Next Of Kin

It occurred to Smith that the two of them might already be long dead.

But if they weren't, he knew where they'd be.

"I need a helicopter," he told the ground crew chief at Juliana airport.

"This is a restricted area, sir," the man barked over his shoulder.

Smith took out his old C.I.A. identification. "This is an emergency. I'll return the vehicle."

The chief spoke rapidly into his headset, and the crewman on the airstrip guided in a KLM 747. "I'd like to help you guys out, mister, but I haven't got an extra pilot."

"That's all right. I'll fly it myself."

The man with the headset took a long look at the middle-aged fellow whose I.D. claimed he was Dr. Harold W. Smith, computer information specialist. He was wearing a three-piece gray suit, a straw hat, and glasses. All in all, he wasn't the chief's idea of an ace pilot.

"How many hours you got logged?" he asked.

"Seven thousand. I'll bring it back within a half-hour. You can keep my card."

The ground control chief flipped the card over in his hand. "Well, okay, if it's an emergency. But if that machine isn't back here in time, I'm going to put out an area search for you, including airspace."

"That's fine. Thank you very much."

"In the west hangar." He watched Smith trot off. They sure aren't very fussy about their agents down in Langley these days, he thought.

Then, just as Smith got the chopper off the ground, the air to the northwest lit up in a soaring explosion of flame.

Smith knew his suspicions had been right.

?Seventeen

Chiun's blue ceremonial robe lay folded near a cluster of bouganvillea. The Dutchman's white jacket was strewn carelessly over the balcony railing, where he had tossed it. He wouldn't need it after today. He wouldn't need anything.

It was as it should be, he thought. His life was scheduled to begin after his twenty-fifth year; he would never see it. The Dutchman would instead be claimed by the sea, his freakish spirit drowned for all eternity. There would be no more death urged on by the hungry, senseless thing inside him, no more pain. A long swim out, one struggling gasp, and done. After Chiun's death, his own would come easily. An hour had passed since the two men first faced each other in their fighting gis. Although their movements were constant and spectacular, no blow had been struck. Each was aware of the other's lethalness: one blow was all it would take. The slowness of the battle was agonizing. The Dutchman's body was bathed in sweat.

He jumped high in the air, twisting into a perfect triple spiral that jolted his downward spin to incredible speed. The air behind him sparked. He landed less than an inch away from Chiun. His arm was ready, rocketing in the direction of the old man, but Chiun was already fifty feet away, transported as if by sheer magic.

"Excellent," the old man said. "A beautiful variation. But you waste too much energy in unecessary movement. Prepare your feet before you begin the upward thrust. It should help the angle of your landing."

The Dutchman bristled, his concentration broken. "We are met here in mortal combat," he reminded Chiun with the consummate dignity of youth.

Chiun smiled. "I cannot help it. I am too much the teacher."

"I will kill you."

He shrugged. "Perhaps. What will you do then, Jeremiah?"

The Dutchman's jaw worked. "None of your business," he said finally.

"You need not hate me to kill me, you know." The old man's eyes were smiling.

"You murdered Nuihc!" he shouted.

"He murdered himself through his evil. What will you do, my son?"

"Don't call me that!"

"What will you do when I am dead?"

The words rushed out in a torrent of fury. "I will die! I will go to the sea and end the useless pain of my life. I will find rest." Tears streamed over his face.

Chiun stammered. "You will die?"

"That is all I wish."

"But you are so young—"

"I am an abnormality. A cancer. I set my own parents on fire!"

"That is done, just as Nuihc's life is done. You cannot change that. But you can control your power. It need not be destructive."

"I can't control it. It only gets worse with each year. Soon I will be killing children on the street. Don't you see? I cannot live. I am an evil thing, not a man. I must not live."

Chiun was puzzled. "Then why do you bother to kill me?"

He answered with downcast eyes. "I have made my pledge to Nuihc."

Night was falling. Beyond the terraced lawns of the castle, the tide rushed inward. The tree frogs of twilight began their eerie song. Chiun walked toward the Dutchman slowly. He stopped in front of him.

"Then kill me," Chiun said simply.

