Encounter Group

They got to it, and before long the stepvan with the black-circle-and-three-yellow-triangle symbol for nuclear energy rolled into sight. It stopped close to the gaudy FOES van, and the driver honked his horn twice sharply.

When half a dozen armed commandos jumped out of the trees, he stopped honking and threw the gears into reverse. A bullet knocked the passenger window all over the cab, and he ceased that effort, too. He threw up his hands as the black-clad group surrounded him.

"I'm unarmed," he called out, which was true. He noticed that most of his assailants were women, and at least two of them were on the chunky side. What the hell's going on? he thought, as he touched a floor button with his toe, causing a light to go on in the back of the truck, where it would alert a radiation-suited guard.

"Out of the truck," Amanda ordered.

The driver got out, and as he turned his back on her, Amanda clubbed him unconscious with a rifle butt.

"See? No killing," Amanda said to all concerned, as they dragged the driver off to the roadside, where he would later be run over by a drunken motorist.

That done, they tried to open the back of the truck. It was padlocked. Standing off to one side, Amanda fired three shots at the lock, two of which caused it to snap open.

When they opened up the back, they found a scarred and blackened nuclear warhead. They also found a guard whose white plastic radiation garments were streaked with his own blood. He gurgled once, dropped his rifle, and then dropped dead.

"Gee, Amanda," Ethel said, small-voiced. "You must have got him by accident."

"I couldn't help it," Amanda complained. "They should buy them bullet-proof vests or something. Anyway, we've got the warhead. Let's get out of here."

They shut up the truck. Amanda took the wheel. Ethel and the others returned to the van, and the two vehicles rapidly left the area.

* * *

At first, Thad Screiber was going to give his story to one of the wire services because they paid more than a newspaper would. But years of writing articles for Destiny magazine and Flying Saucer Factual had earned him plenty of money and little glory. So Thad decided to go for the glory and called the editor of the New York Times from the first pay phone he came across. After haggling for a minute, they struck an agreement, and Thad began dictating his eyewitness account of the salvage of a destroyed American nuclear missile, which would carry his actual byline— something that had not happened since his first reporting job on a hometown weekly.

It was a good feeling, Thad reflected, as he returned to his car. Perhaps this was what writing was really all about. You write what you believe in and are proud enough to sign your right name to it. Maybe it was time to retire all those phony pen names and go back to real reporting.

Then, just as he started his car, a brown van with a bubble roof and emblazoned with scenes right out of Thad's own articles sped past. It was followed by a stepvan plainly— but disturbingly— marked with the nuclear symbol.

Some long-dormant reporter's sixth sense told him that he should follow them both. It was only a hunch, but something about what he'd seen made him wonder if there might not be a connection between UFO activity in Oklahoma and the mysterious nuclear accident that had incapacitated a Titan missile.

Thad fell in behind the two trucks.

?Chapter Twelve

It has been the worst two days of Remo Williams's life.

Chiun had been mad at him before. Someone who didn't know the old Korean well could easily get the impression that Chiun was always mad at Remo, but that wasn't so. Chiun scolded Remo because that was Chiun's responsibility as Remo's teacher. To err might be human, but to err in Sinanju was to die. Chiun knew this and Remo knew this. And there had been a time or two when Remo had seriously offended Chiun. At those times, Chiun became a stranger, and Remo knew that his relationship with the man who was both father and teacher to him was in jeopardy. Usually, Remo's serious offenses were offenses against Sinanju and its traditions and not against Chiun himself. Not even Remo's close relationship with Chiun protected him there. But Remo, who respected Chiun and now belonged to Sinanju, never knowingly insulted Sinanju traditions and was always forgiven for what Chiun called his "unfortunate ignorance."

But this time it was different. Seriously different.

From the time the UFO had taken everyone except Chiun away, the Master of Sinanju had refused to speak to Remo. Remo had tried to convince Chiun to return to their hotel with him. Chiun had not refused. He had simply walked off. No abuse and no arguments. He just started walking in the general direction of Oklahoma City.

Remo had followed him.

"Don't tell me you intend to walk all the way back, Chiun," he said. "It's gotta be at least thirty miles. C'mon back to the car."

Chiun walked along in stiff silence.

"Look, if you want to be mad for some reason, you can be just as mad riding in the back seat as walking."

A breeze stirred Chiun's sparse hair as he walked.

"Then at least you can tell me what you're mad about."

No answer.

"Look, Chiun. I think you owe me an explanation at least," Remo said, touching Chiun's arm.

No swirl of robes betrayed Chiun's intent, but the Master of Sinanju spun fully around without breaking stride, his right arm slashed once, and he continued on.

"Begone, vile one," Chiun called back.

Remo looked down at his chest where Chiun's deadly fingernail had laid open his T-shirt and created a thin pressure mark across his chest. A quarter-inch more and Remo would be leaking blood.

In shocked silence, Remo returned to his car alone.

It had been no better when, hours later, Chiun found his way back. Remo looked up as Chiun entered the hotel room, but the old man ignored him and walked to the telephone.

"I wish to speak to someone in charge. Good. I have a complaint. There is someone in my room who does not belong. You will send someone to remove him? Thank you."

"This has gone far enough, Little Father," Remo had said.

"I am no one's father," Chiun retorted. He opened the door to the hall and waited.

When the manager arrived, looking harried, Chiun leveled a trembling arm at Remo and cried, "I found this stranger in my room, and now he refuses to leave. I demand his removal."

"Little Father..." Remo began, angrily.

"See? He is claiming that I am his father. Anyone can see this is not so," Chiun shouted loudly enough to carry into the hall. A crowd collected at the door.

"Well?" the manager asked Remo.

"Aw, he's just ticked at me for some reason."

"Are you this man's son?" the manager asked levelly. The crowd muttered their skepticism.

"I'm registered in this room," Remo said. "You can check it out. Remo Williams."

"He lies!" Chiun crowed. "He told me his name was Remo Greeley. This is proof of his deception."

"This room is registered to a Remo Greeley," the manager pointed out.

"Okay, okay," Remo said, throwing up his hands. "I'm leaving. This old coot is right. He's not my father. I don't have a father. And what's more, I never had a father."

Remo pushed past the crowd, who roundly jeered at him. He registered in another hotel, angrier with Chiun than he'd ever been before. He didn't sleep that night, but by morning his anger had drained. He called Chiun's number, but when he said, "It's me," Chiun hung up without a word. It was not Chiun's way to be so brittle, and Remo felt a growing fear. Perhaps this time he had done something so unforgivable that Chiun really had disowned him. But what? And what did UFOs have to do with it?

Remo wondered if Smith might know, and called him. But Smith was frantic.

"Remo, my God! What have you done? Chiun told me he is resigning as your trainer. I couldn't talk him out of it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know all that. But did he tell you what's pissed him off?"

"No, he refused to discuss it." Pause. "You mean you don't know yourself?" Smith asked incredulously. "How could you be so irresponsible? How could—"

Remo had hung up on Smith, angry again. For two days he had felt angry and scared and even lost by turns. He felt like an orphan again. He didn't know what to do. He had never been without Chiun for any length of time and was surprised at how much he had grown to depend upon the old Korean in small ways. What would happen to him now? Would he continue to develop along the path of Sinanju, or would he be frozen at this stage of development? And what about Chiun? Would he return to Korea?

There were too many questions, and Remo had thought of them all. By the end of the second day, he still had no answers. The FOES office had been empty when he checked it the day before, but Remo decided to try again. If he could grab just one of those nuts, he might have something. And he was still on an assignment, even if he didn't feel like completing it.

* * *

A car pulled up alongside Remo as he walked down the street. It was growing dark now, and he was in a bad section of the city. Remo knew this because the one police car he had seen went through the area rapidly, its two officers staring straight ahead as if they didn't want to see anything that might require their attention.

"Can you help me out, fella?" the driver called out to Remo.

"You lost?" Remo asked, leaning on the car.

"No," the driver said. He slid across to the passenger's window, showing the stubby nose of a Saturday night special. "I just need money. Yours."

"Nice gun," Remo said conversationally. "How come you need money? Don't you work?"

"This is my work. Hand over your wallet, or I'll blow your freaking brains out."

"I think you should find a new line of work," Remo said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Remo said, bringing his left hand up to steady the gun while simultaneously batting the barrel with his right. The barrel snapped and clinked into the gutter. An incredulous expression spread over the gunman's round face.

"Yeah," Remo repeated. "I'm in a bad mood."

The gunman tried to fire anyway, but Remo's hand was a vise preventing the cylinder from turning. Then Remo took the gun and popped the cylinder out of its frame. He dropped the ruined weapon.

That was enough for the gunman, who slid back across the seat and hit the gas. Remo swept out a leg and clipped the right rear tire with a toe as hard as a crowbar. The tire blew.

The car kept going, however, but not as fast as its driver would have liked. The wrecked tire wobbled crazily and dragged. Turning a corner, the wheel rim sheared through the rubber.

Remo caught up to the car and ran along with it.

"Get away from me!" the driver yelled.

"Tell you what," Remo said as he jogged beside him. "I could use some exercise. You're going to be the ball."

Remo sped forward and cut in front of the car. Just for effect he took out the headlights with two quick jabs. Then he got to the other side and with a sharp kick made the left front tire let go. The car slowed considerably, and stopped altogether when Remo ruptured the right front tire.

The gunman hastily rolled up his window as Remo sauntered back to the driver's side and took out the remaining tire. For good measure, he popped the trunk open with the flat of a palm and rolled out the spare. A finger thrust rendered the spare useless.

There was a jack in the trunk, and it gave Remo an idea. He grabbed it and set it up under the chassis, taking a moment to methodically destroy all the locks on the doors so the driver could not escape, and then jacked one side of the car up as far as it would go.

It was far enough so that Remo could take the chassis in both hands and, coming to his feet from a kneeling position, flip the car slowly onto its roof.

The roof crumpled. The driver screamed.

At that point a knot of pedestrians gathered.

They watched as Remo, seemingly playing the part of a good samaritan, knocked out the window glass on the driver's side.

"Are you all right, pal?" Remo asked.

The driver was all but standing on his head and had a gusher of a nosebleed that rampaged down into his eyes.

"Get me out of here! Get me out!"

"Scared?" Remo asked solicitously.

"Yeah, yeah— get me out!"

"Want not to be scared?"

"Yeah— yeah, I do."

So Remo shot a hard finger into the man's forehead, which cancelled out his emotions. Not to mention his life.

"Your wish is granted," Remo said.

"Is he going to be all right?" someone asked as Remo walked off.

"Sure is. I gave him first aid."

The FOES office was still empty when Remo got there, but he was in a better mood. Chiun had always said that exercise was good for the spirit as well as the body. Thinking of Chiun again, Remo felt a twinge.

It was time for a long talk with Chiun.

* * *

Not fearing attack, the Master of Sinanju hadn't bothered to lock the door. Remo just walked in.

Chiun, attired in the white kimono that he seldom wore, sat writing on a piece of parchment. He did not acknowledge Remo, although Remo knew Chiun was aware of his presence.

"I have come to talk, Little Father," Remo said quietly in Korean.

"I have offended you, I know," Remo said, finding the words more difficult than expected. He cleared his throat.

"If this is the end of our travels together," Remo said, "then I will accept that fact if I must. It is not my wish to put our friendship aside, but if it is your wish, then my respect for you forces me to accept this."

Chiun gave no sign he heard, but his pen scratched less furiously.

