A Pound of Prevention

And if he did manage to escape, abandoning these two to the city-leveling blast, Deferens intended to pay Nellie Mandobar a visit. He would teach that mooka bitch a final lesson for ruining his brilliant scheme.

As he pretended to work, visions of a dead Mrs. Mandobar dancing in his fevered brain, L. Vas Deferens suddenly felt a sharp pain in the side of the head.

He toppled sideways to the floor, blinking bright stars from his eyes. When he pulled himself to his knees, feeling at the sticky blood in his hair, he glanced down the tunnel.

Remo was still standing next to Chiun, another small rock clutched impatiently in his hand.

"We know what you're doing, crap-bag, so quit jerking us around and get to work," Remo said threateningly.

Hope drained away; despair flooded in behind it. Deferens turned woodenly back to the bomb. Soul gutted, he began dutifully punching in the proper disarm code.

Chapter 34

The lone sentry patrolled the edge of the dusty bungalow village, a rifle slung over his shoulder. Savannah had been chopped back a dozen yards from the last straggling houses, the better to see approaching enemies. While this worked well in daylight, when the inky darkness of night drew its shroud over Africa, all the world was consumed by menacing shadows.

The moon was a cloud-masked memory as the guard made his careful way along the well-worn perimeter path.

Weak spotlights illuminated the distant main street of the village. Insects danced merrily in the glow.

The sounds of revelry from the far end of the street carried back on the humid air.

The last of the helicopters had landed nearly three hours ago. Everyone who was supposed to be at Nellie Mandobar's party was already there. As the evening progressed, a few of the guests had retired with hired women to the small houses behind which the guard now walked.

To break the tedium as he walked the circuit around the bungalows, he had been listening for the sounds of lovemaking. Near the house where he was certain he'd seen Trollop Seasoning enter with three of the caterers, the guard heard the sudden sharp sound of a twig snapping.

He froze.

Lifting his boot, he looked down and saw the small brittle branch he'd felt crack beneath his thick sole.

Of course the sound had come from him. Only Luzus ventured this far out into the wilds of East Africa these days. And even they were miles away.

When the guard looked back up, his eyes barely registered the flash of metal from out of the night. Somewhere behind it, shadows on a painted face.

The blade struck his neck, and the world turned briefly upside down before growing completely and eternally black.

As the guard's body joined his severed head on the dusty African ground, Bubu slipped forward, machete in hand. He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue.

More armed Luzu natives appeared from the darkness, dressed in the simple loincloths of their ancestors. Among them was Chief Batubizee, his broad face drawn in somber lines.

No words were spoken.

On swift silent feet, the Luzu war party moved stealthily into the village, away from Nellie Mandobar's headless guard.

In the distance, the party roared on.

Chapter 35

Their tour of the Bachsburg sewer system at last brought them less than half a city block from the presidential palace. Many of the defense minister's minions still toiled above, oblivious to this particular aspect of their employer's plan.

Remo and Chiun had met resistance at the first three bomb sites. But as the clock crawled closer to the midnight deadline, the Camorra men assigned by Nunzio Spumoni to keep watch for the defense minister had bolted. By the last bomb, the two Masters of Sinanju found themselves racing down an empty tunnel.

Deferens had been finding it impossible to keep up. As a result, Remo and Chiun had clamped onto his arms-one on each side. As they whisked him through the tunnel, the stone walls a blur, Deferens held his breath in fear.

"I'm gonna have to boil my hands for a month after this," Remo griped as he ran. He held Deferens as far from his own body as possible.

"Must I remind you that we would not need to rush had you not frittered away much of the day?"

Chiun replied tightly. His kimono skirts billowed as his pumping legs kept perfect time with his pupil's. Remo held his tongue.

His internal clock told him that it was past eleven-thirty. Thanks to the unexpected resistance they'd encountered at the other sites, they were half an hour later than expected by the time they reached the last bomb.

Brackish water pooled in the secluded dead end. Remo and Chiun dumped Deferens in front of the rusted gate through which peeked the stainless-steel bomb casing.

Deferens didn't need to be told what to do. Grabbing the corroded grate, he pulled it free, leaning it against the stone wall. He squatted in front of the bomb.

"I hope those Luzu buddies of yours don't jump the gun," Remo commented as the East African worked.

"The Luzu are a patient people," Chiun replied. "They lived one hundred years in desperation before invoking the contract of Nuk."

"Maybe," Remo said. "All I know is they had itchy machete fingers yesterday. And if there's a buffet at that party, Batubizee'll lead the charge with a knife and fork."

"They will wait," Chiun insisted knowingly. "It seems all they are suited for these days." Hunching on the floor, Deferens punched out the disarm code on the touch pad as the two men spoke. Though the East African was shivering, it was not due to cold. Deferens was ill. It had been three bombs since the last time either Remo or Chiun had thrown him in the water, yet he had been growing sicker as the night drew on. His soiled clothes were damp.

