The trio of skinheads nearly jumped out of their skins. As soon as they saw who it was who had spoken to them, their initial surprise rocketed into the stratosphere of abject terror.
Three separate hands flashed instinctively for three separate noses.
"Good," Remo said, stepping into the cell. "We don't have to get reacquainted. What are you doing here?"
The cell was small. Too small for much maneuvering. In spite of that, Erwin's fear of the terrifying Nazi killer got the better of him. As Remo approached, he took his crowbar in a double-handed grip and swung it fiercely at Remo's head. At least, that was Erwin's hastily hatched plan.
However, at the point where the crowbar should have made contact with Remo's face, something went desperately wrong. Remo's head was no longer where it was supposed to be.
Even as his eyes were registering the dull afterimage of Remo ducking out of the way of his mighty swing, Erwin's momentum was carrying the heavy crowbar in a wide arc. The bar whizzed around the cell, slamming with a loud finality into the forehead of the third skinhead. The man dropped like an undercooked strudel to the damp stone floor of the cell.
Erwin's brain was trying to register what his body had just done. He stared dumbly down at the corpse of his friend. So amazed was he by what had transpired that he didn't feel the crowbar being plucked from his hands. He only briefly became aware of the metal rod as it was bent over the back of his skull. Then he was no longer aware of anything.
Remo tossed the twisted crowbar onto Erwin's body.
"So much for Larry and Curly," he said dryly. Remo turned to the surviving skinhead.
"We were sent to find a block of wood," Hirn blurted out. His hand was still over his bandaged nose.
"This was what they were after," Heidi Stolpe said, excited. She stepped past Chiun and made her way into the cell.
Heidi tugged at a rusted manacle that was secured to the wall. It pulled away easily, along with the facade of the rock beneath. A hollow behind revealed the contours of yet another section of the Siegfried carving. Heidi took out the wooden block, handling it with great reverence.
"Whoever they are working for must know at least part of my family's history to know of this hiding place," she said, examining the block.
"Of course," Remo said sarcastically. "Isn't everyone in on this dink-ass treasure hunt of yours?" Heidi and Chiun weren't listening to him. The Master of Sinanju had padded into the cell behind Heidi. Both of them were observing the carvings in the surface of the ancient petrified wood. They quickly left, arguing about the true location of a river.
Remo turned his attention back to the lone skinhead.
"Who sent you?" he asked Hirn.
"What?" Hirn asked, startled. He had been watching Chiun and Heidi bicker.
"If you're hard of hearing, I can match your ears to your nose." He reached for the sides of Hirn's head.
"Kluge! His name is Kluge. Adolf Kluge." Remo's bloodless lips thinned to invisibility. Hirn recognized the predator's glint in his eyes. The skinhead again pressed a hand over his injured nose. His free hand he placed over an ear. He was forced to jam the other ear protectively into his shoulder. "Where is he?" Remo asked.
"What?" Hirn yelled.
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Remo slapped the skinhead's hands away from his face. "Kluge," he repeated. "Where?"
"At an inn," Him said, nervously rubbing his smarting hands. "Waiting for us. It's in the Black Forest." He gave Remo the name of the lodge. "I can take you there," he offered lamely.
"Thanks," Remo said, "I already have a guide." He launched a hard finger deep into Hirn Zeitzler's broad forehead. Surprisingly, the neo-Nazi's brain must have performed some function in life, for when it ceased to operate, so too did Hirn Zeitzler. As the skinhead was collapsing atop his neo-Nazi comrades, Remo was already heading up the dungeon stairs.
His cruel face held the promise of violent death.
Chapter 18
He sat alone on the terrace. Waiting.
The late-afternoon air was cold. Adolf Kluge watched his breath escape in tiny puffs of steam. He checked his watch.
Late.
Hirn should have been here hours ago. It was a simple matter. The only way Kluge could have made it simpler would have been to take them by the hand and lead them to the block carving himself. These skinhead creatures were moronic.
