Destroyer 024 - Kings Curse

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MAKING AMENDS

"What are you fellows doing in ajl those feathers?" Ramona Delpheen askedl She wasn't

sure why the butler had let strangers through the door.

The men said nothing. Long robes of yellow feathers hung down to their knees. One of

them carried what appeared to be a phallic symbol made of stone. "We are all of Indian

blood-Actatl. All we wished for was to live. But you would not let us. You have violated

what we hold precious and worthy, the stone of our ancestors, the life of our hearts, the

most gracious and central inspiration of our being."

The next moment, the man with the phallic symbol of stone raised it above Ramona's head and rammed it into

her chest. He worked quickly, severing the last arteries, and then with a rip he tore the heart out of her

body. Then he left a note with its corners carefully smeared with her blood. She was the second victim . . .

THE DESTROYER SERIES:

#21 DEADLY SEEDS

#1 CREATED, #22 BRAIN DRAIN

THE DESTROYER #23 CHILD'S PLAY

#2 DEATH CHECK #24 KING'S CURSE

#3 CHINESE PUZZLE #25 ' SWEET DREAMS

#4 MAFIA FIX #26 IN ENEMY HANDS

#5 DR. QUAKE #27 THE LAST TEMPLE

#6 DEATH THERAPY #28 SHIP OF DEATH

#7 UNION BUST #29 THE FINAL DEATH

#8 SUMMIT CHASE #30 MUGGER BLOOD

#9 MURDER'S SHIELD #31 THE HEAD MEN

#10 TERROR SQUAD #32 KILLER

#11 KILL OR CURE CHROMOSOMES

#12 SLAVE SAFARI #33 VOODOO DIE

#13 ACID ROCK #34* CHAINED REACTION

#14 JUDGMENT DAY #35 LAST CALL

#15 MURDER WARD #36 POWER PLAY

#16 OIL SLICK #37 BOTTOM LINE

#17 LAST WAR DANCE #38 BAY CITY BLAST

#18 FUNNY MONEY #39 MISSING LINK

#19 HOLY TERROR #40 DANGEROUS GAMES

#20 ASSASSIN'S PLAY-OFF

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PINNACLE BOOKS • LOS ANGELES

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance

to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

THE DESTROYER: KING'S CURSE

An original Pinnacle Books edition, published for the first time anywhere.

ISBN: 0-523-41239-8

First printing, July 1976

Second printing, lune 1977

Third printing, April 1978

Fourth printing, April 1979

Fifth printing, May 1980 .'

Cover illustration by Hector Garrido Printed in the United States of America

PINNACLE BOOKS, INC.

2029 Century Park East

Los Angeles, California 90067

For:

Amnon, Judy, Sharon, Uriyah, Joseph, Gilli, Naomi, Ruthi, and most of all the awesome magm'ficence of the

House of Sinanju.

KING'S CURSE

Chapter One

The stone was old before the pale men on four high legs with metal chests and metal

heads followed the path of the sun in from the big water you could not drink.

Before the king-priests, the stone was; before the warrior-kings, it was. Before the

Aztec and the Toltec and the Maya, it was. Before the Ac-tatl, who served it and

acknowledged it as their own personal god, the stone was.

The stone was a king's height, and if you did not know that the circle outlined in its belly was carved by

the very gods themselves before man came from the mouth of the turtle, if you did not know that, then you

were not Actatl. And you would not be allowed in the palace of the god, and

you would not be allowed near the sacred stone, lest the god be enraged by an unbeliever's

finger touching it.

And the people called the sacred stone Uctut.

But only the priests knew its real name.

In the first years of the pale men the warrior king of the Actatl called the five priests of

Uctut to the palace, which was 142 steps high and protected Uctut from the north wind

and the north light. He asked the priests what they thought of the new pale men.

"Moctezuma says they are gods," said one priest

"Moctezuma thinks the gods breathe when he vents air after a feast," said the king.

