Line of Succession td-73

by Warren Murphy

  "I am not afraid to face you." The voice was that of Adonis. He walked calmly toward Remo, a smug smile on his wide tanned face.

  "Remo. Beware," warned Chiun.

  "But you are afraid of me." And suddenly he was a ninja in black costume with one round blue eye and one slanted black eye.

  "Not me," said Remo.

  "If you kill me, you die," crowed the Dutchman, reverting to his natural form. His blond hair swished like a lion's mane.

  "He is baiting you," said Chiun.

  "So what?" barked Remo, setting himself. "If he kills me, he dies too. It goes both ways-doesn't it, Jeremiah?"

  "Do you not see?" Chiun said. "Look at his eyes. They are full of madness. He wants to die. He has nothing to lose. "

  The Dutchman stopped in his tracks and set his fists on his hips. A sea breeze made his purple fighting costume flap against his arms and legs. He opened his mouth and a laugh rattled out as if it were produced by a mechanism keyed to the throwing-back of his head. It was not a human sound.

  From the yellow sash girding his waist he plucked a pair of rimless glasses and tossed them at Remo's feet.

  Remo looked down. They were Smith's glasses.

  "I have killed your intended bride, your daughter, and your former employer. Take your revenge now, if you dare. "

  "I dare," said Remo, leaping into the air. He executed a magnificent Heron Drop, rising over thirty feet into the air. At the apex of his leap, he dropped sharply toward the lifted face of the Dutchman. But the Dutchman stood his ground, prepared to receive a death kick in the face. And Remo knew, too late, that Chiun was right. The Dutchman wanted to die. But at the last possible moment the Dutchman shot out a hand and caught Remo's right ankle as it came down. Spinning like a discus thrower, he redirected the energy of Remo's descent into a wide arc. He let go. Remo flew in a straight line, smashing against the side of his unfinished house. He landed in a tangle of splintered bamboo and teak.

  The Dutchman's voice filtered into his mind. "Come, Remo. We have all night to die. Perhaps I will kill your Viking dyke of a lover before I extinguish your life."

  Remo jumped to his feet. He came out the door like a cannonball, hitting the door with his palm. The door flew ahead of him and bounced along on its corners like a square wheel.

  The Dutchman stood laughing. Behind him Jilda lifted the dagger from her leather belt. She crept up behind him. Remo caught the bouncing door and flipped it like a Frisbee. It sailed high, then sank like a pitcher's fastball. Remo hoped it would distract him just long enough.

  The Dutchman watched the door lift and then plunge in his direction. It would be easy to avoid. Had Remo learned nothing in the years since they had last clashed?

  He saw the hands a split-second before the dagger slid under his jaw. So that was it. It had almost worked too. "My child. Speak of her fate," Jilda of Lakluun hissed, pulling his hair back to expose his throat.

  "Your hands are so gnarled, Jilda," he said smoothly. "How can you even use them?"

  Jilda recoiled. The dagger dropped. Her fingers stiffened as if petrified. She held them up, and saw with widening eyes that they were like dried wood, as if tree limbs had grown into the rough shape of her hands.

  The Dutchman turned. "Old dry wood," he mocked. "Not warrior's hands. Good for firewood only."

  The fingers ignited first. The flames were blue and ethereal but they crept toward her wrists and then raced toward her elbows, which had also turned to wood.

  "An illusion! It is only an illusion!" Jilda cried.

  "Not the flames," corrected the Dutchman.

  "Yes! Illusion!" she said, squeezing her eyes against the pain.

  The Dutchman stepped back as the Master of Sinanju took Jilda and forced her to the ground, rolling her in the dirt to smother the fire.

  "The flames are real," Chiun said. "It is one of his true sorceries. "

  "Now watch, old man," called the Dutchman, "and you will see who is truly worthy of becoming the next Master of Sinanju." He turned his attention to Remo Williams once again.

  Remo's face was warped with pain and rage. He was only yards away now, and coming like an angry arrow.

  "You are looking well," said the Dutchman. "I only wish your wedding-excuse me, our wedding-had not been interrupted. I had in mind for you a most memorable honeymoon."