Over soon. All of it.

There was no longer any hope for escape. These two were like no one he had ever met. He was left with but one option. If he was to die, they would go with him.

Once he had disarmed the bomb, the digital counter shut down. Moving like an automaton, he reset it.

The least amount of time the bomb's processor would accept was a minute. He set it for this. As soon as he did, the red LED counter winked down to 00:59:00. The tenths of seconds raced by in a blinding flash.

While the last seconds of his life drained away before his eyes, Deferens woodenly feigned work. He shielded the counter with his body.

"Smith will be relieved to find out Willie Mandobar wasn't behind this," Remo commented absently.

"He will be more relieved that you did not allow this city to be destroyed," Chiun replied.

"I guess so," Remo mused thoughtfully. "It was still tempting, though. Our work would have been done for at least a year or two while the bad guys regrouped."

As he spoke, he reached into his pocket. Remo took out the stone-carved figure. He was studying the remarkably detailed image when he heard a gasp beside him.

When he glanced over, Chiun's mouth had formed a shocked O.

"Where did you get that?" the old man demanded.

Remo glanced at the figure. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I forgot to show you. That little Korean ghost kid gave it to me. You want to see it?"

When he tried handing it over to his teacher, the old Asian took a startled step back. He bumped into the still squatting Deferens, knocking the defense minister to the ground.

For an instant, Remo pulled his eyes from his teacher's uncharacteristically bewildered expression.

He saw the LED counter racing down to zero. "What the hell did you do?" Remo snapped. Deferens scampered back up, plastering his back to the face of the bomb. Sweat covered his pale forehead.

"Nothing," he promised desperately.

For Remo, the Master of Sinanju's strange behavior was instantly forgotten. Dropping the stone figure quickly back into his pocket, he shoved Deferens out of the way.

There were only twenty-five seconds left. "Dammit, he screwed with this thing, Chiun," Remo said urgently.

"You're too late!" Deferens barked triumphantly, his eyes burning hatred. "You're both dead!" He wheeled to Remo. "You are an idiot! I would have hired you both for twenty times what I paid you!"

He shook visibly-terror, exhaustion and victory pummeling his rattled senses.

Before Remo could take even a single step toward him, a new expression overcame his triumph. Deferens gasped in pain, clutching at his stomach where a red incision had abruptly slithered across his abdomen.

Remo alone saw the flashing nail as it exited the wound. As Deferens's organs slipped through the yawning opening, Remo wheeled to the Master of Sinanju.

The old man's hand was returning to his side. "Chiun, are you nuts?" Remo snapped.

The display was down to ten seconds.

The Korean's shocked expression upon seeing Remo's gift from the Master Who Never Was had steeled.

"Move," Chiun commanded, sweeping past Remo.

Crouching before the bomb, the Master of Sinanju's hands became a blur over the control pad. "This isn't your VCR," Remo warned.

With only six seconds to go, Chiun shot his pupil a single glance. "You have yet to learn how to program that, too," he said thinly. Without turning back to the control pad, a single tapered index finger reached out and entered a final number.

The countdown halted with three seconds left. The display panel on the side of the nuclear device winked to multiple zeroes and then slowly faded to black.

Standing beside his teacher, Remo blinked amazement. "How did you do that?" he asked. "I have been paying attention all evening," the Master of Sinanju answered. He still seemed vaguely unnerved. His tone grew serious. "Someday, Remo, you will be required to use your eyes and I will not be here."

Remo didn't have time to respond.

On the floor, even as his grimy hands struggled to hold on to his dying organs, a waxy smile had formed on the perfect face of L. Vas Deferens. But when he saw the display grow dark, he began to slowly shake his head.

"No," the minister panted weakly. A thin trickle of watery blood gurgled up between his model's lips.

"Sorry, Elvis," Remo said with not a hint of sympathy. "Guess you're just shit out of luck." A toe kick sent the East African defense minister into the stagnant pool. Trailing organs, he hit with a splash.

"What did that one say about paying you?" the Master of Sinanju asked as the sewer water accepted the gutted body.

Remo shook his head. "We'll talk about it later. Right now we've still got an army of Luzus to meet, and if Batubizee's got one whiff of the dessert cart, he's probably already led the charge." Spinning from his teacher, he hurried down the platform.

For an instant, a troubled flicker passed across Chiun's wrinkled face. As quickly as it came, he banished it.

On steady, gliding feet, he raced to follow his pupil.

Behind them both, the body of L. Vas Deferens bobbed on silent ripples in the water of the stagnant pool.

Chapter 36

Through a boozy haze, Nellie Mandobar watched Don Giovani approach. She staggered over to him, throwing a huge flabby arm around his shoulders. The Mafia leader shrank from both her touch and her alcohol-fueled breath.

"And how are you enjoying our party?" Mrs. Mandobar belched. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "Partner," she added, giggling.

