Hazel eyes narrowed craftily. "Ah, but is he away for the Master of Sinanju?" Chiun asked. Lieutenant Freeley assumed that the man to which he was speaking was this Master of Sinanju-whatever that was. The old man alone would have been little more than a comical nuisance. It was the presence of his silent entourage of armed Luzu warriors that made the Citizen Force man nervous.
"He is away for everyone," Freeley insisted. "You will have to leave here now." Taking a step back, he nodded to a guard in the shack. "Close the gate."
With an electronic whine, the tail barred gates began sliding slowly in from either side. They hadn't gone more than five feet before they stopped dead.
When the lieutenant searched for the reason the gates had stopped closing, he found that the little Asian had placed a sharp fingernail against one thick metal bar. A painful groan of metal issued from the straining track.
"Remove your hand," the astonished lieutenant commanded.
Chiun remained where he stood, one arm extended.
"I will check myself," the Master of Sinanju said. Turning, he confided to Bubu, who led his Luzu companions, "Politicians are notorious liars, presidents doubly so."
The motor began to shriek and smoke. "Remove your hand now," Lieutenant Freeley repeated.
He reached for his sidearm. Following the lead of their commander, Private Pecher and the other Citizen Force soldiers aimed their weapons at the wizened figure.
Near the shack, the smoking motor screamed loudly. Something snapped, and it stopped making any noise at all.
Chiun finally removed his fingernail from the gate.
"This man is under arrest!" snarled Freeley. "Take him!"
Hands tucked inside the sleeves of his kimono, Chiun seemed ready to offer no resistance. But when Pecher and another private came forward, there was the tiniest flicker of a smile at the papery edges of the old man's thin lips. And, unnoticed by the guards, he gave the subtlest of nods from his ancient, speckled-egg head.
The instant Pecher reached for Chiun's silk sleeve, Bubu's machete sought air, flashing up and around. Catching a glint of brilliant East African sunlight at the apex of its curving arc, it soared down, thunking solidly into the nearest extended rifle barrel.
Private Pecher felt the hollow clang of metal upon metal. Reflexively, he tugged the trigger of his rifle. Unfortunately, the young private didn't have time to realize that Bubu's machete was buried halfway through the barrel.
There was a blinding flash as the bullet struck the lodged blade of the machete. When the gun exploded, shards of twisted metal blew back into Pecher's face. He flipped to his back, his face a pulpy ball of flesh and fused rifle.
Even as the private fell, the rifles of the remaining guards flashed alert, sighting down on the machetewielding Luzu warriors.
"Drop your weapons!" screamed Lieutenant Freeley at the motionless natives. As he yelled, he noticed that the old Asian who had started the confrontation was gone.
At the gate, the Luzus held their ground. They offered the soldier no choice. "Fire!" he shouted to his men.
To his left, a green blur. The same color as the old man's kimono.
Rifles suddenly flipped this way and that. The lieutenant tracked the flash of movement through the line of soldiers. When Chiun appeared at the far end of the line, not one weapon was aimed at the Luzu warriors.
"Get the Luzus!" Freeley commanded, wrenching his side arm from its holster. "I will take care of the old man!"
But before he took a single step, he realized the horrible truth. The natives were no longer outside the gate. His stomach froze to ice when he heard the first warrior cry.
A flashing machete. The head of a man rolling onto the nearby lawn.
Lieutenant Freeley wheeled around.
One of his men ran toward him, his face split open in a sideways smile. Gripping the front of the lieutenant's uniform, the man slid to the ground.
The Luzus were everywhere. Machetes attacked necks and arms. Gun barrel struck gun barrel as panicked soldiers ducked and swirled. Horribly sharp blades found chests and bellies. Glistening entrails slopped onto burning asphalt.
The guard from the shack raced into the fray. A hurled machete thudded between his shocked eyes. His men dying all around him, Lieutenant Freeley sought out the man who had brought these maniac Luzus to this place. At the edge of the lawn, Chiun was watching the massacre, his face puckered in displeasure. The lieutenant aimed his automatic at the delicate, bald head.
Freeley felt the whir of air before he even had time to pull the trigger.
The machete struck his forearm on the downstroke. With a fat thump, both hand and gun plopped to the driveway. The automatic clattered away.
Grabbing his pumping arm stump in horror, the lieutenant stumbled away from the growing pile of East African corpses. As he fell, dazed and bloodied, inside the guard shack, the final standing guard surrendered his last breath.
THE LUZU WARRIORS stood proudly in the baking sunlight, ankle deep in bodies. Faces beamed beneath purple war paint. Panting, Bubu sought the Master of Sinanju's approval. But, still standing to one side, Chiun was anything but satisfied.
"I have never beheld a more pitiful display," the tiny Asian clucked unhappily. "It is no wonder you people have found yourself in such a pathetic state."
"But Master Chiun, we have won," Bubu insisted.
"Win, lose," Chiun said dismissively. "Words created for foolish games of chance." Bending at the waist, he picked up Bubu's machete. It was still jammed through the barrel of Private Pecher's rifle. "Such sloppiness," the old Korean complained. "If you lost your weapon in a true battle, how would you defend yourself?"
Bubu could feel the eyes of his fellow natives on his flushed skin. "I still have my knife," he offered, embarrassed. The bloody dagger he had used to defend himself during the battle was back in his waistband.
With an impatient snort, Chiun tugged at the machete's handle. The hopelessly wedged metal came free in his hands like Excalibur from the stone.
The Master of Sinanju didn't give the natives time to be awed. "This is not the blow Nuk taught you," he frowned, throwing the V-chopped rifle away in disgust.
As he spoke, there was a sudden scuffling noise behind Bubu. The Luzu warriors spun to find Lieutenant Freeley stumbling from the guard booth. He braced a rifle in his one good hand.
"Observe and learn," the Master of Sinanju told them.
Before Bubu or the others could react, a whirl of green flew past the assembled Luzus.
Face ashen from shock and loss of blood, Freeley tried to draw a bead on the advancing terror in green. He was still trying when Chiun descended on him.
In a blur, the machete flew up, then down. There was a gentle sound, like soft church bells on a snowy winter's midnight.
The first stroke severed half the barrel. The second invisible chop cleaved the stock in two. The third downstroke removed the screaming guard's other hand.
With a side-to-side chop, Chiun sliced the scream in the man's throat. Eyes open wide in shock, Lieutenant Freeley's head tumbled onto the hot East African pavement.
Chiun spun from the falling body.
"That is how it is done," he announced unhappily. He slapped the machete into the amazed Luzu's hand.
Bubu nodded dumbly.
"Gather your other weapons," Chiun commanded.