"Blink in rhythms of four, five, and nine," Remo said.
The old man blinked. "Abraxas," he whispered.
"In English, Korean, and every other alphabet in the world. We picked up the languages we were most familiar with, that's all. A little something for everybody."
"It was a trick," Chiun whispered, incredulous. "Abraxas is a fraud. A word on a television."
"Take it easy. It's not the end of the world."
"But why? Why would anyone do such a thing? Why would somebody want to ruin my beautiful drama?"
"I don't know." Remo ran a hand through his hair and bolted for the door. "But somehow I get the feeling that Smitty's disappearance is tied up in this, too."
He headed for South Shore. The gates were locked up but unguarded, and he vaulted easily over the top.
The compound was beautiful, with grounds covered by lush tropical gardens and dominated by a rambling old plantation house decorated with turrets and gingerbread trim. Just beyond the house lay a stretch of white-sanded beach that appeared to wind down the shoreline for several hundred yards. A few people strolled through the gardens, alone or in groups of two and three, but no one paid Remo any attention. They all seemed to be drinking, he noticed, remembering what the frightened black man on the road had told him about the activities at South Shore. What struck Remo as odd was that everyone was drinking the same pale pink beverage.
He caught a glimpse of white lace behind the aged folds of a eucalyptus tree. It was the woman with the scar. Her face was pensive and preoccupied as she stared into the distance. She didn't see Remo approach. Leaning against the tree, her hands folded behind her, she looked, Remo thought, like Alice in Wonderland.
"Am I interrupting anything?" Remo said.
She jumped. When she recognized Remo, her expression changed from surprise to fear.
"I don't give up easily," he said, smiling. "We had a date, remember?"
She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"Neither should Harold Smith."
To his surprise, she didn't deny any knowledge of Smith. Instead, she only stared into Remo's eyes. What he saw there puzzled him. She was Alice in Wonderland, all right, all white lace and sunshine, but it was a different Alice from the little girl of the storybooks, an older, sadder creature, irrevokably scarred by the past, looking with dread into the future.
"Look," Remo said. "What do you say we quit playing games and tell the truth."
She hesitated. "I wish I could," she said.
"I'll settle for Smith's whereabouts, for starters."
"Please leave."
"After you tell me."
She sighed. "All right. He's here. You knew that."
"Where here? It's a big place."
"It doesn't matter where. He won't leave with you now."
A chill ran down Remo's spine. "Is he dead?"
"No. Not dead. But he might as well be." She checked over her shoulder again. "Listen, I can't talk here."
"Hey, what kind of setup is this?"
"I'll explain it all to you later. Meet me at Mother Merle's tonight. It's a hangout for the locals on the north side of the island. Ten o'clock. I'll tell you everything then. But you must go now."
"I don't..."
"Please."
"... Even know your name," Remo finished.
"My name isn't important," she said quietly. "They call me Circe. I'll be waiting for you." She fled from him like a frightened rabbit, the breeze blowing the white lace of her dress behind her as she vanished into the garden.
"Going somewhere, Circe?"
She gasped as LePat's hand snatched at her sleeve from behind an acacia tree. "Oh, it's you," she said, looking at the little man as if he carried disease.
"Who's the new beau?" LePat's voice was as oily as his plastered hair. "You know, Abraxas doesn't like us to fraternize with outsiders."
"He was... I just..."
"Let's tell Abraxas about this, shall we?" He took her arm and shoved her roughly ahead.
"Now, wait a minute," she said, shaking off his grip. "You've got no right to treat me like this. Abraxas will see to it that you're straightened out."
"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" He smiled. Then, as suddenly as the smile had appeared, it was transformed into a menacing scowl. "Well, I'll let you in on something, missy. You may have been Abraxas's favorite once, but things have changed. This time you've gone too far. Last night was the beginning of the end for you."
"What about last night?" she demanded.
"You didn't like sticking that needle into Smith, did you?" he taunted.