"No!" The young man was enraged. "You are a legend. You will fight me. I will not butcher the Master of Sinanju like a defenseless cat." He stepped back. Chiun smiled. "Stop it!"

"I see now," Chiun said. "You did not plan to kill me at all. You wished only that I would kill you."

"That's not true! I promised Nuihc!"

"You are not an evil man, Jeremiah."

"Get away—"

Both men froze in their tracks, their eyes riveted to the silhouette coming over the horizon. Remo stopped, too, looking in bewilderment at the two of them.

"Now I will force you to fight me," the Dutchman said.

The air crackled with electricity. The tree frogs abruptly stopped their song. All was silence.

He raised his right arm slowly. Starting on his shoulder, a ball of light traveled down his arm, growing, glowing brighter, and shot off his finger like a bullet. It hit Remo in the stomach. Remo blinked, stunned, and doubled over with a gasp.

"Halt!" Chiun shouted.

Remo wobbled to his feet. "I think I've just about had it with you," he said.

The Dutchman sent out a wall of air to knock Remo off his feet. At the same time he sent another, stronger one toward Chiun, The old man squinted against the gale, unable to move. The Dutchman closed in on Remo.

Remo rolled out of the way of the first blow, a kick that left a deep pit in the ground. The dirt from the pit swirled and dissipated in the growing windstorm that the Dutchman had created. He struck again. Remo dodged it by instinct alone. The experience in the cave had taught him not to rely on his eyes.

A long tongue of flame licked out of the turbulence. Without thinking, Remo lunged toward it, two fingers poised to strike. They hit. Out of the flying dirt and thick salt spray came a howl. Then the Dutchman's fingernails thrust past Remo's face, near enough to scrape four bloody lines across his skin.

It was hard to breathe in the maelstrom of whirling leaves and earth. Two trees were uprooted nearby. Their gray trunks flew overhead, weightless. Remo lunged again and missed. An invisible foot caught him on the thigh, sending him sprawling through the mist. He kept going when he landed, sure the Dutchman would have heard his fall. The shape came— how fast could that guy move? Remo positioned himself for attack. When the Dutchman touched ground, Remo stepped forward with a thrust to the neck.

He hit. Not the neck. A shoulder groaned in its socket, shattered, and fell away from his fist. Without a second's hesitation, the Dutchman's other arm lashed out and took Remo in the ribs. Two sharp snaps sent Remo back, reeling. An inch closer, and they would have pierced his heart.

Then another shape loomed nearby. Instinctively, Remo charged for it before realizing it was Chiun. He stopped cold as Chiun spoke.

"Move!" the old man said. But Remo moved too late. Chiun's tiny figure in the mist upended and seemed to blow away in the wind.

"Chiun!" Remo called.

Silence.

"Chiun!"

The hand came out of nowhere toward Remo's temple.

"Chiun," he whispered as the walls of consciousness came crashing in blackness around him. It had been a glancing blow, but enough to stop Remo. Enough to weaken him. The next would kill him. He was beaten. It was over. He tasted the dirt on his lips.

And then from the depths of his soul, his voice spoke. "I am created Shiva, the Destroyed; death, the shatterer of worlds. The dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju."

And he struggled to his feet.

He moved, infinitely slowly, the blood of ages stirring within him. The Dutchman emerged from the storm. His mangled shoulder was dripping blood, and blood was pouring from his side. His face was twisted in pain and rage as he came for Remo.

Silently, swiftly, Remo sprang from his back, his being focused in his powerful right arm. A look of terror flashed across the Dutchman's eyes as Remo struck, tearing his face to a pulpy mass.

At the instant it was over, Remo felt a wave of pity rise in his throat.

The Dutchman staggered off his feet and disappeared backward into the storm. In the mist a fluttering sigh began and died.

Soon the soughing of the wind ebbed. The dead leaves that had been coloring the sky black settled to the ground, and twilight returned in its electric blueness. Far away, a tree frog began singing, and others took up the chant.

"Chiun?" Remo called.

The old man stood near a broken Ackee tree. Slowly he raised his arm to point toward the cliff side of Devil's Mountain. Across a jagged boulder was draped the broken body of the Dutchman. Remo and Chiun went toward him.