His dark tan paled. Giovani strained to keep his horror from showing. "Keep your voice down, fool," he whispered. An unnatural smile that did not match his words was plastered across his weathered face. He tried to twist from her embrace, but her big arm was stuck fast to his shoulders.

"No one hears us," she grinned. She waved to the stage where three of the Seasonings cavorted in Lycra and Spandex. Their massive pregnant bellies bounced to the beat. "They're too busy enjoying the last party anyone here will ever have. Everyone but us, that is." Winking broadly, the former first lady of East Africa took a slug from her omnipresent glass.

"Shut up," Giovani snarled. He glanced around. "Have you seen Vincenzo?"

Nellie was exchanging her empty glass for a foamy green concoction from a passing waiter's tray.

"Hmm?" she asked, oblivious to the question. Don Giovani exhaled quiet disgust. He had thrown in with this woman, whose only motivation seemed to be revenge against her husband. The Mafia leader was stuck with her. For now.

The old Italian glanced around, scanning for Don Vincenzo of Camorra. It was nearly 12:30 a.m., and the party was still going strong. Some men had disappeared a few times during the evening, always in the company of one of Nellie's hired whores or one of the Seasonings. They always returned, smiles plastered on their faces. From what Don Giovani had seen, the Seasonings seemed to be taking on more action than the professional prostitutes.

As his sagging eyes searched the sea of faces in the huge meeting hall, he did not see his Camorra rival.

"He had better be here," Don Giovani grumbled to Nellie. "I am leaving. If you do not wish to be incinerated in four hours, I suggest you sober up and do the same."

Turning on his heel, the old man marched away. Alone again, Nellie Mandobar sipped her drink. Although she knew she was very drunk, she was still lucid enough to know that he was right. It was time to think about leaving. A shame. It was quite a good party. And she had certainly earned this time to celebrate.

Willie Mandobar would be ruined. Short of hanging a gasoline-soaked tire around his scrawny neck, this was the best revenge she could hope for.

Her plan had been timed to come to a head while her ex-husband was away. It was her own sympathizers in the Kmpali government who had requested his presence in China.

The explosion here would prove that East Africa's claims of being a nuclear-free zone were a lie. The government of her husband's party would be discredited. And without his leadership as president, the new East Africa would have to turn to another Mandobar to lead.

Nellie Mandobar would succeed. And she would crush utterly the weakling man who had failed to stand by her at her time of greatest need.

Nellie struck off around the edge of the crowd, sipping her drink as she walked.

The band screeched on. Wails that passed for singing attacked the crowd from the speakers positioned at angles just below the bordering skylights. On stage, there were now only two Seasonings left. As she walked, Nellie thought she saw a pair of white go-go boots sticking up in the air behind a vibrating amplifier.

Nellie returned a few smiles as she weaved her way out to the main hallway. The high glass doors of the grand foyer muffled the cacophony from inside. Mrs. Mandobar's ringing ears were just starting to relax when she became aware of a fresh sound.

Pop-pop-pop.

Listening to the muted noises, Nellie frowned. For a moment, she thought it was static from the sound system. But it seemed to be coming from outside.

When she pushed open one of the thick front doors, she was instantly assaulted by the hot African night. Stepping onto the vast patio, she let the door swing shut behind her. The party sounds grew softer still.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she searched the immediate area for the source of the popping sound. It came again. Louder now than before. A sharp slap that echoed out across the savannah. It was followed by another. Then another.

Worry immediately knotted Nellie's ample belly. Gunshots.

Even as this shock was registering, Nellie heard the screams. A moment later, men and women in various states of undress appeared, running up from the village.

Trollop Seasoning-her pregnant belly bouncing to beat the band-led the pack of crime figures and whores.

As she ran, she tugged at her sides. With a rip of spirit gum, her stomach prosthesis came free. Like her bandmates, she only wore it for media attention. The faux stomach was trampled beneath frantic stomping feet.

"My God, they're attacking!" the pop singer screeched as the first of the crowd stampeded up the auditorium stairs.

Mrs. Mandobar didn't need to ask who. When the first Luzu natives appeared down the road, Nellie's drink slipped from her pudgy hand. It shattered into splattering green fragments on the flagstone patio.

Far away, the natives fell upon the stragglers, machetes slicing the night. Running bodies surrendered heads and arms.

Trollop and the others pounded past the stunned Nellie Mandobar.

"Girl domination, my ass!" Trollop was screeching as she clawed past a pair of hookers on her way through the door. "Get me men with big bulging biceps and guns! I mean-God, this is worse than that mall opening we did in Detroit!"

As the men and women streamed inside, more gunshots rose from the village.

Nellie finally got her bearings. Spinning from the rampaging Luzus, she raced back inside.

It was coming apart. All her planning, all her dreams. But none of that mattered now. Suddenly safety was her overriding concern.

When the door closed on her ample derriere, it was torn open a minute later by the first charging Luzu.

The natives swarmed the building.