  Remo came in with both hands held open. He grasped thin air. The real Dutchman materialized behind him. "Pitiful," said the Dutchman. "You have learned nothing. I am still your superior. Nuihc trained me as a child, while you came to Sinanju as an adult. I will always have that advantdge."

  And to show his contempt, he turned his back on Remo. "Now we are equal," he said, folding his arms.

  Remo sent out a sweeping kick. The Dutchman jumped in place, expertly avoiding it. He spun with the jump and sent out a stiff-fingered blow. Remo parried it with crossed wrists. Hooking the back of his enemy's knee with a toe, Remo sent the Dutchman into a spinning cartwheel. He landed on his back.

  "Who's superior now?" asked Remo, placing a conquering foot on top of the Dutchman's heaving chest. Remo pressed down until he heard the crackle of straining cartilage. The Dutchman's unreal blue eyes flared.

  "I underestimated you, Remo. Very well, slay me, if that is your wish."

  "No, Remo," Chiun said. The Master of Sinanju leapt to Remo's side.

  "Stay out of this, Chiun," Remo warned. And while he glared at Chiun, the Dutchman saw his opportunity. Steelhard fingers took Remo's ankle and twisted once. Remo cried out. He floundered away in pain, hopping on one foot.

  The Dutchman pushed himself erect and said, "Your powers of concentration are pathetic. How did you survive your initial training?"

  Remo found his feet. "Some people think I'm pretty good," he answered. When he leaned on his right foot, it hurt. But he felt no grinding from broken bones. The pain wasn't important.

  "Mah-Li does not think so. She is in the Void now, her spirit crying out that you could not protect her. Your child, your employer, they are eternal testaments to your incompetence. "

  "Get ready to join them," said Remo, advancing menancingly.

  "No, Remo." It was Jilda's voice. "He knows where my Freya is, whether she is dead or alive. Do not kill him. Please."

  "Listen to her, Remo," Chiun said. The Master of Sinanju stood over Jilda, his hands fluttering helplessly. He could not kill the Dutchman without killing his pupil. It was between the two white Masters of Sinanju now.

  "Listen to me," cried the Dutchman. "You will only beat me by killing me. I want you to do that, Remo. I have killed those closest to you. I could kill you. I prefer that you kill yourself by killing me."

  Remo said nothing. His eyes were focused on that open mocking face. Nothing else mattered now. It was just him and the Dutchman. The warning cries of Chiun were faint in his ears, as if all Remo's energies had been diverted from his surroundings to his enemy. The Dutchman was only four paces away, then three, then two, then . . .

  Remo's fist blow went to the solar plexus. It would have felled a strong tree, but the Dutchman had hardened his stomach muscles in anticipation of the blow. He bounced back several feet, but retained his balance.

  The Dutchman grinned at him. "A poor blow. Your elbow was bent. But that has always been your problem, hasn't it?" Remo came on, silent and purposeful. There was something in his eyes, the Dutchman saw. Something that was not anger, something that did not belong in the eyes of a human being, even one trained in Sinanju.

  "You're going to tell me where Freya is, scum," Remo said levelly.

  "Where?" mocked the Dutchman. "Why, she is all around us. I fed one piece to a sea gull, some to the snakes, and the rest to the crabs. I don't believe in wasting good meat, do you? Especially such tender, sweet meat."

  Remo's hand was quicker than the Dutchman's eye by the merest of microseconds, but it was enough. He snared the Dutchman's long hair and twisted his head around. Remo shoved him down on one knee, his hands locking abo
ut the Dutchman's smooth neck from behind.

  Remo began squeezing. "Tell-me-where-she-is," he said through grinding teeth. "Tell-me-where-my-daughter-is." Jeremiah Purcell strained for Remo's hands. His pale fingers were frantic, but it was as if they struggled with stone. Remo's death grip on his throat was unshakable. He twisted and fought in vain, and as his field of vision began to redden like boiling blood, he panicked. He hadn't expected it to end this way. Remo had cut off the oxygen flow to his lungs, disturbing his breathing rhythms. For the first time, the Dutchman felt fear. He realized he did not want to die, but Remo was squeezing the life out of him. Darkness rolled across his vision even with his eyes open wide.

  The Dutchman tried to summon up an image, but the beast would not respond. Instead, there was a voice, cold and metallic.