"Moctezuma is a king that is more to god's way," said another priest reproachfully.

"It is known that the Aztec of Moctezuma follow their gods better because their king is a

priest."

"Life is too short to spend it preparing for its end," the king answered. "And I believe

that the rain falls without a baby's heart being thrown into the well that feeds Uctut, and

I believe that new babies come even if the hearts of women are not sent into the well, and I

believe that I win victories, not because Uctut has been fed with blood, but because my men

fight from high places and others from low."

"Have you never wanted to know the name of Uctut? The real name? So that he could speak to you as he

speaks to us?" another priest asked.

"What for? Everyone has a name for something. It is just a breath of air. I have not

called you here to say that after so many years I have

come to your way. Let it remain at this: You give the people your gods, and I do not

take the people away from you. Now I ask you, what do you think of the men colored

like clouds?"

"Uctut thinks he must have their hearts for his water," said one priest.

"Moctezuma thinks we should give the tall ones with four legs the yellow metals they

seek," said another.

And another said, "Moctezuma has also said we should give the hearts of these white

men to Uctut."

"Did Moctezuma say the Aztec should give the hearts of these white men with their

death sticks?" the king asked. "Or did he say the Actatl should take these hearts?"

"He said it was such a good sacrifice, we should be pleased to make it to Uctut," said a

priest.

"Then let the great Moctezuma take their hearts," said the king, "and he may offer

them up to Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent god."

Another priest responded, "He said the Aztec honored the Actatl by not taking this rich

sacrifice for themselves but allowing us to take it for Uctut, to make our god rich and red

with the finest hearts."

"Then this I tell to Moctezuma, great king of the great Aztec, from his most respectful neighbor, king of

the Actatl, holder of leopards, who protects Uctut from the winds of the north, con-querer of the Umay,

Acoupl, Xorec. To Moctezuma, I say, greetings neighbor. We appreciate your generosity and in turn, we give

gifts to the Aztec and their great king."

While the king spoke, the priests all made sacred marks, for they were knowing of

the mysteries, how one man could place a mark on a tablet of stone, and how another

man seeing that mark could divine a thought from it, even though the maker of the mark

had gone many years before to the other world.

Five hundred years later, in a land where almost everyone read and there was no

mystery to it, archaeologists would engage in a favorite pastime of wishing they could

talk to inhabitants of the dead cultures they studied. They would say they could get

more from a half-hour conversation with someone who lived in that culture than they

could get from a lifetime of studying the marks on the tablets they had found.

Yet, if they had talked to the average Actatl, they would have gotten only that the

marks were mysteries, that the king lived high, the people lived low, and the priests

served Uctut, whose real name only the priests knew and were allowed to speak.

But the stone that was Uctut would last. The Aztec would be no more, the Maya and

Inca would be no more. The name of the Actatl would be destroyed, and the Umay, the

Acoupl, the Xorec, the inland people they had conquered, would not even be

remembered.

All would be forgotten. Yet Uctut would survive and in that far-off time, in a land called the United States

of America, blood and horror would be visited upon many, in a royal sacrifice by the Actatl to their god of the

All would be forgotten. Yet Uctut would survive and in that far-off time, in a land called the United States

of America, blood and horror would be visited upon many, in a royal sacrifice by the Actatl to their god of the

stone.

And that blood sacrifice started from what happened that day when the king of the Actatl attempted to

avoid facing in battle the Spanish invader, whom he suspected was not a god, but just a man of a different

color.

And so the priests made their marks and the king spoke. The gift he and his" people would give to the Aztec

would be the sole rights to the hearts of the pale men on four high legs with metal chests and metal heads.

One priest protested that this was too generous an offer, that Uctut would be jealous of

Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec's chief god. But the king signalled for silence and the message was

over.