"But just as I have my respect for you, you must respect me. I am prepared to say my last good-bye and wish to atone for my offense before we part. But because I do not know how I have offended you, I cannot do this. You must tell me. This is my parting request to you, who have been both parent and teacher to me."

When Chiun finally spoke, it was after a long silence, and he did not look up from his writing.

"That was a good speech, excellently spoken," he said tonelessly.

"Thank you," Remo said, a lump growing in his throat. Dammit! Why do I feel like this? he asked himself.

"But your voice broke toward the last," Chiun added, and resumed his writing. A long silence stretched into minutes in which neither of them spoke.

"Sit at my feet, Remo," Chiun said at last.

Remo sat, his face a mask.

"Emperor Smith has been trying to reach you."

"I don't care about Smith," Remo said.

"And your assignment? Do you no longer care about that?"

"I don't know," Remo said truthfully.

"Then what do you care about?" Chiun dropped his quill for the first time and faced Remo. His expression was unreadable.

"I care about you. I care about us."

Chiun nodded and turned his parchment over.

"Do you remember the legend of the Great Master Wang?" Chiun asked.

"There are many legends about Wang," Remo replied.

"True. But one stands above all other." Chiun placed his hands flat on his lap and spoke with his eyes closed, as if from memory.

"There is a saying in my village, 'Blue comes from indigo but is bluer.' This means that a pupil can sometimes exceed his Master. So it was with Wang in the long-ago days of Sinanju. Now, Wang was not the first of the Masters of Sinanju. No, many came before him, and many came after, and some who followed also took the name of Wang.

"Before Wang, the Master was named Hung. A good Master was Hung, and the last of the old Masters of Sinanju, who knew not the sun source. In those days the Master was followed by lesser Masters, who were known as night tigers.

"When the time came for Hung to train his replacement, he chose a young night tiger named Wang, who was my ancestor. Wang was not a difficult choice, for in the years those times were hard, and the babies of Wang's generation had mostly been sent home to the sea. Those who survived were not always healthy, although some made adequate night tigers. But only Wang, Hung saw, was worthy to train as the next Master, and Wang began that training, quickly proving himself an apt student and possessive of the promise of true leadership.

"But, woe, before Wang had been training more than one year, the Master Hung died in his sleep. There was no shame attached to this, Remo, for this Master was still young, being only seventy-five. Yet he died before his time, leaving no heir worthy of being called the Master of Sinanju. This tragedy had never before happened to the House of Sinanju."

Remo had heard this story before, but listened patiently.

"And the people of the village gathered around the body of Hung," Chiun continued. "And with much wailing and weeping, they consigned his body to the earth, setting a marker upon it which said: HERE LIES HUNG, THE LAST MASTER OF SINANJU.

"And so it seemed. The glory of the finest house of assassins the world had ever nurtured was no more.

"The people of Sinanju huddled by their fires, for winter was fast approaching, and they asked themselves, 'What are we to do now that there is no Master to protect us and feed our bellies and our children's bellies?'

"And some said, 'We will have to send the babies home to the sea again.'

" 'But there are so few babies even now,' said others.

" 'Perhaps we should leave this wretched village for the south.'

" 'Oh, woe,' they cried. 'To no longer be Sinanju. To no longer be above all others. If only Hung had not died too soon. If only Wang had learned more.'

"And so they grieved and complained to one another, not one of them offering any solution to their plight. And Wang, young and beset by the guilt the others had forced upon him, went off with his thoughts to the hills east of Sinanju.

"There he meditated for five days. Although he had been taught proper diet, Wang ate only rice hulls and grass roots because he wished to purge his mind of all distraction. After three days, he forebore all food and concentrated on proper breathing alone, an art which was known then, although not refined.

"After five days, Wang's meditation bore no fruit. He had no solution to Sinanju's grave plight. Further, his spirit was failing for he was weak from hunger and very cold. In truth, life and will were slipping from his body.

"On the fifth night, he lay on his back staring into the heavens. Above him, the stars moved inexorably, and it seemed to Wang they were cold, uncaring stars, unmindful of the tragedy gathering on the shores of the West Korean Bay. Yet at the same time Wang could see that the stars never went out; they were always burning, just like the sun. If only people could burn as bright and as long... Wang thought.

"It was then a great ring of fire came down from the skies. The fire had a message for Wang. It said that men do not use their minds and bodies as they should; they wasted their spirit and strength. The ring of fire taught Wang the lessons of control— and though Wang's enlightenment came in a single burst of flame, his mastery of what he had learned took a lifetime.

"This was the beginning of the sun source," Chiun finished, opening his clear eyes.

"You think there is some connection between that ring of fire and these UFOs?" Remo asked, frowning.

"The sun source is known," Chiun said slowly. "But the source of the sun source is not known. Many Masters have contemplated the mystery of the ring of fire which spoke to Wang, for it is the greatest mystery of Sinanju. I myself have given this much thought. And you, Remo?"

Remo shrugged. "I thought it was just a legend."

"I see. Then perhaps you are not responsible after all."

"I'm not?" Remo asked hopefully.

"When I first read of these USOs, Remo, I saw in their mystery the answer to the greatest riddle of Sinanju. It was no accident that we of Sinanju, in the hour of our direst need, were given the gift of the sun source. A wiser power from the stars saw that our glory should not fade from this earth, and perhaps one of their USOs visited with Wang and through their skill placed the secret of the sun source into his brain.

"If this were true, then it is the duty of the Master of Sinanju to make contact with the descendants of the Master who gave Sinanju to the Greatest Master Wang. For we are bound by a common destiny."

"Let me get this straight," Remo said. "You think the things we can do with our bodies are because a flying saucer dropped in on Wang?"

"An emissary from an advanced Korean civilization," Chiun corrected.

"Korean? How do you figure Korean?"

"Very simple. Korean is the most civilized nation on this planet. It therefore follows that any advanced people on other planets are Korean, too. Besides, this Master from the House of Beetle Goose has a Korean name. He told it to me."

"He did? What is it?"

"Well," Chiun said evasively. "He pronounced it differently than you and I would. His accent was atrocious."

"Right. But what was his name?"

"He called himself Hopak Kay," Chiun said quickly.

"Hopak Kay? What does it mean?"

"It does not matter what it means. It is his name."

Remo scratched his head. Hopak Kay? The words sounded familiar, but Remo's command of Korean was not exactly fluent.

"What is important," Chiun continued, "is that I had made contact with this Master."

"And I screwed it up?"

"Yes, you screwed it up."

"I did not know, Little Father. I am sorry."

"Are you prepared to atone for this?" Chiun asked.

"If it is within my power," Remo replied.

"Then you will help me regain contact with this World Master?"

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"Yes, Remo. I forgive you."

"Thank you, Little Father," Remo said gratefully. He no longer felt like an orphan. "It was my speech that did it, wasn't it?"

Chiun smiled. "Yes, it was your beautiful speech which touched my heart." And Chiun tore to pieces the parchment on which he had been writing, pleased that he had been spared the necessity of finishing the long letter in which he told Remo that despite all the insults and indignities he had suffered, Chiun would return to resume Remo's training since Remo was of such a level of ineptitude that without Chiun, he was in danger of being run over by a three-wheeled bicycle.

?Chapter Thirteen

"I'd better check in with Smitty," Remo said, picking up the telephone. "What did he say he wanted?"

"He wanted you to recover something that was stolen from your country," Chiun said absently.

"Oh yeah? Did he say what it was?"

"It was one of those ridiculous atomic things."

"What! You mean an atomic bomb?" Remo demanded.

"No, not one of those."

"Good," Remo said, listening to the Folcroft number ring.

"Smith called it a warhead," Chiun remarked.

"An atomic warhead's been stolen!" Remo shouted.

"Yes, I know, Remo," Smith's lemony voice came over the receiver. "I've been trying to reach you about it. And there's no need to shout. I can hear perfectly."

"Smitty, what's going on?"

"Not good, Remo. The Air Force secretly moved the damaged Titan missile today, along with its warhead, which took a different route for security reasons. The vehicle carrying the warhead disappeared en route, and its driver was found dead. He'd apparently been left, unconscious, on a road three miles from the missile base, where he was run over."

"In other words, you don't know who took this thing?"

"No, but it's safe to assume that the same group who sabotaged the Titan in the first place is responsible. Can you make contact with them again?"

"I'll try. Is the warhead alive?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It couldn't be deactivated on site. The damage to the missile precluded that. Remo, I don't have to tell you how serious this is. You'll have to find a way to bring Chiun back into this."

"I already have, Smitty," Remo said coolly.

"Good," said Smith, moving on to the next order of business. "You must locate the warhead as soon as possible. When you do, contact me immediately."

"Don't you want to know how I convinced Chiun to—"

"No," Smith said, and hung up.

"Those crazy flying saucer people have ripped off a live warhead," Remo informed Chiun.

"Yes, I believe they said something about ridding the world of those insane devices. I do not think that is so crazy."

"That depends on whether one goes off in their faces or not. They've been lucky so far. We've got to find them, and when we do we'll find that UFO, too."

"I will go put on an appropriate kimono," Chiun said.

When he returned, the Master of Sinanju wore a green ceremonial robe on which twin peacocks strutted. "Am I presentable?" he asked.

"Only if they're hiding at a circus," Remo said, but he smiled.

Chiun smiled back. Things were back to normal.

* * *

At Chiun's insistence Remo drove to FOES headquarters, even though he had been there earlier and found nothing.

"Emptiness is always temporary," Chiun pointed out.

The door was ajar when they got there, and sounds came from inside.

"Let's take him, whoever it is," Remo suggested.

"No," Chiun said. "We will wish to follow this person to our goal. Let us be unobtrusive."

"You'll have to leave the building for that," Remo remarked, eyeing the peacocks on Chiun's robe.

But they both melted into the shadows in time to avoid being seen by Pavel Zarnitsa, who was anxious to locate the farm of a certain Ethel Sump.

"Who was he?" Remo asked after he had gone.

"I did not recognize him," Chiun admitted. "He is not one of the group belonging to the blonde woman with the cavernous mouth."

"We'll follow him anyway. He's all we've got."

They let their quarry reach his rented car before they started theirs. Remo followed at a discreet distance, which was not a problem. The leading car gave off a noxious exhaust, which Remo's sensitive nostrils could follow from better than a mile.

"Good. He's going south, Chiun."

But the Master of Sinanju was too engrossed to reply. He was busy solving his Rubik's Cube for what Remo thought must have been the hundredth time.

"Haven't you gotten tired of that thing yet?" he complained.

"One does not tire of new challenges," Chiun sniffed.

"What new challenges?" Remo demanded. "You've already broken the record on that thing twice."

"But I have not solved the puzzle with my eyes closed."

"Hah! And you're not going to, either. I still haven't figured out how you do it, but no one can do it with their eyes closed."

"No?" Chiun inquired. "Watch."

And while Remo watched out of the corner of his eye, Chiun went through an elaborate series of motions like a magician proving that he had nothing hidden up his sleeve. Then he raised the cube from his lap and, tightly closing his eyes, solved the puzzle in a blur of colored squares and flying fingers.

"There. A new way. Perhaps I should go on television."

Remo bit his tongue and concentrated on the road ahead. The thick smell of exhaust fumes made him want to gag. Chiun, immensely pleased with himself, took a nap and promptly began snoring.

"Large hairy dog!"

Chiun snapped awake in mid-snore. "What is wrong, Remo? What is it?"

"Large hairy dog," Remo repeated triumphantly. "I've been trying to remember it for the last twenty minutes. Hopak Kay means 'large hairy dog' in Korean. This alien's name is Large Hairy Dog!"

