribbon truly turned scarlet.

  Remo moved in and out between his attackers. A thrust here. A flying kick there. He lunged for a man who was frantically pulling an empty clip from a Mac 10. Remo yanked a full clip from the man's belt and jammed it into the man's cloth-covered mouth, spiking him to the side of the bullet-riddled bus.

  Others, seeing him pause in mid-action, trained their weapons on him. Triggers were pressed. The crossfire missed Remo, who flashed into action again. It got several terrorists. For that was what the Scarlet Ribbon was designed to do-turn the fury of a large force upon its members with killing result.

  Remo resumed his furious running. Halfway through the ribbon, he streaked by the Master of Sinanju. "Sluggard's taken off in a panic," Remo s
aid.

  "His kind always does," returned Chiun as he executed a Heron Drop. He flashed into the air, seemed to hang in space like a dandelion seed settling to earth, and while streams of fire converged on the spot where he floated, his sandaled feet, spreading, came down on the heads of two terrorists fighting at close quarters. Two necks collapsed like empty soda cans. Vertebrae shattered audibly. Chiun alighted delicately and moved on.

  Rashid Shiraz saw his bullets miss the old Oriental once again. He saw him break two of his fellow Iranians' necks. He sighted on the Oriental again. He missed. He missed again. He reloaded. And in the precious seconds between pulling out the empty clip and snapping in a fresh magazine, three more of his men fell on the grass, their blood staining the ground.

  Rashid turned his attention back to the white man. He was bigger. He would be a better target. But when he looked, he saw his men trying to cut the American down. The man zipped between the bullet tracks crazily. It was an insane maneuver because he was not running away from the bullets, but among them. It was as if he were daring the men to shoot at him.

  Instead, the men ended up shooting at one another. Witnessing his entire force wilting like roses in the summer heat, Rashid felt his courage run down his legs. He ran for the bus, hoping its tires were not punctured. The bus started. He sent it lumbering around and steered for the gaping gate. One gate half was still caught under the chassis. It sparked and rattled, inhibiting speed.

  As Rashid barreled toward the entrance, he saw the stupid American boy, Lamar Booe, in the guard box. He sent a spray of bullets into the box. Lamar went down. There must be no one left to talk.

  The bus cracked the fieldstone gatepost going around the corner and Rashid floored the gas.

  The bus picked up speed slowly. The chassis rattled against the trapped gate. In his right-side mirror Rashid spotted the white American running after the bus.

  "Fool!" he spat. And then he noticed that the Oriental was coming up on the left side. He cursed the trapped gate. It was slowing him down so much that even the old one was gaining on the bus.

  Rashid kicked at the gas pedal desperately. The speedometer hovered at fifty. He blinked, At fifty they should not be keeping pace. Yet they were.