For Uctut's approval a small sacrifice was chosen, a young girl of budding breasts from a fine family,

and she was dressed in a royal robe of yellow feathers and placed upon the stone above the well that held the

waters that fed Uctut.

Now if her family seemed to be forcing tears and only pretending to wail, there was

good reason. For many generations now the Actatl had bought slaves and kept captives

for just such a ceremony, and when the priests called for a sacrifice from the ranking

soldiers and from those who directed the farmers and the building of roads, they would

dress those slaves kept just for this purpose and offer them to Uctut.

One priest held one ankle, and another priest held the other ankle, and two other priests held the wrists.

They were strong men of necessity because the bodies struggling for life often had great power. This girl's

skin was smooth, and her

teeth were fine, and her eyes were shiny black. The fifth priest nodded approvingly at the family, who would

be pleased with themselves later; now they lamented as if the child were their own daughter.

With delicate care, the fifth priest unfolded one side of the robe and then the other, and

so careful were his hands that the girl smiled hopefully up at him. Perhaps he would let

her go. She had heard other slaves say that sometimes they would bring you to the big

rock and let you go. Not often but sometimes. And she had placed pebbles in a circle on

a grassy bank to the gods of the streams who, while not as strong as Uctut, could

sometimes outwit him. And her only request since she had been brought to the special

building from the fields was that her god would outwit Uctut and let her live.

And did not the priest's smile above her and his gentle hands mean that he would say

this girl is too small and too sweet to die this day? She did not know, nor did the other

slaves, that victims were sent back only because of crossed eyes or chipped teeth or scars

that would make them unseemly.

But this was a pretty little girl and so the Ac-tatl priest ripped out her heart.

It was a good heart, still pumping in his gentle hands after it was cut and ripped out of

the young chest, and she had given a good scream that would increase Uctut's

appetite. The priest held the moving heart high so that all would see what a fine gift the

family gave for the benefit of all.

The supposed mother wailed and collapsed to

her knees in supposed grief. A laudation chant filled the open cathedral of the rock, and before the heart was

stilled the priest lowered it to the well, and the four other priests sent the body after, careful that the valuable

robe did not go in with it.

Thus was the king's message to Moctezuma assured of the good win of Uctut.

The king watched all this with apparent approval, but his mind was not with the

stupid, cruel little ceremony. Even as a little boy he had realized that it was not Uctut who

wanted hearts, but the priests and the people. And since the only ones who suffered were

slaves and captives, the ceremonies would continue.

He had other things on his mind this day as he looked out upon his people and their

homes and fields, which he knew stretched twenty days run in all directions, beyond

mountains and rivers and plains. All this was doomed. The people were doomed. Even the

very words they spoke would disappear. And while he knew this must have happened to

others and would happen to still others and that it was the way of things, some coming and

some going, yet inside him something he could not fathom insisted that he not allow this.

He knew the visitors from the water you could not drink would take everything, for they

wanted more than the yellow metal and more than slaves. They wanted, according- to the

king's spies, what they said was in every man and lived forever. Sort of a mind, but not a

mind, the spies had said. And they wanted this thing for their god.

And their god was one god, yet three gods, and

one had died but had not died. The king had instructed his spy to ask if the pale men's new

god would accept a fourth-Uctut-and when the spies returned with the words they had

translated from the new language, the king understood that everything the Actatl and the

Aztec and the Maya and all the rest had known was over and done. The words were:

"You shall have no other gods before me."

This god would not take blood or food or ornaments. He wanted the living minds of his people. Not like

Uctut, who could be fooled by a yellow feathered robe and an artificial wail from someone pretending to be a

victim's mother. -

The king had not mentioned anything to the priests, lest in their fear or anger they attempt something that

would surely fail. This new thing was unlike anything the Actatl had ever known, and against it nothing

they had ever known would be effective.