Chiun's face assumed an embarrassed expression. "Do not make light of another's name. In the culture from which he comes, it is no doubt a proud and worthy name. You should take that into account."

"Since when are you so understanding of other cultures?"

"I have always been that way," Chiun insisted.

"Try to keep that in mind the next time you want me to grow Fu Manchu fingernails."

* * *

Pavel Zarnitsa found the farmhouse that should have belonged to Ethel Sump, drove well past it, and pulled off the road. He quietly assembled his plastic pistol and walked back in the direction of the farm, with its weeds and weatherbeaten barn.

He did not pay any attention to the car that shot past him, and so did not know that it, too, parked not far down the road.

The farm was so run-down, it made Pavel a little sick when he got to it. In Russia, such neglect was practically treasonous. How did they feed people with such waste? Thinking of food made Pavel's mouth water. He would enjoy a taco very much right about now. There was a light in one window, and Pavel went toward it in a sort of crouching run. He waited in the darkness until he was satisfied that his movements had gone unnoticed. And when he peered into the house, there was no sign of people except for the light, which showed a rather unkempt parlor.

Making a circuit of the place, Pavel discovered the van, which told him that someone had to be there. He was about to investigate the barn when a weird thing happened.

The barn began to glow.

The barn had been a dark shape against some feathery redbud trees and looked ready to fall over in a stiff wind. There were missing boards and a ragged hole in the roof. Suddenly, a tremendous white light seemed to fill the barn and leak from the chinks and holes. There were a lot of these, so it made the barn all but glow.

A long, eerie sigh came from within, like a chorus of awestruck worshipers at the Second Coming.

Pavel crept toward the light, this time on his stomach. What he saw through a knothole made him forget all about his appetite.

He saw a round metallic object of many bright lights, which began to change color before his startled eye. The object floated in the exact center of the barn. It wobbled slightly, but otherwise did not move. It made no sound. It was a fantastic sight.

There were also people inside the barn. Switching eyes because of the intense light, Pavel saw that they looked human. There seemed to be about ten of them, led by a tall blonde woman in some kind of black uniform. The others were also in black, including one who hobbled on crutches, and another who knelt before the floating object. This man was not in black, and the blonde leader held a gun to his head.

"He says his name is Thad Screiber, and he claims he's a reporter," the blonde said loudly. It was clear she was speaking to the weird object.

When the object replied in an unearthly voice, Pavel felt his flesh crawl a little.

"You have moved the warhead to a safe location, Preparation Group Leader?" the voice demanded unemotionally.

"Two of our people are guarding it now," Amanda Bull said.

"We are then at a dangerous juncture in our plans to dismantle America's nuclear arsenal."

Dismantle America's nuclear arsenal? Pavel thought incredulously. And what was this about a warhead?

"What do we do with this reporter, World Master?" Amanda asked. "He followed us here and could wreck everything. Should I shoot him? I wouldn't mind."

This brought some grumblings of discontent from the others in the group. The reporter swayed a little on his knees. He looked a little green, but that might have been the lights.

"Quiet!" Amanda snapped at the others.

"No, shooting him will accomplish nothing," the strange voice spoke.

Everyone looked relieved, including Thad Screiber. He shut his eyes in relief and so did not see the blue needle of light suddenly stab from the UFO and impale him for a moment in eternity. The beam went completely through him at a downward angle and started a small fire on the ground behind him. Thad Screiber fell back into the tiny flames, and his dead body smothered those flames.

"But demonstrating my power will," the World Master intoned. "Have some of you forgotten the gravity of our work? If so, then consider this: you have participated in the theft of one of your nation's most dangerous and important weapons. In the eyes of your people, you are all traitors. Only by continuing along the path I have marked and creating a new world order can you escape capture and execution. No one must stand in our way."

The barn held a long silence in which beautiful light played along its walls and on the faces of its stunned occupants. Even Amanda Bull was shocked by the stern tone of the World Master. She recovered her composure long enough to say, "Preparation Group Number Two stands ready to fulfill its glorious destiny."

"Excellent," the reedy voice commented. "And your destiny will be glorious, I promise you. In the new world, you will all be giants. Future generations will sing your praises. But first, we must insure that there will be a future for your tiny planet, which is my planet's mission."

"Orders?" Amanda asked stiffly.

"You will transport the Titan warhead to the center of the population area known as Oklahoma City and detonate it."

Amanda swallowed hard. Ethel Sump fainted, and the others looked as if they wanted to. Pavel Zarnitsa felt none too good himself. From what he could piece together, it sounded very much as if World War III was about to be started by a bunch of Americans, on orders from a being from another planet!

And there was no doubt in his mind that if Oklahoma City should be obliterated, America's nuclear finger would swiftly be pointed to Soviet Russia.

Pavel knew he couldn't allow that. He was about to move from where he crouched when the barn doors were flung open and a strident voice announced, "Hail all! The Master of the House of Sinanju brings greetings to the Master of the House of Beetle Goose!"

Chiun, resplendent in his green ceremonial robes, strode boldly into the startled group. Remo, more wary, stood at his side.

Amanda Bull whipped her gun up toward Chiun but Remo cleared the distance between them before a shot could be fired, and suddenly Amanda was staring at her empty gun hand, which stung painfully.

Remo extracted the clip, cleared the chamber, and tossed the weapon aside.

"You won't be needing that," he told her.

"Yes," Chiun called out, "no violence is necessary. We have come in peace. We have come to resume ties with the House of Beetle Goose."

"If you have come here with peaceful intent," the World Master said, "then speak."

"There has been a misunderstanding between our houses, World Master," Chiun said. "I wish a private audience."

"As proof of your peaceful intent, you will allow your companion to be held prisoner during your audience."

"Done," Chiun said. "Remo, return the woman's weapon."

"Chiun, I don't like this. These clowns were just talking about blowing up Oklahoma City."

"Remo!" Chiun said sharply.

Remo reluctantly returned the automatic to Amanda, who quickly rammed home a fresh clip.

"All right, I've got you, buster!" Amanda crowed.

"Good for you," Remo said sourly. He was looking around for the man they had tailed here. Now where could he be?

* * *

Chiun entered the ship of the World Master through a panel, which quickly shut after him. He stood again within the outer chamber, which suddenly filled with a golden light. It was a very peaceful light, Chiun thought.

When the shadow of the World Master crossed the pebbled-glass screen, Chiun bowed low.

"My ancestors smile upon this meeting," Chiun said quietly.

"And mine," returned the World Master.

"I have many questions," Chiun began.

"And your persistence has earned you the right to many answers."

"Many generations ago, one of my ancestors met with one of your people. In the hour of his greatest need, when even life itself was failing, a ring of fire descended from the heavens and a voice was heard."

"Yes, my voice."

Chiun's beard trembled. "Yours?"

"Yes. My life span is greater than you could imagine."

"Truly, then, I stand in the presence of a great Master. For it was you who made my people what they are today."

"This is correct. Far, far in your planet's past, my world saw that this Earth held great potential. We came in our ships and with our science, propelled the apes and the monkeys on the upward evolutionary path that led to your humans."

"Apes? Monkeys?" Chiun said bewilderedly. "You must be referring to some other things. My Korean ancestors do not come from mere apes. I have been taught that our line sprang from the pairing of the great Tangun and a bear."

"Yes, this is true," the World Master said. "I am Tangun."

This time Chiun's entire body trembled. "You? Tangun? You have told me that your name is Hopak Kay."

"My full name is Tangun Hopak Kay."

"That is a strange name," said Chiun slowly.

"To human ears perhaps."

"Tell me of your world," Chiun asked next. "I wish to know more of it."

"It is a world of beauty and peace, which I know you would find to your liking. There is no hate, no crime, no wars. This is the image in which I intend to remake your world. One devoid of ugliness and evil. Where all men will live in true harmony, and the old will be cherished in their declining years."

"Yes, that will be good for them," Chiun said absently. "But tell me more. Tell me of the sun source."

"On my world as well as yours, the sun is a great source of energy. But we have learned to harness that energy more efficiently. All things on my planet are solar-powered."

Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed to slits. "And your assassins. What of them?"

"My civilization long ago advanced beyond such practices. The last of our assassins were rehabilitated through brain operations. They were rendered meek and nonviolent in this manner."

"You have answered all my questions," the Master of Sinanju announced suddenly. "I wish to confer with my son."

"You may do this," the World Master said, and the panel reopened. "But you must both decide if you wish to join with me in my plan to eradicate war and the evils of assassination after that."

Chiun left the gently bobbing ship.

* * *

When Pavel Zarnitsa saw that everyone in the barn was distracted by the reappearance of the old Oriental from the UFO— or whatever it was— he decided it was time to make his move.

He dashed inside, waved his pistol for all to see, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "You will all stand perfectly still, please! You, drop your weapon," Pavel told Amanda, who complied hastily. "The rest of you stand aside. I am claiming this spacecraft and its secrets on behalf of my government!"

"You fool, Pavel Zarnitsa! You will ruin everything!" The voice of the World Master was an amplified screech.

Pavel almost dropped his weapon in shock.

"You... you know my name?" Pavel demanded. "Who? How?"

"You have ruined everything," the voice said, and then a low humming filled the barn.

"Chiun! There's that sound again," Remo shouted, expecting his skin to heat up.

But it didn't. Instead, there came a sputtering and hissing from within the floating object, which suddenly fell to the ground. White-hot sparks like the product of a dozen arc-welding torches spilled out of the object. They hurt the eyes and caused everyone to look away in pain. Smoke filled the barn. People ran and collided with one another.

Remo, shielding his eyes, tried to find Chiun in the confusion. "Little Father," he shouted, "where—"

"Hush, Remo. I am here."

Remo felt a familiar hand take his. Chiun, seemingly oblivious to the smoke and sputtering light, guided them both away from the barn, which had started to blaze.

Remo glanced back once and saw the UFO. It was partially obscured by the smoke, but he clearly saw it slowly melting into a puddle of incandescent slag. There was no sign of the being who called himself the World Master.

?Chapter Fourteen

"Over here," Remo was saying. "I found one."

"One what?" Chiun called from inside the smoldering barn. The structure had burned almost to the ground before the fire had gone out on its own. Parts of two sides still stood stubbornly.

"One of the ones who didn't get away," Remo said, looking down at the stunned figure of Pavel Zarnitsa, whose face was black with soot.

"He— he knew my name," Pavel said dazedly. "How could he know my name?"

Remo, noticing his captive's accent, demanded, "You sound like a Russian."

"I am a Polack," Pavel told him, sitting up.

"Yeah? Well I've been to Russia, and I know what a Russian sounds like. And for my money, buddy, you sound like a Russian to me."

"Have you ever been to Poland?"

"Uh... no," Remo admitted.

"Then I submit you do not know what you are speaking of."

"Hey, Chiun, come listen to this guy. I think he's a Russian," Remo shouted.

"I do not have to listen to him," Chiun called back. "I can smell him. He is a Russian."

"I knew it," Remo said, lifting Pavel to his feet with one hand. "Time to come clean."

Pavel reached for his pistol, but Remo got to it first. He squeezed hard, and the weapon fell in pieces from his hand.

"Pretty neat trick, right?" Remo said.

"No," Pavel said. "Anyone could do it. The weapon is plastic."

"I'm beginning not to like you," Remo told him.

"That is too bad for one of us," Pavel admitted unhappily.

"You got that right," Remo said, dragging the Russian over to where Chiun picked through what was left of the UFO.

