The Master of Sinanju was too distracted to reply. A glistening black limousine was parked by the curb at the far end of a broad carport. Standing beside the car was a somber young man with skin as dark as the limo's paint.
Although his blue suit was impeccably tailored, he fidgeted uncomfortably, as if unused to his garments. At Chiun's appearance, a curious frown crossed the man's face. Pushing away from the car, he took a tentative step forward.
"Master of Sinanju?" he asked, with the same British-influenced harshness of the customs agent. Suspicion creased Chiun's aged face as he stopped before the young man. "I am he," the wizened Korean replied, with a bow that was more perfunctory than ceremonial.
"What's going on?" Remo asked. "Who the hell is this?"
"Hush, Remo," Chiun hissed. Back straight, he addressed the native. "You were sent by Batubizee, son of Kwaanga?"
"I was, Master of Sinanju." He spoke Chiun's title hesitantly, as if uncertain he had truly found the right man.
"Then why are you dressed in that Western garb and not in the raiments of the glorious Luzu warrior empire?" Chiun asked, his face puckering in displeasure.
"The Luzu are greeted with disdain in the cities of East Africa. My clothing makes it easier for me to blend in."
His words did nothing to dispel Chiun's sour expression. Exhaling disapproval, the old man reached into the folds of his kimono. In a rustle of fabric, he produced the dagger embossed with the Sinanju symbol.
When he saw the knife, any doubts the black man had entertained fled. His features bloomed in pleasure, his smile revealing a row of perfect white teeth. He bowed formally at the waist.
"I bring you greetings from the son of the sons of Kwaanga, Chief Batubizee, of the line of the first great Luzu warrior chief. Hail to you, O awesome and powerful Master of Sinanju, he who graciously throttles the universe."
Chiun handed over the knife, hilt first.
"What's this all about?" Remo demanded, his face registering growing confusion. "And when the hell did you unpack that?"
"You ask too many questions," Chiun said from the corner of his mouth.
"And you haven't answered one yet. What the Belgium is going on here?"
This time, it wasn't Chiun who ignored him. "Come," the young man said. "The chief waits for you in the heart of the Luzu empire." He clapped his hands loudly.
There was a truck parked before the limo. Men spilled out, racing back to their small group.
"My luggage is inside," the Master of Sinanju said.
The men dutifully ran inside the terminal. Through the tinted windows they could be seen swarming for the luggage carousel.
"Please wait with me in my vehicle," the native offered, opening the door to the limousine.
Chiun took a step toward the car.
"Everybody freeze for one goddamn minute!" Remo snapped. "Chiun, you are not getting in that car."
"If the Master so wishes, you may accompany us in the limousine," the young native offered helpfully. "Where do you wish your servant to ride, Master?"
"That other vehicle is good enough for him," Chiun said, waving toward the parked truck. "But I would be certain to keep the windows down," he added in a low voice.
The men appeared through the terminal doors, bearing Chiun's trunks. They loaded the baggage into limo and truck.
"This is why you were so quick to change your mind," Remo snapped as the men worked. "You were coming here already."
"For a mere servant, your deductive skills are impressive," Chiun droned near the open car door.
"Servant my ass," Remo growled. "This is incredible, even by your standards. You bilked Smith for the airfare. You were coming to freaking East Africa anyway, so you just hitched a ride at his expense."
Chiun's face was stone. "Mad Harold's coffers are deep," he said dismissively.
"He even sent us first class," Remo muttered to himself. "Smith never sends us first class."
Chiun had been scrutinizing the men as they loaded his luggage. The trunk and front seat of the limo were crammed full. There was only a little space left in the ATV as the men climbed inside. Hiking up his kimono skirts, Chiun started to get into the rear of the limousine.
"You can't just leave, Chiun," Remo said, exasperated.
"I must," the Master of Sinanju said seriously. "For I have an appointment in Luzuland. You may come if you wish. But this one is correct." He nodded to his driver, who was even now getting behind the wheel. "It would not be seemly for a servant to accompany me in my vehicle. You may follow with my luggage." He slammed the door.
"Smitty sent you here to help me," Remo insisted through the open window.
"You are a full Master of Sinanju," Chiun said impatiently.
"And you're a thief. Don't think you're gonna get away with this. I'm telling Smith."
"Tattletale."
''Fraud."
"I do not have time for this," Chiun hissed. "You will be fine without me. There are only two things one needs to know to survive in East Africa."
"Yeah," Remo snapped, "what's that?"
"Do not trust anyone. White or black." "And the other?"
Chiun considered. "Perhaps there is only one thing."
He powered up the window, and the limousine drew away from the curb. The truck waited for it to pass, then fell in behind. The miniconvoy headed away from the Bachsburg airport terminal and out into the sweltering street.
Remo Williams could only stand helplessly on the sidewalk and watch them go.
Angry. And alone.
Chapter 6
Nunzio Spumoni was melting in the heat.
It was East Africa. The heat and humidity were infernal. Oppressive. Relentless.
Although he kept the air conditioner cranked up to its maximum, the air in his hotel room was still wet enough to wring out by hand. Outside, it was like trying to breathe underwater. And more aggravating than the heat itself was the fact that it didn't seem to bother anyone as much as him.