That evening of the sacrifice, the king announced he would stay in his high place for many days, but he

dressed as a slave, and accompanied by his most fearsome warrior, and he left the high place with a bundle of

yellow metal. Now the warrior had much difficulty treating the king as a slave at first, since from birth he had

been trained to serve his king and lay down his life to save that of his king. But the king told him that now

they must use the deception of rank as their cover, like they used the cover of the forest once. The warrior was

puzzled by this as they ran along the roads at night. Everyone knew that the king was a king because he

was king. He was not a slave,

otherwise he would be a slave. And the pale newcomers would know this, for those who are

kings are kings.

Now the king could not tell him what he had long suspected-that the differences in men

were made up by men like children's stories were made up, except that differences among

men were believed in. So the king told the warrior he had made a magic spell which

would make pale men believe he was a slave and not the Actatl king. And this satisfied the

warrior.

They ran through the night and in the morning they slept. For twenty-two days they did

this, passing the home city of Moctezuma. And one morning they saw a fearful thing.

A pale man, twice as tall as other men, with much hair on his face and shiny metal on

his head and chest, and two legs fore and two behind, walked past them, and instinctively the

warrior shielded his king. But the king warned him again that he was to be treated as a

slave, not a king, and there would be no more warnings. He could not give him another

warning.

And they walked out of their hiding place and the tall pale man pointed at them a spear without a point but

with a hole in it. And the king noticed that there was another head the same color as the body, and then he

realized why the pale man had four legs and was so incredibly tall. He sat on an animal.

Had not the Inca to the south trained animals to carry bundles? This strange new

animal had been trained to carry a man. And the king realized the metal was just

something that was put on

the pale man's head. This was confirmed when they entered a large camp, and the king saw some men with

metal on their heads and some men without. He also saw the pale men and the strange animals

separated, and not joined together.

He saw a queen of the coastal people sitting on a high chair next to a pale man, and he

and the warrior were brought to them. The woman spoke the language of the Aztec, and

she spoke to the warrior. As he had been instructed, the warrior gave his name and his

function as an Actatl, then waited.

The woman questioned in Aztec and then spoke to the pale man in another language.

And the king memorized each sound as it came from her lips for there was much he had

to learn to save his people. And then the warrior said he had captured this slave fleeing

from the city of Moctezuma.

The warrior paused, and the woman talked the strange language, and while she

pronounced Moctezuma correctly, the pale man could not. When he repeated it, he said

"Montezuma" with different emphasis.

pronounced Moctezuma correctly, the pale man could not. When he repeated it, he said

"Montezuma" with different emphasis.

The warrior said the slave was worthless and had nothing because Moctezuma and the

Aztecs were poor. And the woman spoke in the other language, and the pale man spoke,

and there was tension in their voices. And the woman said to the warrior that the Aztec

was not poor, that Moctezuma himself had rooms of gold. And the warrior said, no gold.

Just worthless slaves. And when the woman spoke again, the king of the Actatl,

dressed as a slave, let loose the many heavy weights of gold he had run with for many

days, and he paid scant attention to them, brushing off his poor rags as though the gold

was but the dust of the earth.

And, as he had planned, this caused great commotion, and the pale ones even tried to

eat the gold by pressing their teeth into it. And the king pretending to be a slave laughed

and cried out: "Oh, great queen, why do these pale ones love the yellow dirt so much?"

"Did this come from Moctezuma's city?" she asked, and the king nodded low like a

slave and said, "Yes. It comes from the rooms of gold."

And when she repeated this to the pale one, he jumped up and danced, and from then

on the pale man wanted words from the slave and ordered the warrior put to death for

telling untruths. And thus was the slave-king trusted and taken into the camp of the

pales, and thus did this pale man, whom the king later found out was named Cortez,

proceed to his long and difficult siege of Moctezuma's city, finally taking it.

During the months of siege, the king thought to be a slave gave bits of information about the Aztec, like a

lake letting only a little stream flow out each day. And he watched and learned. Like his own people, few here

could read, although the secrets were not guarded. He learned the new language from a priest of the new god.