There wasn't much left— surprisingly little for such a large object, in fact. Most of it was shiny slag— a bit like a large bob of lead that had been melted down— only whatever the metal had been, it wasn't lead, and it was still too hot to touch. There were other things, too. Pieces of machinery that had been inside the UFO. Some of these stuck out of the smooth slag like jagged teeth, but even these had withered in the intense heat.

"If there's any body inside that mess," Remo ventured, "it must have been burned to the size of a dog. A small dog, at that."

"There is no body," Chiun spat.

"You think this World Master escaped with the rest of them?" Remo asked.

"Of course," Chiun returned, folding his hands within his sleeves. "The others could not have escaped on their own. Someone led them. Someone who was not the blonde woman. "

"Why not her?" asked Remo.

"Because someone who would let a tiny hair grow on the bridge of her nose could not successfully lead others to safety," Chiun told him.

"Right," Remo said, looking around. "Well, it's obvious they got away in the van— all except this guy, here."

"I am not one of those people," Pavel pointed out.

"I'll bet," Remo said.

"He is telling the truth," Chiun said. "I do not recognize him as a follower of the blonde woman. Nor do I recognize the body of the white you so foolishly tried to rescue."

"I didn't know he was dead when I went back in to get him," Remo protested.

"If you had not gone back into the fire, I would not have had to go back also to protect you, and the others would not have escaped."

"I'm sorry, Little Father. I know how much you value making contact with this Hopak Kay."

Chiun spat on the ground violently. "Pah! He is well named. He is a dog and son of dog."

"What's that?" Remo asked quizzically.

"Nothing," Chiun muttered, and stormed off.

Remo turned to the Russian. "And where do you fit into this?"

Pavel Zarnitsa shrugged his shoulders and his bushy eyebrows at the same time. "I am just a Polack passerby."

"No, you're not. We followed you here. How are you connected with these flying-saucer chasers?"

Pavel saw no harm in answering that question, so he did.

"I was chasing them," he said.

"Why?"

"To see to what they were up, just as you were. Where is the harm in that?"

"We're Americans. You aren't," Remo said simply.

"That does not mean I have no interest in keeping America from destroying itself."

"America isn't trying to destroy itself," Remo said.

"But some Americans are," Pavel countered. "We have both witnessed this. There is a nuclear device that has fallen into their hands, and into the spaceman's hands."

"How do you know he's a spaceman?"

Pavel paled slightly in the darkness so that Remo noticed. "He knew my name. He spoke it. How could he know this? No one knows I am here. Not even my superiors." His voice was unsteady. "He can read minds, perhaps?"

Remo didn't know the answer to that. Chiun believed that the alien was genuine, and connected to Sinanju. Chiun wasn't always right, but Remo had never known him to make a mistake where Sinanju was concerned. Maybe he could read minds.

"You said something about your superiors," Remo said suddenly. "Who?"

"I cannot tell you that," Pavel insisted.

"Yes, you can. You just need incentive. Incentive is an American idea, but I'll be glad to show you how it works."

Remo took Pavel Zarnitsa by the left earlobe and squeezed. It looked as if Remo were just being playful, but then the Russian's expression warped like heated wax, and his knees buckled. Remo lifted, and the Russian obligingly stood on tiptoe. He did not fight, even though his hands were free.

Instead, he said, "Oooch! Yow! Oooch!" several times very fast, and finished by admitting, "KGB! I am KGB!"

"What else?"

"I am not in your beautiful country to spy on you. I am here to keep an eye on Russians. I like America. Honestly. My favorite American food is tacos."

Remo squeezed harder.

"I read about your missiles, so I come here to see what trouble you are having. I learn enough to come here, and to know that what is happening is not good. Not good for Russians or Americans. So you see, we are on the same side, no?"

Remo let Pavel loose, knowing he had been telling the truth.

"We are on the same side, definitely no," Remo said. He walked over to the body of Thad Screiber, which lay blackened and singed on the ground. Remo forced his pupils to dilate so he could see the dead man's face in the darkness. Somewhere a bird called twice.

"Know this guy?" Remo asked Pavel.

"No. But they said he was a reporter who learned too much. The spaceman zipped him."

"Did what?"

"Zipped him," Pavel repeated. "Like in your science fiction movies. There was a beam of blue light. Then he fell over dead. Look. There will be a hole."

Remo looked. The hole was there. Not large, but it went clean through. The wound was even cauterized. Some kind of death beam, Remo realized.

"He got zapped, all right," Remo admitted. He found a wallet on the body, which identified him as Thad Screiber, of Northfield, Minnesota. Other than that, Remo could learn nothing about him. There was no indication that he belonged to the Oklahoma City chapter of FOES. Or any other chapter, for that matter. That probably meant he was what he had claimed to be, a reporter.

* * *

Remo found Chiun inside the farmhouse. There was a body there, too. A woman's.

"She was one of them," Chiun said.

"Yeah, I recognize her," Remo said. "She was the one the blonde shot by accident that first time when she tried to shoot me. Looks like they dragged her back here, and she died."

"The body is still warm," Chiun said. "Had they sought medical attention, she might have been saved."

"Anyway, we've got to find what's left of the group before they do more damage. The question is, where do we look?"

"Look at maps," Pavel suggested.

"What maps?" Remo demanded.

"Any maps. They always leave maps around. They are very careless. This is how I know to come here. They left a map in their office. They left names and addresses. Perhaps they do the same here."

"I was in that office twice and didn't find anything," Remo said.

Pavel shrugged his shoulders in time with his eyebrows. "You are not properly trained."

"You are smart for a stupid Russian," Chiun remarked.

Remo gave them both a look, but he searched the place anyway. The trouble was that he didn't know what he was looking for. He never had been much good at this sort of thing. It was a lot easier when Smith did all the rooting around and just told Remo who the hit was, what he looked like and where to find him.

As a consequence of his preoccupation, Remo found nothing and said so.

"There's nothing here."

"Now I will try," Pavel Zarnitsa offered. He ignored every area Remo had already checked, simply because he had watched Remo go through the house and knew there was nothing of worth to be found in those places. Remo had been looking for hidden materials. Pavel knew that the FOES group did not hide things. They were not that well-trained or that smart. Consequently, they had outsmarted Remo.

"Here," Pavel said, returning from the kitchen. He had a notepad on which someone had been doodling. In among the doodles were two words, "Broken Arrow."

Remo read the pad. "Doesn't mean anything to me. Better call Smith."

"Who's Smith?" Pavel asked.

The look Remo and Chiun gave him made Pavel wish very, very much that he had not asked that question.

"I will wait in the next room while you talk," Pavel offered.

Despite the late hour, Remo got Smith immediately. Remo rattled off the events of the evening as fast as he could. "The only clue we found," he finished, "is a notepad. Someone wrote Broken Arrow on it."

"Anything else?" Smith asked.

"No. It's stuck in the middle of some doodles, but they aren't anything."

"Broken Arrow is a code designation for a serious nuclear accident," Smith said. "The code for a lesser incident is Bent Spear."

"Then it's just someone scribbling on a notepad," Remo suggested.

"There's also a town named Broken Arrow in Oklahoma. Near Tulsa, I think."

"Then we'd better check it out," Remo said.

"No. You told me you overheard the individual called the World Master issue instructions to place the warhead in Oklahoma City for detonation. You must go there first. Finding that device is everything now, Remo. The newspapers know about the Titan accident now."

"I thought they already did," Remo said.

"They had rumors. But I just had information that the New York Times is about to break an eyewitness account of the missile salvage operation. Evidently, a reporter named..." Smith paused and Remo heard a rustle of papers."... Thad Screiber managed to get close to the operation. I don't know where he fits in."

"He doesn't anymore," Remo said. "He's here. Dead. They killed him."

"That may be good," Smith decided. "If this whole story gets out, it will galvanize the antinuclear people. They're apt to go overboard and demand we dismantle our defensive missile program."

"Yeah. Well, that's your worry, Smitty. I'm going to have my hands full finding that warhead and handling Chiun at the same time." Remo lowered his voice and glanced sideways at Chiun, who was peeking into the next room to make sure the Russian wasn't eavesdropping. "Chiun is convinced this World Master had something to do with his ancestors. It's too complicated to explain now, but Chiun wants to be friends with him."

"Chiun believes this person is what he claims to be?"

"Yeah. Maybe I do, too. I don't know. But I do know if it comes down to a choice between Oklahoma City and not antagonizing him, I'd get ready to order a new set of wall maps."

"Hmmm," Smith mused. "Perhaps I'd better recall Chiun to Folcroft. Tell him the sun is setting in the east."

"Huh? It's not—"

"That's the code for him to return on his own."

"Oh," Remo said. "Hey, Chiun, Smith says to tell you that the sun is setting in the east."

"Tell Emperor Smith he does not have to worry," Chiun called back. "The Master of Sinanju will return when he has finished the Emperor's business."

"You heard him," Remo told Smith. "He's not budging."

"Very well," Smith said grimly. "I'm going to count on you, Remo. You must not fail. Locate the warhead and inform me immediately. I'll take care of the rest."

"What about this Russian?"

"Did you get his name?"

"No. Never thought to ask," Remo said. He called into the next room. "Hey, buddy, you got a name?"

"Ivan Vobla," Pavel called back.

"His name is Pavel Zarnitsa," Chiun spat. "I heard him called that."

"Yeah, that's right," Remo said. "This World Master recognized him right off. Called him by name. He can't figure it out himself. He keeps babbling about it."

"Remo, are you sure?" Smith demanded.

"Yeah, I am. Why?"

"I don't know," Smith said slowly. "Let me check my files." There was a pause while Smith called up some information on his computer.

"Yes, I do have a Pavel Zarnitsa. KGB. Currently stationed in New York City to monitor Russian employees working for Aeroflot. Extremely few people know he is in America..."

"So what do I do with him?"

"I don't know where he fits in, but hold on to him. Better yet, tell Chiun that he is responsible for Zarnitsa. That may keep him from interfering with your movements."

Remo looked over and saw Chiun and the Russian giving each other looks of mutual dislike.

"I'm sure they're both going to be very happy with your decision," Remo said before he hung up.

?Chapter Fifteen

Amanda Bull was beginning to wonder. She had had questions before, but the World Master had always answered them, and the answers had always dispelled her worries. She had had doubts before, but they were little doubts, and they always went away when she stopped thinking of them.

They didn't go away this time.

All during the ride back to Oklahoma City, she had questions and doubts. She could understand that there might be a reason for the World Master's spacecraft to suddenly disintegrate. A malfunction, for instance. Unavoidable, perhaps. She could understand the need to evacuate everyone. There was the danger from Remo, and then the strange man with the gun and the thick accent. Who had he been? And why did the World Master shout that he had ruined everything? There were probably answers to those questions, too. Good, sensible, logical answers. Of that, Amanda had little doubt.

What really disturbed Amanda did not strike her until after she and the rest of the Preparation Group had been led from the burning barn by the World Master himself. He had seemingly materialized out of the sparks and flames and smoke to take Amanda's hand and lead her out of the blaze through a hole between two boards. The others had followed while Remo and the Oriental were trying to escape themselves. It had been dark, and no one could see very clearly. Except the World Master. It had been he who made them all link hands and who led them to the waiting van. It had been he who had ordered the others to take the van, while pushing himself and Amanda into that reporter's car, which was parked nearby, and instructed them all to drive as fast as possible to Oklahoma City. All that made sense, and so Amanda followed orders as she always did.