He would have sent one of the Numbers, but there were precious few of them left. Some were here. He had sent more with his aide, Herman, to help with the South American relocation of the IV villagers. Most of the genetically engineered men were dead. To Kluge's knowledge, only one was unaccounted for. He was the last of the four-man team Kluge had sent to Berlin weeks ago to intercept the two Masters of Sinanju at the airport. Presumably that one had ended up like his companions. All dead. All thanks to the men from Sinanju.
Kluge glanced at his watch again. Barely fifteen seconds had elapsed since the last time he checked. All the planning he had done would come to naught if Hirn failed to get the final piece of the ancient puzzle. The skinhead's friends were already camped in the woods up the road from the Pension Kirchmann. Only thirty-eight of them had shown up. In truth, that was more than Kluge had expected. He had augmented the band of skinheads with a few of the surviving Numbers from the IV village.
Kluge had the vehicles and the men. If the gold was in the right place, he would have that, too. But only if Hirn came down from whatever drug- or alcohol-induced stupor he was in today and brought Kluge the one thing he needed to make the whole plan come together.
Somewhere in the forest nearby, an animal snorted.
Kluge had never spent much time in this area of Germany, but in spite of his newness to the region he knew one thing: this part of the Black Forest had been appropriately named.
Staring into the woods from his terrace at the rear of the inn was like staring into the great abyss. The trees were ghastly, gnarled aberrations. As old, it seemed, as time itself. Kluge tried to see between the nearest ones, attempting to find whatever animal had made the noise. It was probably just a local dog.
He leaned forward, looking intently, but saw nothing.
The first snow had not yet fallen. It would have helped to have something light as background. Even just a dusting of powdery crystals would have reflected some light.
Whatever had made the noise, it was probably long gone now. Kluge settled back into his chair. His head hadn't touched the fanned wooden back of the handmade chair when Kluge felt a sudden, intense pressure around his throat.
It was as if all of the veins and muscles of his neck had somehow impossibly animated themselves and had wrapped snakelike around his throat. He felt the blood clog in his head. His eyes watered and bulged as he grabbed at the constricting force at his throat.
Instead of finding a neck, Kluge felt a hand. Woozily he followed the hand to an abnormally thick wrist. As his vision swirled around him, his spinning gaze somehow located the person at the other end of the hand.
Adolf Kluge found himself staring into the eyes of the Angel of Death.
"The gold rush is over, Kluge," Remo said tightly.
Kluge gasped for breath, but none could pass beyond Remo's clenching fingers. He pulled at Remo's hand, but to no avail. It was as powerful as a vise.
At the moment when he was about to black out, the strong grip relaxed slightly.
"Wait a minute," Remo said, peering intently at Adolf Kluge. "I know you."
Kluge sucked down a pained lungful of air. His head began to clear.
"Yes," Kluge rasped, nodding. He found the effort difficult with Remo's hand still clasped around his throat.
"From Paris, right? You claimed to be a British secret agent. You're the one who whacked Smith."
"Yes," Kluge panted. "I helped you stop Schatz."
"Helped, my ass," Remo said, remembering the neo-Nazi takeover of Paris. "He was a renegade from Four. The only reason you wanted to stop him was to cover your tracks. It didn'
t do any good. I'm here now. And you're checking out."
Remo increased the pressure on Kluge's neck once more.
A frantic voice shrieked suddenly from the corner of the inn. The Master of Sinanju had just come running into view near the well-tended shrubberies.
"Unhand him!" Chiun shouted desperately. Kimono sleeves flapped as he raced up along the rear of the building beneath the dining-room windows. Heidi trailed behind him.
Remo and the Master of Sinanju had gone in opposite directions when they arrived at the Pension Kirchmann. Remo had been lucky enough to stumble on Kluge first.
Chiun vaulted up over the low hedge that rimmed the terrace. He landed next to Remo and the seated Kluge.
"I'm not letting him go, Chiun," Remo warned evenly.
"Remo, your village needs that treasure," Chiun cried.
"That bunch of ingrates has so much loot they could eat it, wear it and smoke it for a hundred years and not make a dent in it," Remo retorted. He continued strangling Kluge.