"I did it, didn't I?"
"Abraxas doesn't think you're tough enough to stick with the program to the end."
"Don't be absurd. Where else am I going to go? It's just that I didn't think I'd have to harm anyone."
"That's just the attitude Abraxas doesn't like. That's why he's had me following you. Who's the trusted aide now?" he said with a smirk.
"You did what?"
"I followed you. And it's a good thing I did. You can't be trusted."
"I resent being trailed around like some kind of criminal," she said.
"Get inside." He nearly threw her through the screen doors of the mansion.
The two of them stood in front of the humming camera. "What is it?" Abraxas's voice rang out in the silence.
"I found her in the garden, sir," the little man said proudly. "She was talking with someone from outside. She probably let him through the gate herself."
"I did not," Circe objected.
"Who was this man?" the voice asked.
"I— I don't know his name. Just someone I met in town."
"What did he want?"
"He..." She stopped and looked up at the camera. "Why am I being interrogated like this?"
"You let Smith escape last night."
"But I went after him."
"You should have watched him more closely. It was your job."
"But it was dark...."
"Who was the man you were talking to?"
"I tell you, I don't know his name!" she shouted. She closed her eyes and collected herself. "He was looking for Dr. Smith. He knows he's here."
"How does he know?" the voice demanded.
"He didn't tell me," Circe said defiantly. "I made arrangements to meet him later. I thought you'd want to send someone to pick him up for questioning."
"Questioning?" The voice broke into a deep rumbling laugh. "An infiltrator comes into our midst— a spy— and you want me to question him?"
"Why, yes," Circe said, bewildered. "There may be others."
"He will be killed, as will any others that come after him."
"Killed? Without even giving him a chance to talk?"
"Death is the only way to deal with those outside our sphere of influence. Death is the only punishment that works."
"But what about everything you've said about unity?" she said, her voice small. "And harmony. And peace."
"Words are only words. The Great Plan will not be foiled by words. Death to traitors, Circe. Remember that."
"Traitors? Why are you talking to me like this? I'm not a traitor."
"No?" The question hung in the air. "Perhaps you were planning to lead the outsider into a trap, as you say. Perhaps. And perhaps you would have told me about it."
"I was going to, I swear it."
"She didn't head straight for the house after talking with him, sir," LePat said.
"I'm not a robot!" she screamed. "I wanted to think about it."
"Ah, yes. My Circe has become quite the thinker," Abraxas said. The voice darkened. "Thinking is my responsibility, not yours."
She quaked. "Yes, sir," she said.
"Were you... attracted to this man you met?"
"What kind of question is that?" she asked indignantly.
"Answer it! Were you attracted to him?"
She was silent for a long moment. "No," she
said at last, her cheeks flaming.
"You're lying. And you're lying about not knowing his name."
"I don't know his name!"
"And you may be lying about your plans to turn him over to me. It would have been just as easy for you to turn me over to him."
"I would never do that to you, Abraxas. Never." Her voice was choking.
"Was he handsome?"
"No," she said, her cheeks burning.
"Lying again, my dear. Remember, I have known you for a long, long time. I have seen your eyes cloud with lust at the sight of a strong pair of arms and a handsome face."
"That's not fair," she said, weeping openly now. "I love you. I have never broken faith with you. I have never once lain with a man..."
"Enough," the voice on the loudspeaker commanded.
Circe glanced over to LePat, suddenly remembering his presence. "I have always been grateful to you," she said brokenly to Abraxas.
"I will let the episode pass with a warning. This time. But only this time. The next trespass will bring punishment, swift and sure and irrevokable. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Circe said, looking at the floor.
How had this happened? she asked herself. How far had the madness gone? Suddenly she saw herself as if she were another person looking into the room. There she stood, begging the forgiveness of a disembodied voice on a loudspeaker, trembling before the eye of a television camera, fearing for her life.
"What time is your meeting with this man?"