But what was strange, and what did not hit home until they were on the road and clearly going to escape pursuit, was that the World Master seemed to have no trouble breathing in the Earth's atmosphere.

Amanda looked into the rearview mirror for the sixth time. Even in the darkness of a country road she could see that the individual who occupied the rear seat of the car was not wearing a helmet of any kind. He didn't have a breathing mask, either. That was clear. As for the face of the World Master, it had frightened Amanda horribly the first time she had looked into the mirror, and she almost lost control of the car. But, as if she were at a freak show, she couldn't resist another look, and then still another, until the shadowy face hovering behind her in the dark seemed like an image out of a horror movie— scary, but familiar.

"Can— can you breathe okay?" Amanda asked.

The voice that answered was no longer thin and high, but a sinister baritone. It said:

"Be silent, stupid woman. You have failed miserably."

"But... I tried," Amanda wailed.

"And failed. There is no excuse. I should not have entrusted such responsibility to a mere woman."

"Mere... But you said that—"

"I said be silent!"

And Amanda began to cry.

* * *

"Stop this vehicle, Remo," the Master of Sinanju demanded.

"Now? Chiun, we've got to catch these people before they get to the city."

"I no longer wish to sit back here with this Russian pervert," Chiun spat.

"Then climb over the seat."

"I will not climb over the seat like a child. Stop this car so that one may change his seat with dignity."

Remo braked the car. Chiun, gathering his robes about him, stepped out of the back and took the seat next to Remo, who got going again.

"Oklahoma City is about to be blown to chalk dust, and you have to change seats," Remo complained.

Chiun sniffed. "Emperor Smith may have entrusted this Russian prisoner to my keeping, but that does not mean I am forced to listen to a recitation of his filthy habits."

"What filthy habits?" Remo asked, eyeing Pavel Zarnitsa in the rearview mirror. Zarnitsa looked sheepish sitting all by himself.

"His filthy eating habits," Chiun told him.

Pavel, hearing this, leaned forward eagerly and protested. "I have not filthy habits," he insisted. "I was simply discussing my appreciation for that wonderful American delicacy, the taco."

Chiun made a disgusted noise.

"Tacos?" Remo said in surprise.

"Yes, they are some horrible food made with meat and spices," Chiun explained to Remo.

"I know what they are," Remo said. "I just never heard anyone call them a delicacy before."

"Well, they are not. And if this Russian's description is accurate, they are not even food." Chiun lowered his voice. "He told me that when he eats one, his nose runs and his stomach burns. He told me those were the reasons he likes to eat them," Chiun confided.

"I am hungry," Pavel complained. "If we find the warhead soon, could we stop for tacos?"

"I will kill this Russian before I will allow myself to be a witness to his perverted acts," Chiun said loudly enough for Pavel to hear.

The sun began to rise, flooding the eastern sky with hot red light. It was a pretty sight, but it made Remo think of a nuclear explosion in slow motion, so he drove faster.

* * *

The truck with the warhead was where it was supposed to be. Parked in front of FOES headquarters, it might have been any unmarked delivery van except for the black blots on each side where the nuclear radiation symbols had been painted out.

The two people who had driven the weapon-carrying van jumped out of the truck with relief when Amanda and the others joined them.

"We've got trouble," Amanda told them both in a grim voice. "The World Master says to ditch the FOES van somewhere. Anywhere. It's known."

The driver nodded and took the van down the street, and came back on foot several minutes later.

"Good," Amanda said. "Now everyone get inside and wait in the office."

Amanda got back into the car, biting her lip. It was growing light now, and the air had that early morning coolness that Amanda loved as a child but hardly ever experienced anymore.

"They still accept your orders. Good," the World Master said.

Amanda did not face him. Instead, she spoke with her face averted, as if to deny his existence at the same time that she held a conversation with him.

"That Remo will be following us," Amanda said.

"Yes. He is dangerous. Very dangerous. The old Oriental is not. He believes whatever I tell him. But we must deal with this Remo for our plan to succeed."

"You— you still intend to detonate the warhead," Amanda said flatly.

"It is the only way now. For the American people to be made to call for the removal of all nuclear weapons, it will take an unforgettable demonstration. This will take time. I cannot activate the warhead without time and tools."

"Broken Arrow?" Amanda asked, holding back tears.

"Yes, the location I have told you about. It is fortunate that I had prepared this place for an emergency such as this. You know where it will be found from the description I gave you. Order the others to drive the warhead to that location."

"What— what about me?"

"You will remain here, waiting. This Remo will arrive soon. It will be your job to let him locate you. Once that is done, you will convince him that the warhead is in this city and that you will lead him to it. When he is off his guard, you will kill him. Are these instructions clear to you, Preparation Group Leader Bull?"

The voice, so different from the one Amanda had been used to taking orders from, sounded macabre and cynical asking that question. But Amanda answered as she always had.

"Yes, I understand that part. What about the Oriental?"

"Kill him, too."

"That man who said he was claiming your ship for his government— the one with the accent. What about him?" Amanda asked woodenly.

The World Master paused for so long before he answered that Amanda was about to repeat the question.

"If Pavel Zarnitsa is with them, then he must die, too. For he may have ruined everything."

?Chapter Sixteen

It was all up to her now, Amanda told herself as she stared out the window of FOES headquarters and watched the van carrying the warhead disappear from sight. She felt ill, and the illness was nothing less than a raw fear, but she steeled herself. There were doubts and questions in her mind. There were things that didn't add up anymore, and seemed as if they could never add up. It was possible that the World Master had lied to her about certain things— lied to them all, in fact. There was no escaping that.

But he was still the World Master, Amanda believed. He was still the emissary of a wonderful civilization from far beyond the stars, come to bring peace to this war-torn planet. If he had lied at times, or if his methods seemed harsh, then it was only because his goal was so important. It was justifiable, Amanda told herself. Yes, when it came to saving the Earth from self-destruction, then the end truly justified the means.

Even if that meant obliterating Oklahoma City when the time came.

She had been foolish to doubt the World Master. Why, hadn't he told her that he would be leaving for his Broken Arrow headquarters by himself? Through a method of travel that didn't involve cars or any other vehicles? Yes, that was what he had said. And there on the street below sat the car in which Amanda had left him sitting. See? He didn't need it to get where he was going.

"Teleportation," Amanda said aloud. "I'll bet he's going by teleportation. Sure! If they can do it on 'Star Trek,' they can do it on—"

Amanda's voice choked off. Below, the huddled figure of the World Master surreptitiously left the back of the car and slipped into the driver's seat.

The car left the curb, dragging a long worm of exhaust in its trail.

* * *

"If you don't know where to look," Pavel Zarnitsa was saying, "how are you going to find the nuclear device before it goes off?"

"I know where to look," Remo said, as they drove through the streets of Oklahoma City. "It's somewhere in this town."

"This is not a small place," Pavel pointed out.

"We'll find it," Remo insisted.

"How?" Chiun whispered to him. "We'll find it," Remo repeated unconvincingly.

"Try the ENEMIES office," Chiun suggested.

"FOES. Not ENEMIES. FOES."

Chiun shrugged. "There is a difference?"

Remo parked in front of the Stigman Building, where the offices of the Flying Object Evaluation Center were. He was tired of visiting the place, and it was probably a waste of time, but he had no other logical place to look for a warhead. As the Russian had rightly said, Oklahoma City was a big place.

"You stay here with him, Chiun," Remo said, indicating the Russian.

"Yes," Chiun agreed. "I will protect this vehicle. With his taste, this one may attempt to eat the seats."

Remo went up the steps to the office. Before he opened the door, his sensitive nostrils detected an odor familiar to him. A human odor that was a distinctive blend of soap and shampoo mingled with perspiration, which itself was distinctive because it was the product of an individual's unique physiological makeup and dietary habits.

The blonde. Amanda Bull.

Remo eased the door open. The room beyond was empty. With a supple grace, he worked his way through the crack in the door and closed it soundlessly. The door leading to the inner office was ajar. Remo made for it. He might have been a wisp of cigarette smoke floating through the room for all the sound he made.

Amanda Bull was waiting for him.

"Oh," she said. "You surprised me." Her voice sounded odd. Remo couldn't tell why at first, then it came to him. She wasn't using her I'm-the-boss-here-and-you-better-know-it voice. She was acting.

"Yeah, I do that a lot," Remo told her, looking for weapons. Her hands were empty, but she stood with her right hand against her hip and slightly back. It was not calm, nor did it exhibit any of the expected nervous habits people showed with their hands. It hovered. There was a weapon at the small of her back.

"Well, I guess you got me," Amanda said.

"Guess so." Remo got to within a few paces of her.

"Uh... I suppose you want to know where it is?" Amanda said.

"That's right," Remo said quietly.

"It's here— in Oklahoma City, that is. Hidden where no one can find it."

"Except you?" Remo suggested.

"Yes, except me. I guess I'll have to take you to it."

"Good idea," Remo said. "Why don't you lead the way?"

Amanda began to lead Remo to the door, but Remo caught her elbow and, using his own body as a pivot, swept her half around and pushed her back against the desk. She hit the edge of the desk with the small of her back and said, "Oof," when the impact forced the air from her lungs.

Remo was against her body before she could react, his left arm catching her right, and his right hand found the gun holstered at the small of her back. He felt it, threw the safety to the "on" position but left it there.

"What... what are you doing?" Amanda demanded hotly.

Remo didn't answer. His deep eyes gazed into her gray ones, and Amanda felt a shiver course through her body that was less one of fear than it was a sexual reflex. She had never felt anything like the electricity that seemed to jump from Remo's finger to her body. Involuntarily, her breathing increased.

Remo's lips found hers before she could protest— if in fact she intended to protest. His tongue darted out and, closing her eyes, Amanda's mouth yielded, tasted, and replied in kind.

Amanda felt the hard fingers brush her swaying body through the material of her black jumpsuit. The fingers were hard like the blunt noses of bullets, yet they touched and kneaded her with just the right combination of strength and gentleness.

Not thinking of anything but those fingers, Amanda let herself sink back into the desk top, where Remo's fingers worked her wrists until she felt her pulse quicken. Then Remo's manipulations became a long, delicious blur in Amanda Bull's mind until she felt the front zipper of her jumpsuit ease down. And then Remo was inside her, exciting her, pleasing her, questioning her.

"The warhead," Remo asked through the white noise of her pleasure. "Where is it really?"

"Aahhh... later," Amanda moaned.

"Now, or I'll stop."

"Uhh— no, don't stop! Please don't stop. Feels... good."

"Only good?" Remo asked.

"Meant great— feels great!"

"There's a lot more to come," Remo said, "but only if you answer the question." Remo paused for a fraction of a second, which caused Amanda to grab him violently and begin grinding her body against his frantically.

"No! I'll tell!" Amanda cried. "It's at Broken Arrow. In an oil field."

"Where exactly?" Remo asked, resuming his rhythms.

"Off highway— uhh— Broken Arrow Expressway—"

"The rest of them there?"

"Oohh— oow, yes! Yes, yes! Yessss." But Amanda was no longer answering the question. She was shuddering in the first real climax of her life and was oblivious to everything but the response of her body to that climax.

She was still breathing heavily when she finally opened her eyes and saw Remo Williams standing there with a bored expression on his face, his clothes already replaced.

Amanda zipped up hastily before she got back on her feet.

"It— it was never like that before," she said foolishly.

Remo nodded.

"I told you everything, didn't I?"