And as the band stopped dead, their rehearsed shrieks supplanted by cries of pure terror, high on the roof the first of the helicopters coughed to life.

Chapter 37

Simple persuasion was all it took to convince one of Nellie Mandobar's pilots at the airport in Bachsburg to ferry Remo and Chiun to the site near the secret village. The man was still spitting out bloody tooth fragments as Remo and Chiun's helicopter rattled in over the area of savannah where they were to rendezvous with Batubizee's Luzu natives.

An undercarriage searchlight revealed nothing but empty ancient road and mile after mile of barren savannah.

"I thought you said they'd wait," Remo commented tightly as they swept over the treasury road. As he scanned the path, a spark of optimism lit the Master of Sinanju's youthful eyes. "We are late. Perhaps they have decided not to wait for fate to come to them."

"Well, good for them and the Boston Braves," Remo griped. "Why couldn't they decide to carpe diem on their own damn time?"

The Master of Sinanju gave a flickering nod of approval. "It is a start," he said.

Remo directed the pilot to take them to Nellie Mandobar's village. They spotted the fleeing helicopters the instant their own chopper skirted the rough black hills.

There were dozens of them, flying up out of the distant night, one after another. The helicopters raced out in every direction, desperate to put distance between themselves and the glass-and-stone auditorium that rose up like a glistening, illuminated diamond from the arid black earth. Remo and Chiun's pilot had to swoop and dive to avoid three midair collisions.

The choppers clustered back together far out over the savannah. As they raced off in the direction of Bachsburg, more fleeing helicopters roared in behind them.

When they arrived at the village, it was still far too dangerous to land on the busy plateau airfield. Remo instructed the pilot to set down on a dusty stretch between bungalows and hall.

There had been sporadic flashes of light as they approached, indicating spotty gunfire. The shooting had dwindled to next to nothing by the time their helicopter touched ground.

As soon as they landed, a dozen panicked guards swarmed the craft.

Remo popped the rear door into the faces of two of the charging figures. With a crunching clang, the men collapsed to the dust. As the first guards fell, Remo and Chiun sprang out into the night.

One guard tried to shoot Chiun, while another managed to get one leg aboard the helicopter. Chiun's flashing nails sought legs and hands. The gunman was left with two pumping wrist stumps while the other guard found himself pitching forward in the dirt onto his own severed legs.

When Remo planted a single rifle barrel through two consecutive heads, the remaining guards seemed to get the lay of the land. The six men tore away from the helicopter they'd hoped to commandeer. They had no sooner vanished in the darkness behind the nearest bungalow before Remo and Chiun heard the swish of machete blades through air.

Screams cut the night.

"Guess there's no doubt who the party crashers are," Remo said aridly as he slammed the helicopter door closed.

The instant he did so, the chopper lifted off. Flying fast, it joined the mass migration back to Bachsburg.

At a full sprint, the two Masters of Sinanju raced for the huge auditorium, which sat in a blare of lights at the far end of the street. They met up with Chief Batubizee and Bubu on the sprawling flagstone patio.

"And what part of 'wait' don't you understand?" Remo asked the young native after he and Chiun had vaulted up the front steps.

"I am sorry, Master Remo," Bubu apologized.

"I ordered this attack," Batubizee intoned. His massive sagging belly nearly obscured his loincloth. "Bubu has told me that it is Mandobar's woman who has brought East Africa to ruin and ordered you to kill me. I will have my revenge."

At the chief's side, the Master of Sinanju nodded approval. "It is good at times for men to fight their own battles," he said. "At others, it is prudent to enlist aid. A worthy leader understands the difference."

Batubizee's sweating face showed deep understanding. "You are truly a worthy successor to Nuk," he replied.

Remo and Bubu stood together near the frosted doors. The fighting inside seemed to be dying down. "If we're through with the life lesson, can we please get inside before all the good heads are taken?" Remo asked.

The Luzu chief and the Master of Sinanju exchanged a sharp nod. Hurrying across the patio, all four men ducked through the door and into the airconditioned hall.

WHEN WORD of the Luzu attack first broke, most of the village guards had fallen back to the auditorium. It was during the skirmish there that many of the crime leaders had found the time needed to flee. Of the many dead around the hall, nearly all were guards.

Remo, Chiun and their two Luzu companions avoided pools of blood and severed limbs on their race across the big room.

"You see Nellie anywhere?" Remo called over his shoulder.

Batubizee and Bubu were scanning the area. It sounded as if the final skirmish was being fought somewhere near the kitchen.

"She could be anywhere," Bubu said. "Perhaps she has already fled."

The steady rumble of helicopters above their heads had nearly died. "Let's try the roof," Remo suggested.

The stage near the open door was littered with bodies. While the band had been slaughtered where they sat, there was no sign of the Seasonings.

The four men mounted the stairs to the roof. They broke out onto the helipad just as two of the last four helicopters were lifting off.