The explosion happened before they reached him. The earth shook, and a double blast burst from the castle in a curtain of flame. Fire poured out of its narrow slit windows. Women screamed.

A second explosion rocked the castle to its foundations. Huge slabs of stone tumbled to the ground as the white turrets crumbled, leaving clouds of dust and fire in their wake.

Chiun took hold of Remo's arm, his long fingernails digging into his skin. "Listen," he said, drawing Remo toward the Dutchman.

The young man's eyes were open and weeping, tears mixed with blood dropping red onto the rock where he lay as Nuihc's castle disintegrated before him. "I have failed," he croaked. "Nuihc, this is your vengeance." Then his head dropped. He made no other movement. Thin streams of blood coursed from his wounds down the gray stone, forming small pools around him. On the peak, the fire raged unabated, washing the Dutchman's body in a bright glow.

"How young he is," Chiun whispered. He picked up his robe and dabbed at the cuts on Remo's cheek. "Come. We must look after you now."

Then, in the orange aura from the blaze in the castle, they saw a line of figures marching toward them, their outlines wavy and rippled in the heat. At the head of the line lumbered a wide female figure who shouted commands at the others.

"Buge-toi, putain! Move it. You best be putting them buns to work getting you down this hill, else they gonna burn like de pork rind. Ha, ha," Sidonie cackled gleefully as she forced her charges down the hill.

Chiun peered at the strange parade. All of the figures were women in various stages of undress. Some were draped in sheets or towels; others picked their way down the hill clad only in diaphanous nightgowns. One of them, a proud redheaded Amazon, strutted apart from the group wearing a black garter belt, opera hose, and spike heels.

"That woman in front," Chiun began, pointing to the black drill sergeant in a ruffled skirt and bandana. "She looks like..."

"Who else," Remo finished, watching Sidonie wield the iron pipe she had brought to Remo's rescue earlier. She circled it over her head, threatening the girls behind her as she commanded them downward.

"Hey, Mr. Remo, Mr. Chiun," she bellowed. "Lookee what I got for you. Get going, girlie. You ain't laying around sucking up bonbons no more." Behind her, the girls grumbled and muttered in French. "Taisez-vous!" she shrieked, prodding one of the girls in the stomach with the pipe. "Soyez tranquille! Shut your mouth or I shut it good, hear?"

In silence the girls fell in near Remo and Chiun. From the rear of the line, a little terrier scrambled forward, stopping to beg at Sidonie's feet.

"Who are those people?" Chiun asked.

Sidonie picked up the dog and slung him onto her shoulder. "They the Dutchman's women," she said. "Sinners, all of them. Prob'ly pretty good at it, too, by the looks of them," she added with a wink. "I take them out of the castle after I sabotage the furnace."

"You what?" Remo asked, looking up at the flaming ruin on the hill.

"I take the gasoline tank what was in the Jeep Pierre stole. I drag it into the basement, I throw it in the furnace. Boom."

"You made the boom," Chiun acknowledged.

"Bomb," said Remo.

"I be in the French Resistance, remember?"

"And the Dutchman thought it was Nuihc's vengeance," Remo said.

Fabienne and another woman, who was strangely swathed in veils of sooty white gauze, came limping from the direction of the castle. "Remo, Remo!" Fabienne called, waving wildly. Her dirt-streaked face was happier than Remo had ever seen it as she jumped into his arms, sending shooting pains from Remo's fractured ribs.

"It's all right," Remo said over her loud apologies. "It's only my chest."

The woman in white reached over with a visible effort and took the dog Sidonie held out to her. The terrier whined and tried to lick the woman's scarred face beneath her veil.

"Adrianna will testify that the Dutchman used some kind of— how you say— hypno— hypno—"

"Hypnosis."

"Yes. He hurt many people, Remo." She took the hand of the veiled Asian girl. "Adrianna was nearly blinded. She thinks also that the Dutchman killed people in the shipyard. Perhaps if the police investigate—"

"They will. And they'll find plenty of bodies. You won't have any trouble getting your father's business back. You're rich, Fabienne."