Heidi Stolpe rounded the terrace and ran up the rear stairs. Sliding to a stop, she watched the drama unfold, helpless to do anything to stop Remo.
Chiun's tone grew soft. "Do it for me," he pleaded.
Remo's hand relaxed. He looked at Kluge's bright red bullfrog features. He glanced at the Master of Sinanju. The man who had given him everything in life. He hesitated.
"Smith's orders were clear, Little Father," Remo said.
"Pah! Smith's orders," Chiun mocked. "This gold will be with us long after Smith has issued his last demented decree."
Remo's grip had slackened to the point where Adolf Kluge was able to suck in a huge gulp of air. The IV leader wheezed painfully.
"Gold doesn't matter to me. Never has."
"It matters to me," Chiun insisted, eyes imploring. "Therefore it should matter to you."
Chiun had tossed down his trump card. Toying with Remo's affection for him. Remo knew that the wily Korean was only playing with his emotions. Unfortunately Chiun was right. Even though he was motivated purely by greed, it would hurt Chiun if Remo killed Kluge. For this reason alone, Remo couldn't bring himself to complete the act.
With great reluctance, he released his grip on the gasping IV leader.
Kluge hacked and wheezed alternately, dragging cold, ragged mouthfuls of air down into his oxygen-deprived lungs.
Chiun smiled. "You are a good son," he said proudly.
"No," Remo answered solemnly. His eyes were flint. "That's a load of baloney. You wanted to make me feel guilty, and it worked. End of story."
Chiun was taken aback by Remo's candor. "You were being rash. Sinanju needs that gold."
Remo shook his head sadly.
"I'm not buying it anymore, Chiun," he said. "You want the gold. Now you'll get it. The almighty buck has always been the love of your life. Maybe it'd be good for you to remember that that's what got Bal-Mung into trouble."
Remo turned abruptly away from the silenced Chiun. Marching past Heidi, he began walking alone across the vast, darkening lawn behind the rambling, old-fashioned inn.
He didn't look back.
HOUR FED INTO HOUR.
Night had taken firm hold of the ancient forest around the Pension Kirchmann. Elongated rectangles of amber light stabbed across the black lawn from the inn's brightly lit rear windows, marred only by the crisscross pattern of the painted wooden strips separating each pane.
Heidi Stolpe pulled her woolen coat more tightly around her shoulders as she crossed the sprawling lawn. Her years spent in South America had spoiled her. She wasn't used to such cold weather. And winter was only just beginning.
She found Remo sitting in the dead autumn grass, his back propped against the trunk of a huge European ash.
Remo's arms were crossed stiffly. He stared angrily at another nearby tree. If looks alone could fell a tree, the one Remo was scowling at would have already been halfway to the lumber mill.
Heidi stared at him for a long time. When he realized she wasn't going to go away, he finally looked up.
"What do you want?" he asked, flat of voice.
"I only wished to see that you were all right," she said gently. "Your father said you would be."
"You mean Daddy Warbucks stopped wheeling and dealing long enough to think of me?" Remo said, feigning shock.
"Do not be overly harsh with him, Remo. He is not a young man. Appreciate him for who he is." She paused, as if considering whether she should speak further. At long last, she continued. "I never knew my father," she whispered, staring wistfully into the forest.
"He isn't my biological father, Heidi," Remo said.
Her smile held an odd sadness. "I am not blind," she said softly. "But biology cannot be everything, can it?"
There was something deeply troubling in the way she said it, as if her life held some sorrowful burden that was almost too great for her to bear.
Her sadness touched him.
For a time years ago, Remo had searched for his biological parents. But when he learned the truth of the two strangers whose DNA he carried, he found that they could never replace the man he had come to know as his spiritual father. And here was Heidi-virtually a stranger to him-defending Chiun. Remo's heart went out to her.
"I'll get over it," he murmured.
Heidi smiled once more. She hugged herself for warmth. "Aren't you cold?" she asked, changing the subject.