A fat woman in a fruit hat and flowered burnoose was running desperately away from the spot where the two choppers had lifted off. She thundered over to one of the last two as it was preparing to take off.

"Let me on!" Nellie Mandorar cried, grabbing at the door frame.

A hand wielding a four-inch fluorescent limegreen clog appeared in the door.

"Let go, fattie!" Ho Seasoning snarled as she smacked the former East African first lady's thick fingers. "There's a two-ton weight limit."

For emphasis, she hurled her other shoe at Nellie. It struck Mrs. Mandobar square in the forehead. As the stunned woman staggered back, the helicopter took off. Regaining her senses, she ran for the last chopper.

It was already rising from the platform by the time she arrived. Fat fingers grabbed for the skids. They missed.

"I will have you necklaced!" Nellie Mandobar screamed furiously at the helicopter.

Overloaded, the chopper dropped from sight beside the plateau. It appeared a moment later in the distance, struggling to pull into the air.

"You are all dead!" Nellie screeched, waddling to the edge of the platform. Fat hands waved menacingly in the air. "I will burn you alive! Do you hear me! Listen to me!" She stomped a fleshy foot. Her fruit hat dropped over one eye. "Come back here this instant!"

But no amount of jumping or screaming would bring the helicopter back. Continuing to fly low, it headed off across the savannah toward the city, rotor noise fading.

"I am going to stop payment on your check!" Nellie yelled after the long-gone Seasonings. Furious at wasting four hundred dollars on the washed-up girl group, she wheeled in a desperate search for alternative transportation. Only then did she see Remo, Chiun and Chief Batubizee walking toward her. Spear raised, Bubu walked protectively next to his chief.

Nellie's bugging eyes collapsed to instant tunnel vision. The others were nothing; mere shadows. Seeing only the Luzu chief-the man whose attack had brought her to ruin-Nellie's eyes ignited beneath the mound of plastic fruit. A crazed serpent's hiss issued from deep within her ample bosom. "You!" she exclaimed.

And like a bull from a gate, she charged.

Long nails were talons. Bared white teeth were angry fangs as she raced across the helipad toward Batubizee.

Bubu sprang out to hurl his spear. Remo held his arm.

"Watch and learn, kid," he suggested quietly. The young native's worried eyes darted to Chiun. The Master of Sinanju had faded back, allowing Nellie a clear shot at the chief.

Batubizee stood motionless, raising himself to his full height. For the first time, Remo glimpsed the dignity of the ghosts who had built the Luzu Empire.

Nellie's head was tipped so that she could rip out Batubizee's throat with her chomping teeth. Growling, she was about to clamp down on his Adam's apple when a big fist lashed out.

Batubizee punched Nellie solidly in the chest just above her massive bouncing breasts. The wind whooshed from her lungs, and the former first lady of East Africa dropped backward onto her ample padded rump.

When the chief reached two clutching paws for her throat, a bony hand restrained him.

"In due time," the Master of Sinanju said softly. Nellie scurried from broad bottom to dimpled knees. Her rage collapsed once more to panic. "You have to get me out of here!" she begged. Her demented eyes were pleading as she looked at each of the four men above her.

That she would beg for help from the men who had led the attack on her party was evidence enough that there was more here than met the eye.

"Okay, Carmen Miranda," Remo said, his tone wary. "Why the big rush to leave?"

"I will tell you on board your helicopter," she promised. "Where is it? We must hurry!" Unblinking eyes darted in search of an invisible helicopter.

"Will I be as upset as you're gonna be when you find out our pilot took off on us?" Remo asked. Nellie's shriek sent sleeping birds a mile away fluttering into the dark sky.

"I'd say that's an 8.5 on the yes scale." Remo nodded to the others.

Nellie pushed herself upright on thick ankles. "A car will not get us far enough," she said, her mind reeling.

"Far enough from what?" the Master of Sinanju demanded.

She wheeled on him. "There is a nuclear bomb planted in a cave near here!" she cried. A plastic banana fell in front of her eye. She tore it loose, flinging it away. It landed near a pair of hollowedout Seasonings bellies.

"Not Deferens again," Remo groused. "What, did he plan on blowing up the whole continent?"

"What are you talking about?" Nellie spit. "Deferens had nothing to do with this."

"Then everyone in this dingdong country made the same deal, 'cause we just spent half the night defusing six bombs Elvis and Gamera planted around Bachsburg."

Nellie was trying to wrap her brain around what he was saying. "Camorra?" she asked. "But I made a deal with Don Giovani of the Sicilian Mafia to destroy this village. He and I were the only two meant to escape."

"I guess there's no such thing as an original plot," Remo said, "because that's just what he had in mind."

Confusion turned to cold rage. "I will kill him," Nellie menaced. She grabbed Remo by the arm. "Come, we will take your car. Do you have a spare tire? Oh, and we'll need to stop somewhere for gas."