She kissed him, but a shadow of worry passed over her face. "Will the Dutchman go to prison on Sint Maarten? You know, he's very clever. He may escape."

"He's not going anywhere, Fabienne." He turned toward the jagged rock where the Dutchman had fallen. "He's d—"

The blood-spattered rock was bare.

?Eighteen

He was crawling, wounded and bleeding, down the cliff side of Devil's Mountain, heading for a cluster of fishing boats below. His blond hair bobbed in the twilight as the Dutchman struggled to free a small dinghy while holding his smashed shoulder in place.

"Take these persons to the police," Chiun told Sidonie. "But do not mention Remo or me."

"I get it," Sidonie said. "I knew you wasn't no tourists." Yelling happily, she bullied the girls toward the road leading to Marigot.

The Dutchman wobbled in the small boat. With his good arm, he pulled out the throttle to start the outboard motor. It coughed twice, then purred.

Remo touched his broken ribs. They wouldn't stand up to a descent down a cliff. There was only one way to catch the Dutchman, and that would have to be done perfectly or not at all. "What the hell," Remo said out loud. He'd done it perfectly twenty-four times in a row. He might as well press his luck. He stepped back a few paces and ran off the cliff to begin the Flying Wall. Arms outstretched, he soared over the Dutchman's dinghy, shifting his weight to land alongside it. Painless, he thought as he skimmed on top of the water like a sea bird. The Dutchman watched him with grim resignation.

The boat circled crazily when Remo grabbed hold of it, still traveling fast from the momentum of his dive.

"Just felt like dropping in," Remo said.

The Dutchman stomped on his fingers.

"Is that any way to treat the guy who thought he killed you?"

"Go back to shore," the Dutchman said.

"Sorry, kid. There's a nice girl on the island who doesn't want you running around loose. Not to mention a truckload of dead men who aren't that crazy about you, either."

The Dutchman kicked hard at Remo's head. When he moved out of the way, the Dutchman shoved the throttle up full and sped away. Remo caught up to the boat in two strokes, dove, and caught hold of the outboard's whirling propeller with his hands. Underwater, he heard the motor clink and die.

"Looks like you're staying," Remo said, tossing the propeller into the boat with a clang.

For a moment the Dutchman looked at him with disgust, but his attention was drawn further out to sea. Two deep lines settled between his eyes as he held out his hand to Remo.

"What? So friendly? I thought you were the last of the bluebloods. No handshakes with the proles."

"Get in," he said urgently.

A gray fin followed in Remo's wake as the Dutchman pulled him aboard. Remo did an unconscious doubletake when he saw the shark's form passing near the boat.

"Guess I owe you one."

The Dutchman stood glaring at him, his hand clutching the red-stained clothing over his shoulder.

"So I'll tell you something. Nuihc's spirit didn't blow up your castle. My housekeeper did. She practices on explosives between dusting and ironing."

The young man said nothing, but his eyes registered a disbelieving relief.

"It's true. Nobody's going to hurt you now. Except for me, that is. Or Chiun. Or the cops." He smiled, but the Dutchman only looked at him silently, his eyes shining and alert with fever.

"You helped me out. I wish you'd tell me why," Remo said.

The Dutchman spoke quietly. "That is not an honorable way for an assassin to die."

Remo grimaced. "You sure don't make it easy to kill you."

"Perhaps I'll kill you first." The blood from his shoulder was streaming through the Dutchman's fingers. His knuckles were pressed hard into the flesh, and his hand was trembling.

"You're hurt."

The Dutchman shrugged.

"Look, Chiun'll never let me hear the end of this, but if you let me take you in to the police station, well leave it at that. After you get that shoulder treated, you can break out of any jail they put you in. Just give me your word that you'll leave Chiun and me and the girl alone. And my housekeeper too. Deal?"

"I broke my word to you before."

"I never was a very good businessman, but I'd trust you."

The Dutchman's eyes glistened. "You are a fool. Like the old man."

"I guess there are worse things."

He breathed deeply. For a moment their eyes locked. Then the Dutchman straightened, his quiet arrogance reasserted.