Remo nodded again. The disinterest on his dead features was plain. He had used her, Amanda realized. He had given her pleasure such as she had never before experienced— sexual bliss that left her still trembling— but it meant nothing to him.

Amanda screamed. "You bastard!" And she pulled her pistol from the small of her back, aimed once, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Check the safety," Remo said coolly, a spark of humor in the shadows that were his eyes.

The safety was on, Amanda saw. She tried to thumb it off, but it wouldn't budge. She tried again, this time breaking her thumbnail.

"I jammed it," Remo told her. "You'll never get it loose."

"You bastard!" Amanda screeched again, and threw the weapon.

Remo weaved on his feet, and the useless pistol looked as if it had gone out of its way to avoid hitting him, rather than vice versa.

Amanda Bull tore out of the office, sobbing. Remo counted the number of photographs of flying saucers on the walls, and didn't leave until he got to 67.

"You let the woman escape?" Chiun asked when Remo rejoined him in the waiting car.

"Yeah," Remo replied. "She told me where the warhead really is, but I figured if I let her go, she'd try to warn the others and lead us to it quicker than if I tried to follow her directions."

Remo coasted down the street slowly.

"She went left," Chiun directed.

Remo steered the car to the left. There was no sign of Amanda Bull, but then a brown van pulled onto the street ahead, and Remo recognized its custom body. It was the official FOES van, which Amanda had retrieved from where it had been ditched earlier.

"We have them, no?" Pavel asked.

"Let's hope," Remo said.

"Where is she going?" Pavel wanted to know.

"Place is called Broken Arrow," Remo told him.

"Broken Arrow? See? I was right. I have helped you, but you wouldn't listen," Zarnitsa said.

"I'm not listening now," Remo said.

?Chapter Seventeen

When the Homestead Act opened up Oklahoma in the last century, the area called Broken Arrow had boasted of only two natural features: osage and Indians. Then the homesteaders came and started their cattle ranches and farms. Neither the osage nor the Indians vanished. They just sort of blended into the background. Broken Arrow had been a good place to raise beef. There was plenty of wide-open space and it was a short trek to nearby Tulsa, where cattle could be sold or shipped by rail to the hungry East.

By all rights, Broken Arrow should still be that way, and it would be if the cattlemen hadn't found the land bad for farming. It was bad all around. In time, the cattlemen sold off their land and tried again in Arizona or Wyoming. Others, not as young or perhaps more stubborn, stayed on and were still there when the first oil was struck. But not many of them. So few, in fact, that even the Indians got to share in the oil boom. And so what was once cattle-grazing territory vibrated to the chug and creak of the oil derrick.

By all rights, Broken Arrow should have remained a booming oil town, but even that did not last, as more of the black stuff was pumped out of the ground to be shipped to the oil-hungry East. While the wells did not always run dry, the ability of men to pump all of the oil out of the ground was not absolute. And so, one by one, some of the oil fields were shut down, not for lack of product, but because the oil lay so far underground, it could not be tapped.

The building stood in the middle of one of these abandoned fields, among the silent and forgotten spidery towers and pipelines and the overpowering smell of crude. It didn't belong there, but then it looked as if it didn't belong anywhere.

For one thing, it was blue— except for the door, which was a simple white panel on one side. There were no windows or any other ordinary features. In fact, there were no sides in the true sense because the structure was built along the lines of an Eskimo igloo and looked vaguely like a giant seashell lying on its side. But even that didn't describe the thing accurately.

It was unusual enough that Amanda recognized it for what it was immediately even though she had not been given a description of the World Master's emergency retreat, just its general location.

Amanda pulled the van off the road and walked through the scrub oak until she got to the white door. There was no sign of any other vehicle, which struck her as peculiar even in her present state, which was one of high agitation.

The door slid aside as soon as she got near it, and she entered the structure. It was dark inside. The walls felt smooth to her touch, like the bottom of a Teflon-coated frying pan. Amanda followed the wall.

"Stop, Amanda Bull," the baritone voice of the individual Amanda knew only as the World Master said. "You have come far enough. Report your success."

"I— I can't," Amanda said in the gloom. "I tried... oh, honestly, I tried. But everything went... wrong. Everything has been going wrong all along."

"Cease crying. Continue."

Amanda swallowed. Somehow the darkness made her feel worse than she had been feeling. It seemed to enwrap her.

"I told him the warhead was in the city, but— he tricked me. He found out the truth. I couldn't kill him— I tried to, but I couldn't— but I got away. I managed to get away somehow."

"I expected that," the voice intoned.

"You did?"

"Of course. You were no match for this Remo. I expected him to lead or follow you here. This is where I will defeat him, for this place is designed to defeat any intruder."

"What about the warhead? Where is it?"

"The warhead has been activated and positioned. It will detonate in the city of Tulsa within three hours."

"Good, I guess," Amanda said sickly. "What about the others? Are they here?"

"Their usefulness has been fulfilled. Preparation Group Two has been rewarded. Just as Preparation Group One was..."

"Dead?" Amanda asked weakly. "All of them?"

"All that remains is their brave leader," the World Master said ironically. And he laughed like a ghoul.

* * *

Remo waited for Amanda to disappear into the strange blue structure before he left the car, which he had parked in the early morning sunlight at the edge of the abandoned oil field.

"I am coming," Chiun said, stepping out of the car, too.

"No," Remo said. "You've got to stay with the Russian. Smith's orders, remember?"

Chiun shook his head firmly. "Emperor Smith's orders are that I am responsible for him. That does not mean I am to be his babysitter."

"We can't take him with us," Remo said. He was worried that Chiun might complicate matters when it came to a showdown with the World Master.

"We will lock him in the trunk," Chiun said, dragging Pavel Zarnitsa out of the back seat.

"I protest," Pavel said.

"Me, too," Remo said. "He might escape."

"Then I will incapacitate his legs so he cannot escape," Chiun returned. "It is important that I accompany you, Remo. I have unfinished business."

"That's what I was afraid of," Remo grumbled. He turned to the Russian. "What'll it be? The trunk or your kneecaps?"

"I think I will be very comfortable in the trunk," Pavel said through a forced smile as they put him in the trunk.

There wasn't much cover near the round building. Remo and Chiun moved along the oil rigs until they were as close as they could get without being exposed. Remo, seeing no activity, began to move forward.

"Wait," said Chiun. "It is a maze. I recognize the form."

"So?" said Remo. "There's the door, and I don't see any guards. Let's rush it."

"Yes," Chiun snapped. "Let us rush the door. Let us blunder to our deaths now, while there is still daylight. Why should we wait and carefully plan our attack when we can go impatiently to our deaths and end this terrible suspense?"

"All right, all right," Remo said. "I'm listening."

Chiun sat down amid the wild grass and placidly waited until Remo, heaving a sigh of exasperation, sat beside him. Chiun gestured toward the blue building.

"Behold this structure, Remo," he said. "What does it say to you?"

"Say? It doesn't say anything."

"Wrong. Nothing in the universe is silent. All things have voices." Chiun pulled a long blade of grass from the earth and held it up so that Remo could see its roots. "This lowly blade of grass speaks to me. By the lack of dirt in its roots and by its yellow color, it tells me that if I had not plucked it and put it out of its misery, it would have withered away painfully."

"So?" Remo looked around him. The thought had occurred to him that this might be a grazing area and he hoped he hadn't stepped or sat in anything unpleasant.

"So this, dull one. That structure, by its very form, tells me that it is a maze designed to create difficulties for any who enter it. For it is a snail maze. There is only one entrance, one exit and one path, which winds around itself and ends in a central chamber."

"That doesn't sound like a maze to me," Remo said doubtfully. "A maze has a lot of passages and blind turns and things like that."

"That is a Western maze. A confused pattern designed by confused minds to confuse minds even more confused than they."

"Huh?" said Remo, who was suddenly confused himself.

"See?" smiled the Master of Sinanju, having proven his point by example. "A snail maze is an Eastern maze. Even the Russian would have recognized it. Now this is a pure maze. It is designed to force an intruder along a certain path, which is a spiral. The spiral path slows down the intruder so that he falls victim to traps or interception. Because there is no direct path, the intruder cannot by accident find a short cut. To one who is allowed safe passage or who knows the key, entrance is a simple matter. To intruders, it is often fatal."

"I think I get it," Remo said. "This maze is designed to protect the man in its center."

"Yes. It is he who controls the traps set along the path."

"The World Master," Remo said. "He's probably got the warhead in that central chamber, too. Little Father, you know it is important to recover that warhead."

Chiun nodded.

"It may be that we will have to fight this World Master..." Remo said hesitantly.

Chiun looked momentarily uncomfortable. "Once," he said, "there was a Master named Huk, who was summoned to the court of a king of Assyria."

"Come on, Chiun," Remo interrupted. "We're wide open here. Do we have to go into a legend now?"

"No, insolent one. We can squander the lesson of Huk, if your American genius has enabled you to understand what lies within the snail maze."

Remo folded his arms and was silent.

"Now, this king of Assyria was greatly worried. For he had heard rumors that a neighboring king was preparing to make war against him. A great warrior was the Assyrian king, and he possessed a mighty army which feared no enemy. But the reputation of this enemy king was great, for none had ever seen him, and it was rumored that he was not like other men. This king lived in a fortress composed of seven concentric rings surrounding his throne room. Each ring had its own guards, and each ring had a single advisor who controlled his ring. When someone wished to bring a message to this king, it was first given to the advisor who controlled the outermost ring, who passed the message to the next ring, until it had gone through all seven rings. Only the advisor of the innermost ring was allowed to deal directly with this king. For beheading was the penalty for any who set eyes upon him. Only he knew what his king looked like, and it was from him that the rumors about the king came. And these tales likewise passed through the ring until when they reached the ears of the king's subjects, they made the king seem to be more like a god than a man.

"Great legends grew up around this king whom no one saw. That he was eight feet tall with skin the color and hardness of bronze. Some said he possessed three eyes, and the third eye could burn the life from any living thing. Others told that this king had four arms, each of which could wield any weapon with skill. It was also said that this king sometimes walked among his subjects unseen, for he knew the secret of invisibility, and all manner of strange happenings in his kingdom were explained in that way.

"Now, these stories were told to Huk, whom the Assyrian king had contracted to penetrate the enemy king's fortress and dispose of him there, thus ending the threat of war. The Master Huk then journeyed to this fortress, which was in the land of the Medes, and on that journey, he thought long on the legends surrounding this king. Thus, by the time he stood before that fortress, he was frightened, for in truth he knew not what to expect beyond those walls. Not knowing which of the many powers this king actually possessed, he had to prepare to fight someone who possessed all of those powers. And not even the Master of Sinanju might prevail against such a one as described.

"But the Master entered the fortress and dispatched the advisor and guards of the first ring. Then he passed into the second ring, whose guards were better trained. And these he vanquished, too. The third ring was more difficult still, but Huk prevailed.

"Ring after ring the Master Huk passed through, each one more difficult than the last, until he at last came to the seventh ring, tired and wary. When he had vanquished the guards of the seventh ring, he captured its advisor, the one who alone was privileged to meet directly with the king. And outside the very throne room itself, Huk demanded of this advisor, 'What manner of being lies beyond this door?'

"And this man replied in this way, 'Beyond this door lies a man unlike any other.' And that was all the advisor would say, so Huk dispatched him and prepared to enter the throne room. And he trembled, for the unknown lay waiting for him, and while the Master of Sinanju fears nothing that he knows, only a fool does not fear what is not known. Remember this, Remo, for it is important.