She tried marching back across the helipad, but before she could take a single step a broad hand swept in, slapping her on one fat cheek. Nellie Mandobar's fruit hat sailed off as she fell to the ground, clutching her face in pain.

Chief Batubizee towered above her, rage painted large on his moon face.

"Where is this bomb, woman!" the chief bellowed.

Bruised flesh stinging, she cowered from the Luzu leader.

There was nothing she could do. Her only hope of escape was with these men. When she spoke, her voice was small.

"I will show you," Nellie Mandobar said.

Chapter 38

Even in its heyday four decades ago, the mine had yielded few diamonds. Several scraps of rotted lumber and some comoded chunks of metal were all that remained beside the scrub-lined path that led up to the black cave mouth.

"It was close enough to obliterate the village but far enough away to escape detection," Nellie Mandobar explained as they hiked up to the cave opening. Her dark face was slick with sweat.

Remo, Chiun, Bubu and Chief Batubizee accompanied her. Coming up behind them all were three hundred Luzu warriors.

The stars above were starting to fade.

"How far in is it?" Remo asked as he eyed the lightening sky.

"Perhaps a hundred yards," she replied.

"Does it use the same code as the others?" Chiun asked.

Nellie scrunched up her face. "I do not know," she said. "Probably not. I acquired it several years ago from an East African scientist just before the program was disbanded. If Deferens got his afterward, he could have changed the code."

"Where's the scientist?" Remo asked.

Nellie pointed sheepishly to a dense thicket. Sticking out from beneath the wild shrubs were two charred legs that ended in a pair of burned boots. They appeared to have been there for some time.

"Have you ever met anyone you didn't set fire to?" Remo asked, disgusted. He continued before she could answer. "Can you shut it off?"

"He only showed me how to arm it," Nellie replied. "I did not think I would have to disarm it."

"Great," Remo muttered. He turned to the Master of Sinanju. "What do you think, Little Father?"

"For the future of our House, I would ordinarily insist you find a safe haven while I deal with the boom," Chiun said. "But since neither of us could flee in time, we will go in together."

Chief Batubizee and Bubu stepped forward. "We will accompany you, as well," the Luzu leader insisted. "If I am to meet my ancestors this day, I will do so while laughing in the face of the beast."

"I won't ask if you mean Nellie or the nuke," Remo muttered. "The rest of you fellas stay here," he called to the Luzu army. "And if you see a really bright flash, run like hell."

Propelling Mrs. Mandobar before them, the small group entered the black cave opening.

INSIDE WAS LIKE an abandoned Western gold mine. Ancient wooden support beams ran up to the rock roof where overburdened lintels strained to keep the ceiling in place.

At the cave mouth, Nellie found a bag with flashlights and other supplies she had left during her earlier visits. She and Bubu each took one. The washed-out white beams cast eerie shadows far down the man-made shaft.

"This way," the former first lady said. She led them far down the tunnel.

About seventy yards in, an alcove opened up on their right. Although it was short, Remo got a sudden sense of vast emptiness beyond, as if the world collapsed into nothingness at the end of the small side tunnel.

Peering through the darkness, he saw the opening of another tunnel in the rock face at the far end of the alcove.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Nuk wrote of them in his accounts," Chiun supplied. "They are passages without end. Nuk thought they led to the Great Void."

The thought, as well as the sense of infinite emptiness from the tunnel, gave Remo a chill.

"The geologists from Bachsburg call them kimberlites," Bubu whispered in explanation. His flashlight beam found the opening. "They occur naturally. Some are many miles deep."

The native's beam aimed forward once more, and they continued down their own tunnel. Eventually, the flashlight beams fell across the by now familiar shape of an East African nuclear warhead.

Remo and Chiun stooped to examine the bomb. The flashing red timer was set for 5:00 a.m. An hour and a half away.

"Wanna start ripping wires out?" Remo asked Chiun.

"Given your inability to screw in a lightbulb without first consulting General Electric, it would not be my first choice," the Master of Sinanju replied.

Remo looked to Nellie Mandobar. She licked her broad lips. "I would not try it," she said anxiously. Chiun studied the bomb casing. He ran a hand along the stainless steel, as if measuring its circumference.

"Okay, who's for making Broom Hilda here eat this thing?" Remo asked. He raised his own hand to drum up enthusiasm.

"She cannot eat it," Chiun said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

When Remo met his teacher's gaze, silent communication explained his meaning. The younger Master of Sinanju nodded, taking up the thread.

"It'd have to be pretty deep," he warned.

"Did you sense a bottom?" Chiun offered.

"This would all have to come down, too," Remo said, waving a finger to the ceiling. It was Chiun's turn to nod.

"All right, we've got a plan," Remo announced. Reaching out, he slapped his hands on either side of the nuclear device, lifting it from the mine floor as if it were papier-mache.