"I have made my promise to Nuihc. You and Chiun must die by my hand." Slowly he moved toward Remo in the rocking boat.

"Sorry to hear it," Remo said.

The Dutchman lashed out an elbow and a knee. The elbow caught Remo in his broken ribs, the knee in his hurt leg. Remo tumbled backward, making the dinghy roll wildly and half fill with water. He kicked out with his legs, rolling off his back. He landed in a crouch, his arms free to launch two fists into the Dutchman's belly. The wind whooshed out of the man.

The Dutchman lunged for Remo, his eyes blinking away the river of blood that filled them. Remo twisted out of the way, dangerously unbalancing the boat. The Dutchman tottered on the edge for a second, his arms windmilling, then fell head first into the sea. He emerged a few feet away from the boat, blood spurting from the bridge of his nose. Nearby, a familiar gray fin hovered uncertainly.

"Quick, give me your hand," Remo shouted. The Dutchman made no move. "It's the shark. He's back. Hurry up."

The Dutchman smiled slowly. "No, thank you, my friend," he said.

"For Christ sake, I'll finish you in the boat if you want. Don't get torn up by a shark."

"It doesn't matter," the Dutchman said, his voice eerily calm. "Please give my regards to your esteemed father."

"Father? I'm an orphan. Get in here, Purcell."

"Your true father. The Master of Sinanju. He has trained you well, in your heart as well as your body. He is right to be proud of you."

He was swimming away awkwardly, a stream of blood behind him. The fin in the distance wavered as the shark smelled prey, then homed in quickly toward the blond head receding in the water.

"Purcell."

"Till we meet in a better life," the Dutchman said.

Then the water churned and bubbled as the fin dipped beneath the surface. Other gray forms slid past the small boat to the frenzied activity in the sea. A pool of red spread through the darkening water. The fins disappeared. The sea quieted. The last rays of sun sank away.

The Dutchman was gone.

?Nineteen

Remo stood alone in the small boat, ankle deep in water, enveloped by darkness. High on the cliff he could make out Chiun's outline, still and silent as the sea. He felt tired and pained and lonely.

Out of sight, the distant whirring of a helicopter grew louder. Then the machine appeared over the horizon, sending a searchlight out over the cliff. The light traveled the expanse of the castle, now a smoking wreckage licked occasionally by dying flames, then settled on Chiun. The old man shielded his eyes from the glare and pointed out to sea.

Remo waited unmoving in the boat as the helicopter's searchlight spanned the coral reefs and black night water of the ocean before it reached him. When the helicopter was overhead, a rope ladder dropped from its belly, and Remo climbed onto it. Halfway up, he spotted the sour lemon face of the pilot.

"Come here to see if I'm still alive?" Remo shouted above the noise of the propeller, and climbed up the rest of the way.

Smith turned the helicopter around without a word. The moon had risen, and in its light Smith's sallow face glowed a ghostly greenish white.

"Great tan you got there on Saba with your wife."

"It was a matter of national security," Smith said, as though that vindicated his order to have Remo annihilated.

"National security? What about my security?" Remo yelled. "You order my teacher to murder me because you found a couple of stray bodies, and all you have to say is 'national security'? Well, Chiun's not going to do it. If you want to have me offed, you're going to have to fight me yourself."

"For a time, all the evidence pointed to you."

"For your information, someone else killed those guys in the truck or whatever you found in the ocean."

"I know. Jeremiah Purcell," Smith said.

"His name's Jeremiah— what?"

"I know. It all came out in the wash. Glad the whole thing didn't go further than it did."

The helicopter hovered over the cliff for a moment, then drifted down.

"You've got some gall," Remo grumbled as Smith killed the engine. Chiun walked over and bowed politely. Remo and Smith stepped out.

"Where is he?" Smith asked.

"Who?"

"Purcell."

"You're a little late for him," Remo said. "A half-dozen sharks beat you to him."

"Oh."

"There's plenty of evidence against him. He had another truckload on ice at the shipyard, and a harem full of French hookers are on their way to the police to spill the whole story."

"It is so," Chiun agreed.

Smith grew even paler. "You mean the police are going to be notified about your part in all this?"