"Putting aside his fear, Huk entered the throne room, where he found the king seated upon his throne. At first, he could not believe his sight and demanded, 'Are you the king I have come to slay?'

"And the king— for it was he— said to him, 'I am king of this land. But please do not harm me, for I am no match for you.'

"This caused the Master of Sinanju to laugh, for the king's words were true. The king was a mere dwarf whose limbs were twisted by deformity. And Huk knew then that his fears were groundless and caused by legends deliberately created by the king and his advisors, who had concealed the truth through cunning methods so that this king would be obeyed by his awestruck subjects, who would otherwise have deposed him. And so, laughing at his own fears, Huk dragged this drawf king out of his fortress and exposed him for all to see."

"Then he let him go?" Remo asked.

"No. Then he slew him in front of his subjects as a warning to any who would dare attack Assyria."

"Oh," said Remo, who knew there was a point to their story but couldn't see it. "That fortress was a snail maze, right?"

"Wrong."

"But the way Huk got to the throne room applies to the snail maze?"

"Oh, Remo, you are hopeless. That has nothing to do with it."

Remo looked perplexed. Finally, he said, "I give up. What's the point?"

Chiun stood up abruptly. "Never mind," he said peevishly. "I have wasted a good legend. So be it. You will learn the lesson of Huk the hard way."

Remo got to his feet. Why couldn't Chiun just come out and make his points in plain English? Sometimes these legends could be a royal pain.

"Okay, how are we going to take this snail maze?" Remo asked.

Chiun looked toward the maze, measured a distance from the single white door to a point directly north of it with his eyes, and walked toward that point. Remo followed.

"The snail maze can be breached," Chiun was saying, "and because of that possibility, there is always an escape tunnel which leads from the center to the outside. It is always a prescribed distance north... ah, here." He upended a flat boulder, disclosing a dark hole. "This tunnel will be a straight line longer than the spiral path, but it will be guarded at its other end, Remo."

"Yeah?"

"One of us must take the snail maze to keep this Hopak Kay busy. The other will go by the tunnel."

"Wanna flip for it?" Remo suggested.

"No," Chiun said. "I do not. I will let you take the snail maze because you can learn from it. Remember that there are traps along the way. The rest you must discover for yourself."

"Okay, Little Father," Remo said, moving off. "Last one in has to cook tonight."

* * *

Pavel Zarnitsa had read in Izvestia that American cars were badly made in comparison to the Russian Volga. After ten minutes of trying to spring the trunk lid lock, he was beginning to wonder. It seemed awfully sturdy. The hinges were strong, too, so he gave up on those, as well.

It might have been better to stay put, but the American and the Korean were obviously agents for the United States government, who would not treat a compromised KGB agent with the same politeness given to Russian dignitaries found stealing military secrets. It would be prison, not expulsion, for Pavel Zarnitsa.

So Pavel tried another tack. He tore at the carpeting that separated the trunk space from the back of the rear seat. It came loose. Behind it was a partition, which also came loose and exposed the back seat itself. When this was forced, there was a clear opening into the back seat.

Pavel crawled out of the trunk and stepped from the car. He was free, but he had no intention of running. There was still the matter of the strange creature from another world who had called him by name. Pavel Zarnitsa intended to solve that mystery.

* * *

The white door opened automatically for Remo when he approached it. He could sense the remote cameras watching his every move. He stepped into the blue building, and the door closed after him.

Remo found himself in a curving corridor, white and smooth and winding to his left. He began to walk. Light came from indirect ceiling panels. There seemed to be no danger. In fact, the curving corridor reminded him a little of walking through a fun house back in Palisades Amusement Park, where his orphanage had once been taken on an outing. He had only gone a few feet when he noticed that the natural curve of the path prevented him from seeing more than a few feet ahead or behind him. More disturbingly, he realized that the path was forcing him to move along a continuous outside line. In Sinanju, there were two forms of attack— the outside attack, which was a circle, and the inside attack, which was a line. Remo realized then that any attack would come from ahead or behind, and from the right outer wall, where an inside attack would be the only defense.

The first attack came from the right. Three knives rammed out of the wall at knee level to cripple his legs. But Remo caught the preliminary sound of a concealing panel flopping back and reversed himself in time. The knives embedded themselves in the opposite wall.

Remo walked on.

The second attack came when Remo began to feel himself favor his left, even though he knew that side was probably safe. He tried to avoid hugging the wall, but the spiral path wouldn't let him. It had started to tilt slightly to the left so Remo had to walk that way, as if one of his legs was shorter than the other.

Then a ball of flame appeared at his back, forcing Remo forward. He ran, aware that the flame might be more of a prod than a direct threat. And because of that awareness, he did not crash headlong into the almost invisible pane of glass, which, had he struck it, would have shattered into dangerous razorlike shards.

Remo found the edges of the pane and scored it using one very short but hard fingernail. A kick sent the pane to the ground, where it broke harmlessly on the floor. Chiun would have liked that.

Remo continued on with more confidence— or perhaps because the spiral shrank as it got closer to the center, he found himself moving faster. He tried to slow down, but when everything in two directions seemed to curve into infinity, judging distance and speed became difficult.

Remo heard the next obstacle before he saw it. Someone moaned just ahead. Putting his back to the left wall, he inched sideways toward the sound so he'd be less of a target.

Amanda Bull lay on her back in a pool of blood. Remo knelt beside her, and she opened her eyes.

Amanda coughed a bubble of blood. "Tricked..." she gasped. "He tricked me. Tricked all of us."

"Where are the others?" Remo asked.

"Dead... all... dead..."

"The warhead— do you know where I can find it?"

"Tulsa," Amanda said with effort. "In truck. Will go off... three hours. Look— look for plain truck with blotches of paint on sides. Find—"

"Easy," Remo told her.

"He— shot— me," Amanda continued, her gray eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I... trusted him and he shot me... I was such a jerk. Believing a man."

Then she died.

"That's the biz, sweetheart," Remo said and moved on. "They should have drowned you at birth."

* * *

The Master of Sinanju was almost there. The tunnel was damp and cool, and he could feel it in his bones despite his robes. Ahead, chinks of light indicated a door not properly fitted. That light had been the only illumination in the blackness of the tunnel.

Chiun paused to listen. He heard nothing ahead of him, but after a space, he heard slow footsteps behind him. Not Remo. The Russian. He had escaped and followed the Master of Sinanju.

Chiun, all but invisible in the darkness, pushed himself against the earthen side of the tunnel and allowed the Russian to pass by him. Let the Russian blunder through the door on his own, if that was his wish. If he was not killed immediately, then Chiun would know that it was safe to proceed.

* * *

Seeing the old Korean disappear into the ground several hundred yards from the odd-shaped building, Pavel Zarnitsa naturally assumed that Chiun and Remo had both gone into the tunnel. He waited briefly, then entered the tunnel. The Americans would blaze the trail for him so he could safely follow.

The tunnel was black as a Politburo limousine, and Pavel was forced to feel his way along the walls, which seemed to go on forever until the vague outline of a door showed ahead. There was no sign of the two Americans. Good. They had already gone in. Now Pavel Zarnitsa would go in, too.

He put his shoulder to the yielding door.

The room was circular. Fluorescent lights flickered bluely from the ceiling, which gave the room something of the aspect of a hospital operating room. Or a morgue.

There was a small control console opposite the place where Pavel found himself. A figure was seated at that console, watching a television screen on which Remo Williams could be seen moving down a winding corridor. The figure was dressed in a long purple garment something like a monk's cassock but without the cowl. Above its collar rose the figure's head, which was a pinkish bulb twice the size of a human's and the color of the inside of someone's eyelid. Pavel could not see the World Master's face, who sat with his back to the Russian, but he did see the twin sets of spindly arms hanging uselessly from the armholes of the purple garment.

Two other arms— human ones— projected from the front of the garment to manipulate the console buttons.

Pavel eased forward, trying to make no sound. But he made a sound.

The World Master turned in his chair, causing his false arms to rattle like kindling. But Pavel wasn't thinking of them, or of the unearthly face that now faced his own. He was thinking of the familiar baritone voice that came from the slit mouth beneath the single fisheye set in the center of the World Master's pink face.

"Pavel! You fool. You stupid fool— you do not belong here!"

"Chuzhoi!" Pavel croaked incredulously. "What is this? What—"

"Idiot," the expressionless face said. "You have stumbled upon a GRU operation. The greatest of all time."

"No," Pavel said hollowly. "You cannot do this. Exploding a nuclear weapon in the United States is wrong. You—"

"You will not stop me," the other said, drawing a revolver. "I cannot allow you to interfere."

Pavel stepped back in shock. "You would shoot me? I am your brother!"

* * *

The ceiling changed. It was no longer smooth, Remo saw. Instead, for about six feet, it was perforated with hundreds of tiny holes. Beyond that, just visible around the bend, the ceiling was smooth again.

Remo became a blur, and thus sped through the danger zone before any of the acid that squirted from above could hit him. He looked back and saw the acid spatter and blacken the floor. Fumes curled up and reached toward him. Before Remo could move on, he saw another perforated section of ceiling revealed just ahead. It, too, began raining acid. And the acid formed puddles, which spilled in the direction of Remo's feet.

There was barely time for the fact that he was trapped to sink in when Remo heard the sound of gunshots through the walls followed by a trailing scream.

"Aiiieeeee!"

Chiun. That scream was Chiun's.

Remo ran forward three steps, putting him on an outside line, and let it carry him through the sheet metal wall. The wall screeched like the amplified sound of a nail pulled from wood as Remo's hands pierced it and bent it outward.

He was in the next corridor, really a continuation of the single spiral. Remo got back on the outside line, and tore through the next wall. He stumbled right into a trap. A hand grenade dropped from a ceiling trap by a string, which pulled the pin out.

Remo grabbed the grenade and threw it down the corridor and threw himself in the opposite direction. The explosion hurt his eardrums even though he'd remembered to open his mouth wide to equalize the pressure that might otherwise have damaged them.

Picking himself up, Remo went through the last wall as if it were a sheet of foil and found himself in the central chamber.

The first thing he saw was Chiun, looking horrified, standing with his back against one wall and looking down at two bodies lying on the floor. Chiun saw Remo.

"I think it is dead," Chiun squeaked. "I may have killed it, but I am not certain. Oh, Remo, isn't it horrible?"

Remo looked at the still form of the World Master, whose encephalitic head lay at too sharp an angle to his body for his neck not to be broken. A single fisheye stared up sightlessly, and the many arms, both human and not, which splayed from the creature's body made it look like some deformed spider.

Remo knelt beside the body, while Chiun all but jumped onto the console chair like a caricature of a woman who has seen a mouse.

"Is it dead, Remo?" Chiun asked.

Remo touched the pinkish head and felt the slickness of plastic. He pulled the head loose to reveal a human head whose strong features and black hair resembled those of Pavel Zarnitsa's— even in death.

"Relax, Chiun. It's only a disguise."

"Are you certain?" Chiun asked doubtfully. "But when he saw the truth, he shook himself and stepped forward confidently. "Why, of course it is a disguise, Remo. How could it not be?"

Remo ignored that and asked, "What happened here?"

"This Russian freed himself and followed me, but I tricked him," Chiun said, pointing to Pavel Zarnitsa, who was either dead or very close to it. "I let him pass before me. He surprised this— this insect— and they quarrelled. The insect shot him, and I felled the insect with a single blow to its neck. Then I saw its face..."

Remo went to Pavel Zarnitsa. The Russian was bleeding to death. He would not live long, but for the moment he did live.