Bomb in hand, Remo and Chiun led Mrs. Mandobar and the natives back to the alcove where the kimberlite opened up. He balanced the warhead on the rocky edge of the deep shaft. Holding the bomb in place, he turned to Batubizee and Bubu.

"You two had better scram," he warned.

Chief Batubizee hesitated. "Master of Sinanju?"

"Go," Chiun nodded. "If the end comes, you should be with your people."

With a final questioning look at Remo, Bubu reluctantly trailed his chief down the tunnel. When Nellie Mandobar started after them, Chiun restrained her.

"Hold, evil one," he said, his voice steady.

"Hold?" Nellie frowned. "Hold what? I am getting out of here."

In the yellow glow of her flashlight, Remo's smile was demon sent. "Lady, you couldn't be more wrong."

With a push, he dumped the bomb down the kimberlite. It disappeared inside the smothering blackness. As the nuclear device began its endless tumble through space, Remo spun to the former first lady of East Africa.

"Night-night, Margaret Dumont."

Her flabby face was just knotting in confusion when Remo reached out and tapped the center of her forehead. Nellie Mandobar's crazed eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed to the rock floor.

They left her unconscious in the kimberlite alcove.

Racing out into the main tunnel, Remo and Chiun flew down a few dozen feet. Each Master of Sinanju took a position on either side of the main path next to one of the support columns. A sharp nod and two tight fists shot out simultaneously.

The rotten wooden columns splintered at the center, bringing down the lintel above, as well as much of the cave roof. When the rock ceiling collapsed, Remo and Chiun were already gone.

They ran up the tunnel side by side, their legs harmonious blurs. Every time they passed another set of columns, hands shot out, pounding wood.

Walls and ceiling shook as if clutched in an angry fist. Even the floor seemed to buck as they raced through the rising hail of dust and stone.

Ahead, a stab of washed-out gray. A hint of starlight.

Running faster. Legs invisible, arms flashing, smashing columns to splinters of creosote-soaked wood. The dust cloud racing ahead, obliterating the cave entrance. A final rumble. Rocks collapsing above them.

A final surge propelled them through the storm and out the cave mouth. They sprang into the fresh warm air. Behind them, the cave vomited a massive burst of dust at the sky.

At the appearance of Remo and Chiun, a cheer went up from the assembly of Luzu warriors. Faces beaming pure joy, Bubu and Chief Batubizee broke from the crowd, running over to the two Masters of Sinanju.

"Master Chiun!" Batubizee whooped.

"Master Remo!" Bubu cried at the same time. Remo held off an embrace from the young native. "Before you bust out the champagne, maybe we should put some distance between us and that," he suggested, nodding back to the tumble of rocks that obscured the old cave mouth.

The Luzus nodded. With Remo and Chiun in the lead, the triumphant natives marched down the hill, leaving the dust and rocks of the collapsed cave to settle on the final resting place of both Nellie Mandobar and her twisted scheme.

Chapter 39

The explosion came in the wee hours of the morning, at the time when Nellie's party would have been winding down. Remo and Chiun alone felt the gentle rumble of earth. They sat on rocks near the dusty well in the middle of the Luzu village. All around, natives danced and sang. To Remo, what appeared to be a Luzu conga line pranced past for the millionth time. He was called to join but declined.

"Don't they ever get tired?" Remo asked.

The celebration had begun at their victorious return. Although dawn had long started to streak the sky pink, the party showed no sign of stopping.

"They have had little to celebrate for many years," the Master of Sinanju replied simply,

"I suppose." Remo nodded. The soft rumbling beneath their feet began to slow. It faded to a shuddering stop. "Looks like that shaft was deep enough to hold the blast. You think Nellie's awake by now?"

Chiun raised his shoulders indifferently. "Assuming the tunnel where we left her did not collapse, too."

"With any luck, she's sucking on radioactive dust and digging like mad," Remo commented with satisfaction.

Chiun was deeply unconcerned. He watched a dancing figure across the square.

Bubu was swaying in place, his arms waving in time with a rhythm that was being tapped out on a primitive drum. Remo was again impressed by the native's innate grace.

Chief Batubizee stood near the younger man. The Luzu leader was smiling and clapping. Around Bubu a dozen Luzu women watched him dance with giggling glee.

"What's with the belle of the ball?" Remo asked, nodding to the young native.

"As eldest son of the chief, Bubu has his choice of consorts," the Master of Sinanju explained. Remo's head snapped around. "Bubu is Batubizee's kid?"

Chiun inspected his pupil's face. "Are you embarrassed now for making sport of his name?" Remo considered. "Not really," he admitted. "I'm just surprised no one mentioned it."

The Master of Sinanju leaned close. "Do you realize, Remo, that you saved the life of the chief's son?"

"What, in Bachsburg?" Remo shook his head "He was fine. I just pulled him out of the sewer."

Chiun pitched his voice low. "Do not allow silly modesty to ruin what is potentially a good thing," he said craftily. "You are now a hero to these people. For Bubu will one day succeed his father as ruler of all the Luzu. And if nothing else, the lesson of Nuk teaches us that the potential payday from the Luzu can be great indeed."