"Relax. Nobody even knows we're here."

"The housekeeper does," Smith said quietly.

No one spoke for a long moment. Finally it was Smith who broke the silence. "We can't have witnesses," he said.

"She's not going to talk, Smitty," Remo insisted.

"You can't be sure of that. Also, I've run a check on the Soubise girl."

"Oh, no you don't. Uh-uh. As far as she's concerned, Chiun and I are just a couple of happy sun bunnies. I'm not going to kill Fabienne now that things are finally looking up for her. No way."

"She was spotted leaving your place with the housekeeper. She knows your name."

"That's a lousy reason, Smitty."

"It's national security."

"That's a lousy reason, too."

"I'm afraid I have to order you to eliminate them."

"Yeah? Well, you can shove your orders—"

Chiun put a restraining hand on Remo's arm. "Silence," he said.

Smith was looking up at the smoldering castle. "I'll radio in a call to the fire department," he said. "Meanwhile, the two of you had better go back to the villa and collect your things. You're leaving in the morning. Pick up your tickets by eight at the American counter."

As he was walking back to the helicopter, he said over his shoulder, "Don't be surprised at the condition of your house. It's been ransacked. Some idiot even threw the television through the wall."

"Some idiot," Remo muttered. Chiun elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey," he called, "what about the rest of our vacation?"

"This vacation is over," Smith said flatly. "You'll have to wait until next year. Don't forget to take care of those two women before you leave."

The helicopter roared to life, lifted up, and disappeared.

"He's got the heart of a cod," Remo said.

Chiun wasn't listening. He was staring out at the ocean, a rippling film of black streaked with the moon's lone white ray. "I shall mourn our strange young Dutchman," he said.

Remo felt a knot in his stomach as he recalled Purcell's last words as the sharks closed in on him, bidding Remo to meet him in a better life. "Hell of a way to go."

"If Nuihc had only..." Chiun's voice trailed off.

Remo put his arm around the old man. "Let's go, Little Father."

They walked together down Devil's Mountain. Beyond the cliff, the ocean slapped peacefully against the shore. Chiun looked back once, saw nothing, then turned away.

?Twenty

Chiun's seven lacquer trunks were stacked in front of the destroyed villa. Remo was inside, changing into his spare set of clothes. His other garments were stuffed into the wastepaper basket.

Chiun came into Remo's room and stood inside the door, his face stony. "You promised you would get me another television," he said icily.

"I didn't exactly have the time, Chiun." He winced as he pulled his T-shirt over his taped ribs.

"If you had kept your promise, I could have been watching television now."

"The taxi's coming in five minutes."

"Five minutes," Chiun mocked. "You act as if five minutes were nothing. Whole empires have collapsed in less than five minutes. Mountains have been leveled. Geniuses are conceived in less than five minutes."

"Only if their parents are into quickies," Remo said.

"You are disgusting!" Chiun shrieked.

"He sure is," Sidonie's voice boomed from the hallway. "Dis place even more of a mess than before. Lookit this." She fished Remo's shirt out of the wastebasket. "How I supposed to wash your clothes what's in the trash?"

"Throw it out, Sidonie. We're leaving."

"Already? Why you want to go so soon?"

"Business," Remo said. "Sorry you had to make the trip over. I couldn't reach you on the phone."

"Oh, I ain't been home. De police, they keep me at the station all night, eating de doughnuts and drinking de rum. They nice fellas. One of 'em got his horns out for Sidonie, too."

"Yeah?" Remo smiled.

"He plenty fat," Sidonie said.

"That's good. I guess. Uh— you didn't mention anything about—"

"I don't say nothing, Mr. Remo. I know you like them secrets. I just tell the police I done it all myself. Fight the Dutchman in the boat, everything. The fat one, he like that plenty," she chortled.

"How about the girls?"

"I tell them if they talk, I kill them dead. They don't say nothing. Except the Chinee girl. She laying it on good about the Dutchman. 'He a killer,' she say. 'He a maniac.' The cops, they have to shoot her fulla dope just to quiet her down."

"And Fabienne— is she okay?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" She jerked her head toward the kitchen. Fabienne stepped forward, her face breaking into a big smile.