  "You can fight or you can beg," Remo was saying into his ear. "But I won't let go until you tell me where my daughter is. Can you hear me, Purcell? You'd better be serious about dying because I'm serious about killing you."

  No, no, Jeremiah said wordlessly. It can't end like this. I'm not done. O beast, help me. But the beast in him was cowed, as helpless as he was before this true Master of Sinanju.

  Finally, with his sight darkening like a falling curtain, Jeremiah Purcell relaxed his clawing fingers and spread them out in an unmistakable gesture of surrender.

  "You giving up, huh?" demanded Remo, still squeezing. "You want me to let go. Is that it? Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe I don't want to let you go at all. Maybe I want to finish the job, you scum."

  "No, Remo," Chiun said. His voice was suddenly close. "If you must kill this man, do it with a clear mind. Listen to me. Should he die, he takes not only your life but also the truth of Freya's fate with him."

  With a final savage shake of the Dutchman's neck, Remo let go. His hands were like claws as he stood up, his fingers clenched so tightly they could not fully open.

  "Where?" demanded Remo, his chest heaving.

  The Dutchman curled up like an insect that had been set afire. His hands held his throat. He coughed rackingly. It was many minutes before the coughing subsided and he was able to speak.

  "She is in the House of the Masters. While you were busy chasing my images, I placed her in one of the steamer trunks. "

  "You son of a bitch," hissed Remo, going for the Dutchman's throat again.

  "No," Jeremiah Purcell said, cowering. "I did not kill her. Think of me what you wish, but like you, I am Sinanju. To kill a child is forbidden. The illusion of her death was only to provoke you."

  "All right," said Remo. "We'll check it out. You be here when I get back."

  "Why?"

  "I still want a piece of you. Isn't that what you want?"

  "Yes," said the Dutchman in an unconvincing voice. "It is what I want."

  Chiun stood over the huddled figure in purple silk.

  "I will stand guard over this one while you see to your child, Remo."

  Chapter 29

  The Master of Sinanju waited until Remo and Jilda of Lakluun disappeared from view. He bent over the Dutchman's cringing form.

  "Forget the pain in your throat," Chiun said softly. " Focus on your breathing. My son has robbed you of breath, disrupting your inner harmony. Take slow sips. Hold them deep in the stomach before releasing the bad air. That is it. Good. "

  The Dutchman found the strength to sit up. His eyes were glazed like a birthday cake.

  "He was. . . " The words rattled in the throat. The Dutchman coughed painfully.

  "He was stronger than you expected," finished Chiun. "Yes. He is a different Remo now. He knows who he is. He understands that he is the avatar of Shiva on earth. The knowledge troubles him, but he has taken an important step in his development. I sometimes think he is almost as powerful as I. Almost."

  "My powers are greater."

  "Your capacity for destruction is greater, that is all. Nuihc has taught you well. Although he is long dust, I still rue the day I taught him Sinanju. Are you able to walk?"

  The Dutchman nodded. "I think so."

  "Stand up, then. You will follow me into the village."

  "No. I will wait here for your pupil's return. "

  "You no longer wish death. I saw it in your face. And Remo will surely kill you when he returns."

  "I'm not afraid of him," the Dutchman said sullenly.

  "You are, whether you admit it or not. And I am afraid for my son. If you agree to follow me into the village, I will see that you live to see another day."

  "You slew Nuihc, who was like a father to me," said the Dutchman in a bitter voice. "I will make no deals with you. "

  "And I will make none with you, carrion who murdered a child of my village," blazed Chiun. He slapped the Dutchman across the face. "If it were within my power to snuff out your base life without extinguishing Remo's with the same stroke, you would now be so much scavenger food. Arise! "

  The Dutchman stumbled to his feet. His face was red where Chiun had slapped him. His eyes were strange. "You will come with me to the village."

  The Dutchman nodded numbly.

  The Master of Sinanju walked two paces behind the Dutchman so that he could watch him at all times. The Dutchman walked unsteadily. His confidence was gone, Chiun knew. He had allowed himself to be manhandled by Remo. That was bad enough. But he had also displayed cowardice in combat-a trait that was considered unSinanju. The discovery that he feared death in spite of his boasts had shaken this white youth. He was still turning the realization over in his mind. What was left of it. For Chiun knew that the Dutchman walked along the edge of madness. It had been his lot ever since he discovered his mutant powers. They had always been accompanied by a strange desire to kill, which the Dutchman called the beast. It had never been fully controllable.