Pavel opened his eyes. "He... is dead?"

Remo nodded.

"Is... my brother," Pavel said. "Chuzhoi... Zarnitsa. Younger brother... with GRU. You know GRU? He— he should have been KGB. Now... is dead. I am... dead, too. No? He called me fool. He is... fool. He would kill... own brother for stupid GRU plan... Listen. You must— must find warhead before—"

"I know where it is," Remo told him, coming to his feet. "I'm going to have to leave you."

Pavel closed his eyes. "I will be dead when you return."

"I know," Remo said. And he and Chiun left through the underground tunnel.

"The warhead's in Tulsa, Chiun," Remo said as they piled into the car. "We've got maybe two hours before it goes."

"You learned the snail maze?"

Remo nodded. "The trick is not to follow the path."

"Good. You have learned something for a change."

* * *

Finding the truck was the easy part. It stood on a side street in downtown Tulsa near the university. Remo recognized it from Amanda Bull's description. A plain truck except for the paint splotches, which hid the black and yellow nuclear emblems on its sides.

Remo broke the latch and threw open the cargo door. The warhead was inside. It looked small and unimpressive for the damage it could wreak.

"There it is," Remo said. "I'd better call Smith."

"There is no time," Chiun said levelly. "I must act quickly."

"You? Chiun, this calls for an expert. If you make a mistake, you'll blow us up."

Chiun ignored him. "There is no time to acquire the correct oil, so I must find another way," he said to himself as he felt the cone projection, which was the most distinguishing feature of the warhead.

"Maybe we should drive it out of the city, where it'll do less damage when it blows," Remo suggested.

"It will not explode," Chiun said.

"Since when do you know anything about nuclear weapons?"

Chiun stopped what he was doing and looked at Remo. "Do you remember the puzzle, Remo?"

"The Rubik's Cube? Sure. But what does that have to do—"

"You could not understand how I was able to solve the cube, even with my eyes closed. But I did. This was possible because everything man makes is given a basic form, a unity of self. When this puzzle was built, its unity of form had all of the little colored squares properly arranged. When the squares are disarranged, the internal unity is disturbed. This has nothing to do with the colored squares, Remo, but with the way the puzzle parts fitted together when it was in unity with itself. To solve this cube, I did not even look at the colored squares, I simply manipulated its parts until I felt those parts achieve unity. The colors took care of themselves."

"You did it by feel, then?"

"Yes. And one day you, too, will be able to accomplish the same thing. It is the same with this device. At the point of its creation, it was not armed. It is armed now and is therefore in disunity. I will undo that disunity now."

"Okay, Little Father. It's your show. I just hope you're right."

Chiun went back to the warhead. It was a complicated mechanism— certainly more complicated than a Rubik's Cube, even if the combinations were fewer. The consequences of even a single error were all the greater, however...

Remo stood guard outside the truck. It was late morning now, and young college students passed by the truck frequently. They had no idea that they were only a few feet away from a nuclear weapon that could end their studies and their lives in a single white-hot flash of fire. It was an eerie sensation for Remo Williams. He wanted to warn them away, but he knew that no matter how far they ran or drove, they would not escape the nuclear blast. So what was the use? Let them enjoy themselves— while they could.

Almost an hour dragged past, and Remo stuck his head inside the truck. "How's it coming?" he asked anxiously.

But the Master of Sinanju, intent upon his work, did not answer him.

Remo returned to his thoughts. What would Smith do if they all went up? Would he—

"Run, Remo!" Chiun shouted suddenly, and came out of the truck like a shot.

"Huh?" Remo said, startled.

"Run!"

Remo took off, Chiun at his side. Together, they rounded a corner just as a great explosion echoed behind them. Remo prepared for the flash that would obliterate them both...

* * *

"It is all right now," Chiun said, coming to a stop.

"It exploded. The warhead exploded. Why aren't we dead?"

"We are not dead thanks to the skill of the Master of Sinanju," Chiun said as he led Remo back to the smoking ruin that was the truck.

Remo looked at the truck. "I don't get it. Was it a dud?"

"No," Chiun told him. "It was almost our deaths. The fools who built that device built it so that once armed, its unity could not be reestablished."

"Probably something to do with the failsafe," Remo suggested.

"Whatever. When I discovered this, Remo, I examined the mechanism to see what made it work. Thus I discovered that in order for the atomic part to work, it must be made to work by an ordinary explosion."

"That's right," Remo said, ignoring the people who had rushed to the scene. "They trigger the nuclear explosion with a regular one. I read that somewhere once."

"I saw that I could not stop the smaller explosive device without possibly causing the bigger explosion. So I ignored that and rendered the atomic part useless. This caused the small explosion."

"For a minute I thought you'd blown it," Remo said. "Not a bad job."

"An excellent job," Chiun corrected. "Next time I will be able to do it with my eyes closed."

"Remind me to be out sick that day," Remo said.

?Chapter Eighteen

Later that night, they met with Dr. Harold W. Smith at the farm owned by the late Ethel Sump.

"Whaddya say, Smitty?" Remo said when Smith arrived.

"Remo. Master of Sinanju," Smith said curtly.

"Hail, Emperor Smith. What news?"

"I've managed to tie up most of the loose ends of this matter. The remains of the warhead have been disposed of, and a story planted in the Tulsa papers to cover the explosion. You did an excellent job dealing with the warhead, Master of Sinanju. The president is grateful."

Chiun bowed. "Perhaps his gratitude will manifest itself in interesting ways," he suggested.

"Eh?"

"What Chiun is trying to say, Smitty," Remo put in, "is that he figures he deserves a bonus for saving Tulsa."

"A modest bonus," Chiun added. "I have learned that there are 432,800 people who live in that place. Perhaps one gold coin per life saved would be appropriate..."

"We will discuss this later," Smith said, frowning. "I'd like to examine this so-called flying saucer first."

"Not much left, is there?" Remo said as they stood over the cool slag.

Smith probed the metallic remains with a penknife. "I ran a check on Chuzhoi Zarnitsa before I left Folcroft. He belonged to the GRU, a Russian intelligence rival of the KGB. We hadn't known he was in this country. As best as I've been able to determine, this Chuzhoi was not acting on direct orders of the Soviet Union. It isn't always possible to know anything for certain in this area, but this plot to destroy our missile defense system was apparently his own. It may have been sanctioned by the GRU, but that's as high as the orders emanated. Zarnitsa had no support personnel in this country— except for his American dupes."

"What about the blonde?" Remo asked.

"Her name was really Amanda Bull. She was the first to be recruited. Her background is not extraordinary. In fact, none of the FOES members were anything but ordinary people."

"They were amateurs, Emperor," Chiun offered. "I dealt with them while Remo was ill. They could do nothing correctly. Especially the woman."

"Really? Then you were with them when they attacked the missile base. Perhaps you could explain how these amateurs were able to breach our security and destroy that missile."

"Because they were vicious killers who would stop at nothing," Chiun said instantly.

"But you just said they were incompetent," Smith said.

Chiun shrugged. "What do you expect? They are Americans, and therefore inconsistent."

Smith regarded Chiun with momentary perplexity. "In any case," he resumed, "none of them survived, which is probably for the best. We've recovered the bodies of all concerned and have made arrangements so that it appears they all died accidental deaths. The Zarnitsa brothers will be cremated, and as far as the Russians will ever know, they simply disappeared."

"What about explaining the missile accident?" Remo asked.

"That will be taken care of, too. The disarmament groups will be a problem for a while, but the public has a short memory for such incidents. Gradually, the matter will be forgotten— as long as the full story never gets out."

"I'm not so sure that's the right thing to do," Remo told Smith. "After all, those crazies did wreck a missile and then steal the warhead. Maybe the public should know how vulnerable this whole nuclear business is. And how nuts those people are."

Smith didn't bother to look up from his examination of the destroyed flying saucer. "Fortunately, that's not up to you, Remo. Don't worry, new safeguards will be installed because of what happened out here."

Remo wasn't sure he agreed, but he let it pass. "Well, that explains everything except the UFO. What was it?"

Smith got to his feet and brushed hay off his knees. "This will have to be analyzed first, but I'm reasonably certain that when it is, we will discover that Zarnitsa was operating from a small airship, a dirigible probably. It could float soundlessly, hover, and carry a small complement of people and equipment to do what your flying saucer actually did. The many bright lights probably helped disguise its flimsy construction and the air fans— or whatever they were— which propelled it horizontally for short distances."

"That would explain why it registered strangely when I got close to it," Remo said. "I was expecting to sense heavy machinery inside, but instead I felt a hollowness. That was because it was filled mostly with gas. But what about those weapons?"

"You already know about the ultrasonic field. The death ray you described to me is probably a laser with a blue filter to give the beam a different look. Most people expect lasers to be red, you know. The whole ship probably ran off storage batteries."

"It's over, at any rate," Remo said. "The whole crazy thing."

"And it was crazy," Smith agreed. "They could never have succeeded in their goal without starting an international crisis. But this whole business of pretending to be an alien from another planet did convince enough people to become a serious matter."

"Pah! How could anyone believe such a thing?" Chiun spat.

"I'm glad you weren't fooled, Chiun," Remo said dryly. "It would have been a real disaster if one of us hadn't kept his head."

Smith looked at them both steadily. "I have some more details to attend to. You'll hear from me." And he left.

* * *

"You were trying to tell me that the World Master was a fraud when you recited that legend of Huk and the dwarf king, weren't you?" Remo asked Chiun after Smith had departed.

"Of course," Chiun said. "I wanted to break the news to you gently, but naturally you missed the point."

"You knew he was a fake then, but when you crashed in on him, you were pretty freaked out by what you saw."

Chiun started to walk off. Remo followed. "I expected to come upon a dwarf, not a man dressed like a cockroach," Chiun said innocuously.

"When did you first suspect the truth?"

"I knew it all along."

"Bull. If you knew it all along you wouldn't have helped that dippy blonde wreck that missile. And if Smith ever figures out it was you who was really responsible for that, he'll probably take the cost out of the next shipment of gold he sends to your village."

"Do not ever let him know the truth, Remo," Chiun admonished. "I will avoid the subject in the future. Perhaps I will tell Smith that he need not pay a bonus for the saving of that city. Yes, I will tell him that I make a present of Tulsa to him. Perhaps they might erect a statue in my honor instead. One with a plaque which reads, CHIUN, SAVIOR OF TULSA. Yes, I would like that."

"You still haven't answered my question. When did you really figure out that the World Master was a phoney?"

"If you must know, Remo, I became suspicious upon our second meeting," Chiun said. "This World Master agreed with everything I said. He was very glib. But he was ignorant of the sun source. This made me suspicious, as did the name he gave. No Master would give himself a name like Large Hairy Dog."

"I still don't understand that part. Why did he take a Korean name?"

"He did not. He made up a name. To my ears, which expected that name to be Korean, it sounded like Hopak Kay, which means Large Hairy Dog. I told you his accent was atrocious."

"Yeah, but what tipped you off finally?"

Chiun turned to face Remo Williams. "It was when I asked him about his world. You know he claimed to be from an advanced civilization. When I asked him about the position of assassins in this so-called advanced civilization, he told me there were none, and I knew then he was a despicable liar."

"Because there weren't supposed to be assassins on his planet, you knew he was lying?" Remo demanded.

"Certainly," Chiun beamed. "Who ever heard of an advanced civilization without assassins?"

"Got me," Remo said.

Chiun reached into his ballooning sleeves and brought out his Rubik's Cube.

"And now on to serious things," he said.

the end