"I just wanted to tell you that everything's going to be all right," she said. "The police are already arresting some of the shipyard executives. My lawyer says I'll probably get my father's money back and the company, too."

"Hey, that's terrific," Remo said. "What are you going to do with the shipyard? Sell it?"

"I'm going to run it," she said. "My father would have wanted that." She touched his shoulder. "Of course, you could help me if you like."

Remo kissed her gently. "Thanks, Fabienne, but I'm a bust at office work. You'll do just fine on your own."

"Remo..." Her eyes were searching his face. "What do you do? For a living, I mean?"

Chiun cleared his throat. "I see the taxi," he said. Outside, a black London-style cab honked and skidded to an abrupt halt.

"He a salesman," Sidonie filled in.

"But on the cliff that night. And in the cave. You killed—"

"Oh, salesmen very handy guys to have around," Sidonie shouted over her.

Fabienne looked out the window. The cab driver was loading Chiun's trunks onto the roof of the cab. "Are— are you leaving?" she asked.

Remo inclined his head once, sadly.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Fabienne kissed him softly on the cheek. "I'll miss you," she said.

"Yeah."

"He be back, little darlin'," Sidonie said, clapping a pudgy hand on Fabienne's back. "Ain't that right, Remo?"

"Sure. Why not?" he said, but his words didn't ring true. Smith would never send him back to Sint Maarten. It would be too risky.

"No, you will not return," Fabienne said kindly, sensing his false optimism. "But it is just as well. Later it would not be the same. I will make a new life for myself here. You too, wherever you go. We will be different people, with different dreams. But I loved you, Remo."

He smiled. "You know, you only look like a French pastry," he said, rumpling her hair.

"Remo, the taxi," Chiun called from outside.

"Well, I guess this is it," Remo said. "No more Dutchman, no more Remo."

"I don't know about that," Sidonie said cryptically.

"Huh?"

"Come with me. I think maybe you want to see this."

"But the taxi—"

"Dat Jacques. You give him fifty cent, he wait a week."

Jacques was back in the taxi, drumming on the horn in a lively reggae rhythm. Remo walked over, handed him a hundred-dollar bill, and asked him to wait. Chiun followed him back through the villa, shouting.

"What have you forgotten now? When Emperor Smith asks why we have missed the airplane, do not expect me to come to your defense."

"Sidonie wants us to see something."

Ahead, the two women walked side by side toward the sea. Remo took pleasure in the sight of Fabienne's auburn hair blown to the side by the breeze, like a shiny copper flag. In the sunlight, the slim outline of her legs showed through the fabric of her skirt.

Suddenly she stopped short, emitted a small cry of shock, and covered her face with her hands. Sidonie's black arm wound around the girl's shoulders.

"What is it?" Remo called, running toward them. The sight on the beach made him stop dead.

By the shoreline, the remains of a giant mako shark littered the sand with bloodied entrails. Fifty feet away, another shark lay dead, its massive jaw gleaming in the sunlight. Its belly was torn open in the same manner as that of the first.

"Lookee that way." Sidonie pointed south, where a lump of gray skin and red flesh washed in and out with the waves. "They be two more thataway, 'round the trees," she said, gesturing in the opposite direction.

The four of them stood in silence as the waves washed over the two massive bodies in front of them.

"He couldn't have done this," Remo whispered.

Chiun was the only one who heard him. "And why not?" the old man said archly, a twinkle reappearing in his hazel eyes.

"He was hurt. Bad. And look at the size of these mothers."

"What you two yakking about?" Sidonie shouted.

Fabienne began to cry. "It's him, isn't it? The Dutchman's still alive!" She was shuddering uncontrollably. Remo put his arms around her and held her tightly.

"He's not alive," he cooed, sounding exactly like the unconvincing liar he was. "He won't be back, I know it."

"Get back, Mr. Remo." Sidonie shoved him aside and, drawing back her dark, calloused hand, smacked Fabienne roundly across the face. The girl started, her tears drying instantly with the impact.