He learned that it was not the sound from the sticks that killed, but a projectile that came at great speed

from a hole in the stick. He learned that there were bigger sticks that fired bigger projectiles.

One night he learned to ride a horse and almost got killed.

The pale men's metals were harder than the Actatl's. Their military formations were not

superior, but being able to stand twenty to thirty paces off and kill with the sticks called

guns, the formations did not have to be superior. Their writing was not symbols of things

but symbols of sound, and in this, the Actatl king knew, there was a great power.

Lighter people were treated better than darker people, and these pale men did not, as his

spies had correctly told him, sacrifice people or animals, although at first when he saw the

statue of the man stretched out on crossed bars, he was not sure.

He saw the city of Moctezuma fall and its people enslaved, and he was sure that even

as the stronger Aztec were doomed, so were his own people. There would be hardly a

trace.

These pale men from a land called Europe were robber warriors, and while it was not

unusual for new tribes to move into old land, these pale men were different because they

did not share ways, they imposed theirs. And theirs was a better way that did not demand

the silliness of the sacrifice.

But he must not let his people die.

Among the camp of the pales were many tribes that sided with the newcomers against Moctezuma. One

man recognized the Actatl king, and he went to the woman of Cortez and said, "That is not a slave but king

of the Actatl." And the woman called the king to her and asked why he had come as a slave when as a king

he would have been welcome.

"Have you told this to Cortez yet?" asked the king.

"I will tell him before sunrise," said the queen of the coastal people. And with the

sharper, harder metal of the pale men, the king slit her throat. He did not take her heart.

When his hands were dry, he went to Cortez and told him of what he had heard as

a young slave-that there were cities to the north of Moctezuma's that were of pure gold.

The walls were gold. The ceilings were gold. The streets were gold.

Cortez asked why he had not told him this earlier.

"Oh, great lord of the pale men, I was asked by your woman for rooms of gold. In

these cities of the north, they do not keep gold in rooms. They make bricks of gold and

they build with it, so plentiful is this strange metal."

And with a glorious laugh, Cortez ordered his expedition to prepare. In the excitement

the death of one translator, even a coastal queen, was not taken as an undue tragedy.

There were many translators now.

Fifteen days north did the king take Cortez and his party and on the fifteenth, while in

the mountains, the king slipped away at night.

Losing his guide, Cortez would give up the expedition, but for centuries after, those

who followed him would continue to search for the Seven Cities of Cibol, cities that never

existed except in the imagination of a king who wished to keep the greedy Spaniards away

from him and his people.

On that fifteenth night, the king left with a horse and one gun with 'powder and bullets

and flint and many books.

And a month later, he arrived at the main city of the Actatl. The king had been gone

for four full seasons.

There was a new king now, and the priests of Uctut, in their confusion, announced one

king would have to be killed. So the new king, who was a son of the old king, gathered his

warriors and prepared to sacrifice his father. But when the first warrior approached, the

old king used the thunder stick and, throwing nothing at all, killed the man. All seeing this

turned on the new king to make him sacrifice for the old, but the old king would not have

this. He had not returned to be king but to bring a message of a new undertaking that Uctut

should approve.

The old king would take fifty women and ten young male children and ten young female

children, and he would go off with them. But the priests would not have this for that

would mean two kings lived and Uctut would be angered.

"Within but a few generations, Uctut will not be," said the old king. "This city will not be.

The words we use will not be. The way priest greets king and king priest and people greet

their lords will not be. Nothing of the Actatl will be."

They asked if a god had spoken to him in a sacred vision, and so they would

understand, he said that Uctut had told him.

This greatly worried the priests, who ordered each family to give a sacrifice so that Uctut would speak to the

priests.

When the sacrifices were over, a person could not walk on the stone above the well for it

sloshed with blood.