  As they descended into the sheltered village, Chiun began speaking quietly.

  "You see the square below?"

  "Yes," the Dutchman said woodenly. "You see my villagers there?"

  "Yes. "

  "When we reach the square, we will walk among my people. They will be curious. They will come close to see you better. Can you still use your mind powers?"

  "I think so."

  "Be certain. Imagine for me a butterfly. A pretty summer butterfly. "

  The Dutchman concentrated. About his head, black wings fluttered in the moonlight. A butterfly. But Chiun saw that the butterfly, although having a beautiful pattern to its veined wings, had a flaming skull for a head. Despite himself, Chiun shuddered.

  "You will use your power of mind," Chiun went on, "in this fashion. . . . "

  Remo found Freya in the first trunk he opened. His ears had zeroed in on her heartbeat as soon as he entered the House of the Masters. Surprisingly, the heartbeat was very calm.

  "Are you okay?" Remo asked, lifting her into his arms. Freya looked at him seriously, but her face was unafraid. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"

  "Yeah," Remo laughed. "I'm okay."

  "Hi, Mommy."

  "I would hug you, my child," Jilda said warmly, holding out her seared arms, "but I cannot. Your father will hug you for me."

  "What happened to your hands, Mommy? Did you burn them? "

  "Never mind, child. It is nothing."

  "She takes after you," Remo said admiringly.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Brave. The both of you. Locked in a trunk for a couple of hours. I'll bet you didn't even cry, did you?" Remo asked Freya.

  "Nope," replied Freya. "Why should I cry? I knew you'd come to get me out. Isn't that what daddies are for?"

  "Yes, sweetheart," Remo said. "That's what daddies are for. "

  "Did I tell you about my pony?" Freya asked. "His name is Thor. I ride him every day. "

  "Hush," said Jilda. She turned to Remo. "As long as the Dutchman lives, none of us are safe. What can you do with him that will not cause your own destruction?"

  "I don't know," answered Remo. "I'll think of something, because no one is ever going to lay a hand on this
little girl again. Right, Freya?"

  "Right," Freya said stoutly, making a little fist. "We'll beat him up. Pow!"

  Remo set Freya down. He searched Jilda's face. "We gotta talk," he said seriously.

  "My arms need attention," she said, holding them up.

  The skin was singed to the elbow. Remo examined her carefully.

  "Not good," he decided. "But not bad. Chiun knows a lot of healing stuff. I'll bet he can have you swinging a sword again inside of a month."

  And Remo smiled. Jilda smiled back.

  "I think he wants to be kissed again, Mommy," said Freya, looking up with innocent eyes.

  Remo and Jilda laughed.

  Their laughter was cut short by the sound of commotion from outside.

  "Sounds like a riot," Remo said. He made for the door.

  "Stay, Freya," Jilda warned, and followed Remo. Remo stepped out of the House of the Masters and almost fell over the figure of the Dutchman. Reflexively he grabbed him by his long hair. A thin scream-not the Dutchman's-pierced his ears.

  "You're not fooling me, Purcell," said Remo, tossing the Dutchman to the ground. He fell like a rag doll. He must still be weak, Remo thought.

  Remo had set himself, in case it was an act, when another Dutchman came around the corner.

  Remo took the second Dutchman by the arm. Again there was no resistance. But the second Dutchman pointed to the first and in an old woman's voice cried, "The evil one. I must escape." The sounds of confusion down in the square grew more frantic.

  Dragging both Dutchmen to the edge of the hillock on which the House of the Masters stood, Remo saw a hundred figures in purple silk running wildly through the village, bumping and stumbling in a frenzied effort to escape each other.

  In their midst, the Master of Sinanju danced about like a chicken running amok.

  "Chiun?" Remo called. "What the hell happened?"

  "Are you blind? Can you not see?" Chiun shouted back. "I see a million Dutchmen everywhere."

  "That is what I see too," said Jilda.

  The gabble of Korean voices told Remo that each villager saw the others as Dutchman. They ran from one another, not knowing which one-if any-was the real Dutchman.