"Now you listen to Sidonie, girl," she bullied, wagging a finger at Fabienne. "I been living a long time, and I seen trouble's face many time. You seen it once, too, but just 'cause it gone now, you think it never going to come back. You wrong, girl. De trouble always 'round the bend. It sit sometime. It wait. But it come back. Right, Mr. Chiun?"

Chiun smiled. "Always."

"But it go away, too. De trouble like the tide. It don't leave for long, but it don't stay long, neither. So if the Dutchman come back one day—" She shrugged. "Dat just the tide coming in again. It be going out before long. You remember that, maybe you get to be as old as me."

She squeezed the girl in her broad arms. Fabienne dried off her face, embarrassed. "You're right," she said. "I am a fool."

"No. You just young." She took Fabienne by one hand and Chiun by the other and led them back to the house. In the taxi out front, Jacques was working himself into a lather, drumming on the steering wheel and howling Bob Marley tunes.

"You try to get back here sometime, Mr. Remo, honey," the housekeeper said, giving his cheek a pinch. "You too, Mr. Chiun."

They waved out the cab window at the two women, who were standing together clutching handkerchiefs. Without missing a beat, Jacques started the engine and shot down the dirt road at eighty miles an hour, plastering Remo and Chiun against the seat.

"He's got to be dead," Remo said.

Chiun sighed. "When will you learn? A shark is only a fish. But Sinanju is Sinanju."

"He was wounded, damn it"

"He was brave."

They rode in silence for a few minutes. "Do you think we'll see him again?"

Chiun was staring out the window. "If we do, he will try to kill us."

"I suppose so," Remo said. "The bastard."

Chiun turned away from the window. His eyes looked directly into Remo's. "My son," he began. "Last evening in the boat, you could have killed the Dutchman. Why didn't you?"

"Why didn't you? You were supposed to be fighting him."

"It is not polite to answer a question with a question. Why didn't you kill him in the boat?"

Remo looked at his hands. "I don't know," he said. "Funny. I didn't even like him. I was jealous, I guess. But it just didn't seem right."

"You know, of course, that Emperor Smith will blame you for any of the Dutchman's killings in the future."

"Yeah, I know."

"You are also aware that Smith will be angry that you neglected to kill Fabienne and Sidonie."

"Did I?" Remo snapped his fingers. "Damn, I knew I forgot something."

The taxi pulled into Juliana Airport. Inside, the place was teeming with pasty-skinned tourists sweating in winter parkas while the ineffective ceiling fans twirled lazily around the flies and mosquitoes.

Remo picked up their tickets, and they filed past the departure gate, the island air outside sweeter and warmer and more beckoning than ever. On the aluminum stairs leading into the plane, Chiun waved at the grumbling crowd waiting behind him.

"I know why you could not kill the Dutchman," he said, smiling happily.

"Why?"

"Do you remember in the Dutchman's castle, when I said I hoped I'd taught you the difference between right and wrong?"

Remo stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Did you say that?"

"Of course I did," Chiun said, his smile vanishing. "Can't you even remember the words of your wise, self-sacrificing teacher?"

Remo sniffed. "Yeah, I guess I did the right thing after all. Old Remo comes through again."

"You are an arrogant lout," Chiun sputtered.

"Just good old American know-how, I reckon." He clapped a hand on Chiun's shoulder.

"Unhand me, ungrateful wretch," Chiun shrieked, creating a buzz in the crowd behind them. "How dare you take the credit, after all my years of toil and hardship..."

"I know just how it is," a white-haired woman on the stairs said, poking her face between the two of them. "My son. A doctor. Do you think he can spare five minutes to write to his mother?" She looked at Remo in disgust and turned back to Chiun, clucking sympathetically. "They're all the same."

Chiun's face brightened. "You understand?"

"Oy, do I understand," she said, her eyes rolling heavenward. "The minute my Melvin was born, my heart started breaking."

"Hey, get in the plane," someone yelled behind them. The woman silenced the complainer with her handbag.

"Excellent form," Chiun said. The woman blushed. "Would you care to chat with me during the flight?" he asked. "I'm sure my son will be pleased to ride in the lavatory."

"It's the least he can do," she said, smiling as she elbowed them both past Remo.

the end