Basins of blood filled the cracks and crevices in the steps to the high stone. Red was the

well that fed Uctut. Strong was the stench that came from the high stone.

And then there was knowledge. The old king could live, but each who left with him

would have to become a priest of Uctut who would have to know the real name of the

stone, and should the king's predictions be true, each would have to promise a priest's

service to protect Uctut.

In this promise, in a civilization soon to die, in the lush green hills between Mexico and

South America, was a seed planted that would sprout more than four hundred years later.

Its flower would feed on human life, and nothing in that future world that could put a

man on the moon would be able to defend against the descendants of those who still

looked upon the shiny yellow moon in the night as another god.

The old king took his new family away toward an uninhabited valley he had seen once on a march. He bred

well and he taught well. Each learned language and writing and numbers and the primitive science of the west.

And when the new generation of his loins was ready, he sent them out in groups to find the pale invaders-not

to kill them for there were too many-but to reproduce with them, taking the best child of each brood and

teaching it that it was Actatl. Even if its hair were yellow, still it was Actatl.

For the king had discovered that the only way

his people could live was to camouflage themselves in the colors of others, whoever they

were.

Only one thing bothered him. He could not break them of Uctut, the silly rock. For while he taught them

everything, Uctut and its real name became the one thing even the children knew, but not he. And thus it was

prized even more. The more he said it was just a silly rock, the more important Uctut became to them as the

symbol of what they had been and what they would preserve in their future lives. So he just stopped

talking about it.

One day the last of the original women died, and he realized he was alone. He gave

talking about it.

One day the last of the original women died, and he realized he was alone. He gave

her ritual burial, although piling the stones was hard because he was an old man.

The new village was empty, and the clay tablets upon which Actatl sounds and

European speech were written had not been used for many years, since the last trained

group of youths had left. The older ones had not taken well to the new language and way

of things, and most had stayed with him here in the hidden village. It was empty now, but

for an old dog that could hardly move and had cried very much when its master had

left years before.

"Done," said the last king of the Actatl. He tried to coax the dog to come with him,

but he could not. He put as much food as he could carry into a small bundle and opened

the storehouse to the dog, who would probably be a meal for one of the cats of the

jungle, now that the man was gone.

The king made the trek back to the city of the

Actatl. Even before he set foot there, he knew the kingdom was gone. The roads were

grassed over and the fields untilled. Great plants grew in stone watchtowers.

Perhaps a few old friends would be biding their last days, hiding in the remains of the

city. But there was no one, not even dogs, left in the great city from which once the

empire of the Actatl had been ruled. And something else was strange. There was no

sign of the fires that usually accompanied a siege.

He thought, Yes, the Spaniards have been here. All the gold had been removed. But the

pieces, he saw, had not been torn away or hacked away or ripped away but were

carefully taken out. He thought for a moment, with great happiness, that one of the later

kings had wisely taken the people away, something the old king knew he never could

get the priests to agree to. But when he arrived at the high stone altar, he knew

otherwise, and he let out from his stomach a deep wail. Whitened bones covered the

steps and formed in great piles, already mingling with plants. A small tree grew from the

mouth of a grinning skull.

He knew what had happened. Hearing of the Spaniards nearby, they had all come to the high place, hiding

what they knew would be of value to the pale men invaders. And they had killed themselves here, their last

offering to Uctut. Probably one group killing another, until the last made himself sacrifice to Uctut. He

noticed the chest bones chipped on the lower bodies, but higher up there was no such bone breakage.

Probably the first were sacrificed ritually, and as the days of

blood wore on the killing became like the tilling of a field, something to be gotten over

with as quickly and effectively as possible. At the top stones he saw skulls with holes in

them, and this confirmed his guess. At the end they were smashing in heads.

He was tired, more of spirit than of his old body.

He looked up at the carved rock, a king's height, and said, "Uctut"-for he did not

know its secret name-"you are not even stupid because people are stupid and you are not

people. You are a rock. A rock made special by people. You are like a pebble that gets in

the way of a plow. Rock. Stupid rock."