He had worn nothing but a thin T-shirt since she met him. It had to be below freezing out here.
"No," Remo said simply.
She nodded. "I suppose I should get back inside. Before they cut me out of the deal altogether."
"How's it going?" Remo asked.
"Kluge wanted to divide it into thirds. He argued that this was how it was historically supposed to be."
"Chiun didn't go along with that," Remo said firmly.
"Not in the least." She laughed. "He still maintains that the deal we made is the one that supersedes all others."
"The one where he gets fifty percent," Remo said knowingly.
"Yes," Heidi said. "I eventually agreed to split my fifty percent evenly with Kluge, if only to get all of this over with. That seemed to satisfy them both."
"For now."
She agreed. From the way she stared off toward the bright lights of the inn, Remo could tell she was thinking about the future. "Kluge has trucks and men to haul the treasure. I think it is for this reason as much as any that Chiun is allowing him to live."
"You haven't known him long, but you know him well," Remo said with a shrewd smirk.
"He and I are very much alike. I am desperate to keep my family's property from falling into bankruptcy. It is a far worse thing, Remo, to have had money and lost it than to never have had it in the first place. We were nobles at one time. With the Nibelungen Hoard, we will be again."
"I don't know what the big fuss is about gold," Remo grumbled. "It's just like any other metal."
She squatted, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Tell that to the landlord when the rent is due," she said plaintively.
Remo felt an odd tingle of electricity from her touch. There was an air of mystery about her that he hadn't noticed before. Her concern for his relationship with Chiun and the way she shielded the secrets in her past-it was almost as if there was a strange connection between the two of them.
Remo had no time to act on these newfound stirrings before she was gone.
Heidi's hand brushed away from his shoulder. She turned abruptly on her heel. Marching briskly, she headed back across the frozen yard toward the sprawling old inn.
THE LIGHTS BURNED well after midnight as Chiun, Kluge and Heidi labored over all the details of the expedition.
Kluge thought that he should be compensated for the use of his people and equipment. Chiun agreed and told him to see Heidi. Heidi said that this was out of the question since she had already cut her share of the take in half. She suggested that the cost of mounting the expedition was offset by hi
s dishonesty in stealing the Sinanju piece of the carving.
Chiun agreed with all of this, provided it didn't cost him anything.
It was approaching 12:30 a.m. when Kluge finally agreed to absorb the cost of the trucks and supplies. The three of them then set about recording the terms of their contract on paper to allay any confusion as to precisely what terms had been agreed upon. This started the whole negotiating process anew.
At one point, Remo stuck his head in the door to the inn's library where the trio was negotiating. He announced that he was turning in for the night. No one-not even Heidi-seemed to notice he was there.
It was approaching two in the morning when their meeting at last broke up. Each of the interested parties went to bed with a version of the contract, handwritten by the Master of Sinanju himself in Korean, English and German.
The ink was still wet on his copy of the contract as Adolf Kluge made his weary way up to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him with a soft click.
Alone, Kluge massaged his aching throat as he stepped over to his suitcase.
Folding the seven sheets of paper carefully, he tucked the contract in his meager luggage. He dared not throw it away. Not yet. Kluge would keep up the act until it was no longer necessary.
Kluge had memorized the details of the Sinanju and Siegfried family sections of the map. Likewise, he had committed to memory all that was visible in the photograph of the Hagan piece. He had then destroyed all three.
Chiun claimed to know all that was on the Sinanju piece.
Heidi had the full Hagan segment.
But only Kluge had seen the Siegfried quarter. Apparently, the Nibelung king had told the carver to put something extra on the piece he had intended for himself. It was probably an incentive for the others to not stumble blindly into the treasure trove, even if they somehow managed to find it without the missing piece.
It was King Siegfried's revenge from beyond the grave.
And since Kluge was the only one who knew what was on that quarter, he was the only one of them who would be truly safe when they opened the age-old chamber.
Kluge would sign as many contracts as they wanted him to sign. He would argue passionately for each bargaining point as if it truly mattered to him. But it did not.
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