"Ten o'clock," she said numbly.
It wasn't going to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this.
"Where?"
The stranger. The stranger was her only hope. If she could only trust him with the truth....
"I asked you where you were going to meet him."
She looked up with a start. "Where?" Her mind raced. Mother Merle's was on the north end of the island. "The Conch Inn," she lied. "Across from the fish market."
"That's near South Shore, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said, struggling to keep her eyes on the camera. If she were caught in this lie, she knew, there would be no second warning.
"You'll remain here. I'll send some hired men to go in your place and dispose of him. LePat, do you have a description of him?"
"I saw him myself, sir."
"Very well. You'll instruct the men. Circe, you may leave now."
She nodded obediently and walked out.
Tonight, she thought. Tonight her life was going to change forever, and whether she lived or died was going to depend on the whim of a total stranger whose name she didn't even know.
?Chapter Twelve
"Remo. Remo."
Chiun had perfected a stage whisper that could reach across an ocean. Remo saw him now, a glimmer of blue satin resting motionless among the trees beyond the gate to South Shore. He trotted up the road and onto the hillside. "What is it?"
"There has been trouble. Someone stopped the woman you spoke with in the garden."
Remo shook his head. "She's a piece of work, that one," he said. "After she gives me the treatment with those big sad eyes of hers, she runs straight to her boss."
"It did not appear that way," Chiun said.
"It was, believe me. Anyone who calls herself Circe is bad news."
"A fitting name for a siren," Chiun said, smiling.
Remo shrugged. "Well, no big deal. Let her do what she wants. She might put us onto something. She says Smitty's in bad shape. You haven't seen him, have you?"
"No, but there are others. Behind the house, on the far shore."
Remo squinted into the distance. Along the beach milled a dozen or more people. The sea breeze carried their voices, merry and carefree. "Well, it's worth a look, I guess," Remo said. "But let's make it fast. From the way the girl talked, Smith's probably in a dungeon somewhere inside the house."
The shoreline was narrow and rocky, laced with the warm Caribbean waves that lapped up onto the blinding white sand. The revelers on the beach were a rowdy crowd, singing and joking, apparently comfortable with one another's company. There was little at the beach party to remind Remo of the strange goings-on that had led him here.
"Let's go," he said. "We're wasting our time. No one's holding Smith prisoner at this clambake."
"Are you sure?" the old Oriental asked. He raised his arm slowly to point at a figure seated near some craggy rocks a hundred feet away.
Remo walked closer. The figure was a middle-aged gray-haired man. He was dressed in fuscia-colored Bermuda shorts and a loose shirt printed with palm trees. A blue ribbon flapped on his collar. On his head was an electric-blue sun visor decorated with a portrait of Pierre LeToque, the underground symbol of marijuana. One hand held a champagne glass filled with frothy pink liquid; the other grasped a large sheet of green and white computer printout paper. Beside him a portable radio blasted reggae music at an ear-shattering level.
"Naah," Remo said. "It couldn't be him. You don't think it could be, do you?"
Chiun nodded serenely.
"Smitty?" he called, approaching the dapper figure.
"Ah lak a woman," the man sang, tapping his foot to the music.
"What the hell have they done to him?"
Smith downed the pink cocktail with a satisfying belch. He snatched a pencil from behind his ear and began scribbling furiously on the printout spread on his lap.
"Clearly the emperor has lost his mind," Chiun whispered.
"Clearly the emperor is shitfaced drunk," Remo said irritably, grabbing the glass out of Smith's hand. "What do you think you're doing?" he yelled. "We've been halfway around the world looking for you. You're supposed to be in some kind of terrible trouble. And here you are—"
"I've got it!" Smith exclaimed ecstatically. He seemed to notice the two figures at his side for the first time. "Why, Remo," he said, smiling so that all his teeth showed. "Hello, Chiun. What brings you here? Lovely weather." He went back to his scribbling.