He sat down, pushing bones aside, amazed at how light they were, now dried, and he

was tired. And on the fourth day he felt something sharp at his heart and reached weakly

to his chest just to assure himself that there was no blood. There was none, of course, and

he shut his eyes and he felt good and wanting of death in a natural way. And he slipped

away into that deepest sleep, knowing his job was well done.

Centuries passed, and with nothing special to preserve the bones of all who were there, they blended into

the natural substances from which they came. Not even the dreams remained when a heavy rope crane

dragged the king-high stone with the carving from the high place. Other men chopped up stones with

carvings on them, but this stone would be worth more uncut, even though it took four mules to drag it

through the jungles and over the mountains, where men with Aztec

faces and Spanish names sold it to the highest bidder.

Uctut, the stone, came to a large museum in New York City on Central Park West and

was incorrectly put into a display of Aztec art. One day a German businessman saw it

and suggested that it have a room of its own. A wealthy Detroit industrialist made a

large contribution to the museum and, on becoming a trustee of that institution, moved

to follow the suggestion of the German.

The curator objected, saying it was a rather insignificant piece of pre-Aztec work and

didn't deserve a whole room, and shortly thereafter, to his surprise, he was dismissed for

The curator objected, saying it was a rather insignificant piece of pre-Aztec work and

didn't deserve a whole room, and shortly thereafter, to his surprise, he was dismissed for

his "surly and unprofessional attitude."

A Japanese architect designed the new room for the stone with a rather gross,

heavy wall blocking out the north light from what had been a fine window. And the

architect even put in a large water fountain, although there was a drinking fountain just

outside.

Apparently, the new trustee and architect knew what they were doing because this stone received many

visitors from all over the world. A fiery Arab radical visited it on the same day as an Israeli paratroop

colonel, and apparently the stone had some sort of soothing effect because they not only seemed to get along,

but they embraced just before leaving. Both, when asked if this had happened by their countrymen, denied

the incident. Of course, none seemed as enamored of this pre-Aztec stone as Count Ruy Lopez de Goma y

Sanches, who came every day.

One October evening, a guard discovered that someone with a spray can of green enamelglow had written in

large letters on the stone: "Joey 172."

The next day, the congressman from the district was found in his Washington office

with his chest over a pool of blood.

His heart had been ripped out,

Chapter Two

His name was Remo, and he was disbelieving his ears.

"Remo, this is Smith. Get back to Folcroft right away."

"Who's this?" Remo asked.

"Harold W. Smith, your employer."

"I can't hear you. The waves here are too loud," said Remo, looking at the quiet

gentle roll of the sea green Atlantic coming onto the white sandy beach of Nag's Head,

South Carolina.

The motel room was quiet also but for the faint scratching of goose quill against parchment. A wisp of an

aged Oriental worked the quill quickly, yet his long-nailed fingers scarcely seemed to move. He would pause

and look off into that well

of creativity and write again, hardly moving his golden morning kimono.

"I said you've got to come back to Folcroft right away. Everything is coming apart."

"You said you want to speak to a Harold Smith?" Remo said.

"I know this is an open line but ..." Remo heard buzzing. Someone had cut them off.

He put down the receiver.

"I'll be back in a while, Little Father," Remo said, and Chiun turned regally from his

scriptures.

"Were you cringing and fat, or were you lying in the dirt when I found you?" asked

Chiun. The voice was squeaky and hit highs and lows like a mountain range of slate-

with giant paws scratching across it.

"Neither," said Remo. "I was coming out of unconsciousness. I was pretty healthy for this

civilization. As a matter of fact, I was pretty healthy for almost any time or place. Except

one place."