A faint smile crossed the face of the younger Master of Sinanju.

"Did I say something humorous?" Chiun asked.

"No, Little Father. It's just that I feel kind of good. You know, by helping Bubu I sort of helped their future." He waved an arm, encompassing the entire Luzu nation. "I was worried about saving the whole world before, but maybe I just need to save a little piece of it every now and then."

As he spoke, he fished absently in his pocket. He studied the carved face of the stone figure the small Korean boy had given him.

His thoughts were on the future. On his future.

"May I see that?"

Chiun's hushed voice shook him from his reverie. When Remo looked up, the harsh lines of his teacher's face were smooth.

"You seemed spooked by it before," Remo said, handing it over.

As he studied the figure, a hint of an unfamiliar emotion passed across the old man's weathered face. "Surprised, that is all," Chiun replied softly. "I have not seen a carving like this in many years."

"You've seen one before?" Remo asked, surprised.

Chiun nodded. "I have many of them stored in a chest in the Master's House in Sinanju. I have not looked at them in a long, long time." His voice grew faraway. "My son Song used to carve them with his nails for the children of the village." The old man had taken years to tell Remo about Song, his son and first pupil who had died in training. And in that moment, Remo understood the true identity of the Master Who Never Was.

"I thought you said Song was almost nine when he died," Remo said quietly. "The boy I saw couldn't have been older than six."

When Chiun looked up, there was flitting sadness in his hazel eyes. But when he beheld the deeply sympathetic face of his pupil, his smile returned. "The Void reflects your true self," he explained. "My son who died was younger than his years because I tried to force him to grow up too quickly. It gladdens me to know that, in death, he is enjoying the childhood that I in my stubbornness would not permit him to have." He started to hand the figure back.

Remo shook his head. "You should keep it," he insisted.

But the old Korean shook his head. "I told you, I have others. This was a gift from my son in flesh to my son in spirit. Treasure always this gift from your brother, Remo."

He pressed the small stone into Remo's palm. Nodding, Remo replaced it in his pocket.

For a moment, he took out baby Karen's crucifix. A small rectangle of yellow paper fluttered to the ground.

As he studied the cross, the world suddenly seemed less cruel than it had just a few short days before. With but a ghost of lingering sadness, he started to put the cross away. Before he could, there came a gasp beside him.

"What is that?" the Master of Sinanju demanded. Remo braced himself, preparing for the usual carping about his latent Christianity.

"It's just a cross, Little Father," Remo said.

"Not that pagan idol," Chiun spit. "That. "

An accusing finger pointed to the piece of paper lying in the dirt. Remo gathered it up.

"Oh," he said. "It's my check from Deferens for the Batubizee hit."

"You accepted a check?" Chiun gasped. "A mere promise of payment? Remo, tear out my heart that I might not feel the agony of the knife you have driven into it." He pressed a hand against his chest.

"Oh, can the bad acting," Remo said, suppressing a grin. "Besides, I had him up to six million in gold."

"A likely story," the old man countered. Remo's face suddenly grew crafty. "While we're at it, how much did you get paid for all this?"

Chiun's back stiffened. "None of your business," he retorted. "And we are talking about you, not me. Do you not yet know that a check is even worse than government bills? It is a paper promise of more paper. Oh, the shame, Remo."

"It's not even like I ever intended to cash it," Remo said. Crumpling the check, he tossed it away. Before it hit the ground, a long-nailed hand snatched it from the air. Chiun laid the paper on his knee, smoothing it flat.

"We will stop at a bank as soon as we return to Bachsburg," the Master of Sinanju sniffed as he secreted the check into the folds of his kimono.

"Oh, no, we won't," Remo said. "I'm not endorsing that."

"That is not a problem," Chiun replied, fussing at his kimono sleeves. "In East Africa, baboons are known to come out of the jungle into inhabited areas."

"So what?" Remo asked warily.

Chiun raised a bemused eyebrow. "I will give a pen to one of them. Surely they can duplicate the jumble of scratches that constitute your signature."

Chapter 40

Luzuland, East Africa (AP)-An as yet unexplained underground tremor rocked this northern tribal homeland early this morning. Seismologists from nearby Bachsburg have been sent to investigate.

Preliminary reports indicate that the small earthquake has caused a slight shift in tectonic plates. As a result, a previously unknown underground river has broken through to the surface, flooding the manmade channels of an ancient irrigation system built during the days of the old Luzu Empire.

The inexplicable phenomenon, occurring as it has in a region not prone to seismic activity, has lent hope to the indigenous tribesmen. Chief Batubizee, leader of the Luzu tribe, has expressed confidence that this fresh supply of water will revive the formerly rich farmland of his ancient empire. When that day comes, the chief has promised that all debts incurred by the Luzu nation will be paid in full.