"You bring us here," Remo said, wondering if he had ever before seen Smith smile. "You disappeared off the face of the earth a while back, remember?"
"I what? Well, I suppose so. It doesn't make any difference, anyway. Would you two care for a cocktail?"
"No, thanks," Remo said.
"Good heavens, this is really it," Smith said softly, circling a section of the printout. "It stands up to all the proofs."
"All what proofs? What are you doing?"
"I've just found a way to program into the IRS computers," he said excitedly, vibrating the sheet on his lap. "It's unbelievably simple, really. All we have to do is transmit data from a remote computer as far away as half a mile from the main terminal, and then tap into the machines through ultra-short-wave codes in the underground telephone circuits. A child could have figured it out."
"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Remo said.
"He meant a bright child," Chiun explained.
Smith tapped his pencil on his visor reflectively. "You know, we could do this in half the time using the Folcroft Four. Don't you agree?" He looked up at Remo eagerly. He giggled. "So long, IRS. So long, U.S. budget. Hello, sunshine."
"What? Use the Folcroft computers to rip off the IRS? Have you lost your mind?"
"I told you that in the beginning," Chiun said in Korean.
"Au contraire, " Smith said debonairly. "I've found my mind. At long last, I've discovered the reason for being. This is all for the good of mankind, don't you see?" He waved the printout gaily. "We mustn't stand in the way of mankind, after all. Abraxas wouldn't like it."
"Abraxas? You, too?"
"I wonder if the British tax banks are as easy to crack as ours. Hmmm." He absorbed himself in drawing a series of intersecting lines on the printout.
"We've got to get him out of here."
"The boat is that way," Chiun said, gesturing toward the left. "I suggest we take the sea route."
"I suppose so," Remo said, lifting Smith. "Th
ey won't look for him in the water...."
"Let me down!" Smith shouted. "What's the idea of breaking in here where you haven't been invited, and then... Help! Help!"
Chiun raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, Smitty," Remo said as he pressed two fingers into the back of Smith's neck. The gray-haired man slumped silently into Remo's arms.
"What do you think got into him?" Remo asked as he laid the inert figure of Smith on a bunk in one of the yacht's luxurious cabins. "Did you catch the business about Abraxas?"
"A vile trick. I shall destroy the shrine. Worse, I will give it back to the library."
"I'll settle for destroying the people who did this to Smitty," Remo said.
"Well...."
"Well, what?"
"Don't act too hastily. He was rather pleasant,"
Chiun said wistfully.
"Oh, never mind. You stay with him. I'm going back to South Shore."
"But why? We have the emperor."
"We have Smith's body," Remo said, indicating the unconscious man on the bunk. "The girl told me he might as well be dead. We don't know what's going to happen to him. Or to any of us, for that matter. That Abraxas stuff on the television has me spooked."
"It's very strange," Chiun said. "If I saw it in New York City, and you saw it here, and someone in Ohio saw it also..."
"Right. A lot of people are seeing it. Including Smith, who suddenly decided to pirate the IRS computer banks. God only knows what else is going on inside that mansion on the beach."
"I agree," Chiun said. "I will stay here with the emperor. What will you do?"
"I've got a date," Remo said.
Mother Merle's was packed to bursting with islanders, their faces glistening with sweat as they danced to the lazy, hypnotic steel drum music of the band. In the corner, her face lit by the flickering light of a candle, sat Circe, the only white face in the crowd. She was smoking. The glowing red tip of her cigarette trembled in the darkness.
"Alone?" Remo said. "I'm surprised. When's the ambush?"
She took his hand. Her face, he saw, was lined with worry. "You've got to help me," she whispered.
"Oh, I think you've got enough help."
"I don't understand—"
"Come on. You're part of that group of kidnappers on the beach. Even the islanders know about you. And someone saw you running to your boss as soon as you left me back there in the garden. So suppose you cut the crap and try to do what you're going to do with me."
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