"And lo," intoned Chiun-the quill had become a blur of speed, yet each Korean

character of the writing remained clear and precise-"did Chiun, the Master of Sinanju,

see the groveling white amid the garbage of his birth. Deformed of limb he was. Dull of

eye he was with strange round orbs set in his head. But most deformed, saw the Master of

Sinanju, was this white in his mind. A dull, sodden, lifeless mass in his ugly pale skull."

"I thought you had already contributed your section about me to the history of

Sinanju," Remo said.

"I am revising it," Chiun said.

"I'm glad I see you writing this because now, with great certainty, I can reiect the whole

history of your village as bilge and fantasy and nonsense. Remember I've seen the village of

Sinanju. We have better-looking sewer systems in this country."

"Like all whites and blacks, you are prejudiced," said Chiun, and his voice became scriptural again. "And, lo, the

Master of Sinanju said unto this wretch, 'Arise, I shall make you whole. You shall know your senses and your

mind. You shall breathe clean air fully in your whole body. You shall have life in you as no white has ever had.'

And the wretch knew that grace was upon him, and he said, 'Oh, Awesome Magnificence, why do you bestow

such gracious gifts upon one as low as I?' "

"Blow it out your ears," Remo said. "I've got work. I'll be back soon."

Late summer in Nag's Head, South Carolina, had all the charm of a roaster bag in an

overheated oven. Remo saw car windows rolled up with people preserved by air

conditioning. Those who were on the street this steamy day lagged as if their feet were

weighted with lead.

Remo moved briskly. He was just short of six feet and thin but for the extra thickness

in his wrists. He had sharp features and high cheekbones that seemed a platform for

dark penetrating eyes that some women had told him made their stomachs "liquidy."

"Hey, don't you sweat?" asked the clerk as Remo stepped into a small luncheonette and

asked for change.

"Only when it's hot," said Remo.

"It's a hundred and five outside," said the clerk.

"Then I'm sorry, I forgot to," Remo said: Actually he knew that sweating was only one

form of cooling the overheated body and not the most efficient form. Breathing was, but

most people did not know how to breathe, treating it like some function that had to be

looked after only when you noticed it wasn't working right. From proper breathing came

the rhythms of life and power.

"Funny, ah ain't ever seen nobody not sweat on a day liken today, not even a nigra,"

said the clerk. "How you do it?"

Remo shrugged. "You wouldn't understand if I told you, anyhow."

"You think ah'm dumb. You some smart yankee, come down hyeah, think ah'm

dumb."

"Not until you opened your mouth," said Remo and went to the telephone booth. He

piled up the change in front of him. He dialed the 800-area code emergency feed

number. It was designed more for availability than security, but he could always leave a

message for the real Harold W. Smith to call him back at the phone booth.

"I am sorry sir," came the distant voice of a tape recording. "The number you have reached is not in

service at this time. If you need assistance, please wait and an operator will be with you in a moment."

Remo hung up and dialed again and got the same message again. This time he waited.

A live operator answered with a nonregional sort of voice-neither the guttural

consonants of the northeast, the syrup of the south, or the twang of

the midwest. California, thought Remo. The drop phone number is in California.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes," said Remo. And he gave the number he had tried to dial.

"You're where, now?" asked the operator.

"Chillicothe, Ohio," lied Remo. "Why is that number not working?"

"Because, according to our records, this number has never worked. You're not in

Chillicothe."

"Thank you," said Remo.

"But we do have some information on this number." And she gave him another

number, and this was even stranger because if Smith had set this up, he would never

have given out an alternate number. And it occurred to Remo that the operator was not

there to give him information but to find out where he was. He hung up.

Outside a gray and white police car with a red bubble atop parked at the curb. Two heavy officers with

hands on pistols were out of the car lumbering into the luncheonette. The clerk ducked. Remo left the

booth.

"Were you in that booth making a telephone call?" asked the first officer. The other moved to one side so

Remo would be facing two guns.

"No," said Remo.

"Who was in that booth then?"

"How should I know?" Remo said.

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