"The Luzu are a patient people," Chiun replied. "They lived one hundred years in desperation before invoking the contract of Nuk."
"Maybe," Remo said. "All I know is they had itchy machete fingers yesterday. And if there's a buffet at that party, Batubizee'll lead the charge with a knife and fork."
"They will wait," Chiun insisted knowingly. "It seems all they are suited for these days." Hunching on the floor, Deferens punched out the disarm code on the touch pad as the two men spoke. Though the East African was shivering, it was not due to cold. Deferens was ill. It had been three bombs since the last time either Remo or Chiun had thrown him in the water, yet he had been growing sicker as the night drew on. His soiled clothes were damp.
Over soon. All of it.
There was no longer any hope for escape. These two were like no one he had ever met. He was left with but one option. If he was to die, they would go with him.
Once he had disarmed the bomb, the digital counter shut down. Moving like an automaton, he reset it.
The least amount of time the bomb's processor would accept was a minute. He set it for this. As soon as he did, the red LED counter winked down to 00:59:00. The tenths of seconds raced by in a blinding flash.
While the last seconds of his life drained away before his eyes, Deferens woodenly feigned work. He shielded the counter with his body.
"Smith will be relieved to find out Willie Mandobar wasn't behind this," Remo commented absently.
"He will be more relieved that you did not allow this city to be destroyed," Chiun replied.
"I guess so," Remo mused thoughtfully. "It was still tempting, though. Our work would have been done for at least a year or two while the bad guys regrouped."
As he spoke, he reached into his pocket. Remo took out the stone-carved figure. He was studying the remarkably detailed image when he heard a gasp beside him.
When he glanced over, Chiun's mouth had formed a shocked O.
"Where did you get that?" the old man demanded.
Remo glanced at the figure. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I forgot to show you. That little Korean ghost kid gave it to me. You want to see it?"
When he tried handing it over to his teacher, the old Asian took a startled step back. He bumped into the still squatting Deferens, knocking the defense minister to the ground.
For an instant, Remo pulled his eyes from his teacher's uncharacteristically bewildered expression.
He saw the LED counter racing down to zero. "What the hell did you do?" Remo snapped. Deferens scampered back up, plastering his back to the face of the bomb. Sweat covered his pale forehead.
"Nothing," he promised desperately.
For Remo, the Master of Sinanju's strange behavior was instantly forgotten. Dropping the stone figure quickly back into his pocket, he shoved Deferens out of the way.
There were only twenty-five seconds left. "Dammit, he screwed with this thing, Chiun," Remo said urgently.
"You're too late!" Deferens barked triumphantly, his eyes burning hatred. "You're both dead!" He wheeled to Remo. "You are an idiot! I would have hired you both for twenty times what I paid you!"
He shook visibly-terror, exhaustion and victory pummeling his rattled senses.
Before Remo could take even a single step toward him, a new expression overcame his triumph. Deferens gasped in pain, clutching at his stomach where a red incision had abruptly slithered across his abdomen.
Remo alone saw the flashing nail as it exited the wound. As Deferens's organs slipped through the yawning opening, Remo wheeled to the Master of Sinanju.
The old man's hand was returning to his side. "Chiun, are you nuts?" Remo snapped.
The display was down to ten seconds.
The Korean's shocked expression upon seeing Remo's gift from the Master Who Never Was had steeled.
"Move," Chiun commanded, sweeping past Remo.
Crouching before the bomb, the Master of Sinanju's hands became a blur over the control pad. "This isn't your VCR," Remo warned.
With only six seconds to go, Chiun shot his pupil a single glance. "You have yet to learn how to program that, too," he said thinly. Without turning back to the control pad, a single tapered index finger reached out and entered a final number.
The countdown halted with three seconds left. The display panel on the side of the nuclear device winked to multiple zeroes and then slowly faded to black.
Standing beside his teacher, Remo blinked amazement. "How did you do that?" he asked. "I have been paying attention all evening," the Master of Sinanju answered. He still seemed vaguely unnerved. His tone grew serious. "Someday, Remo, you will be required to use your eyes and I will not be here."
Remo didn't have time to respond.
On the floor, even as his grimy hands struggled to hold on to his dying organs, a waxy smile had formed on the perfect face of L. Vas Deferens. But when he saw the display grow dark, he began to slowly shake his head.
"No," the minister panted weakly. A thin trickle of watery blood gurgled up between his model's lips.
"Sorry, Elvis," Remo said with not a hint of sympathy. "Guess you're just shit out of luck." A toe kick sent the East African defense minister into the stagnant pool. Trailing organs, he hit with a splash.
"What did that one say about paying you?" the Master of Sinanju asked as the sewer water accepted the gutted body.
Remo shook his head. "We'll talk about it later. Right now we've still got an army of Luzus to meet, and if Batubizee's got one whiff of the dessert cart, he's probably already led the charge." Spinning from his teacher, he hurried down the platform.
For an instant, a troubled flicker passed across Chiun's wrinkled face. As quickly as it came, he banished it.
On steady, gliding feet, he raced to follow his pupil.
Behind them both, the body of L. Vas Deferens bobbed on silent ripples in the water of the stagnant pool.
Chapter 36
Through a boozy haze, Nellie Mandobar watched Don Giovani approach. She staggered over to him, throwing a huge flabby arm around his shoulders. The Mafia leader shrank from both her touch and her alcohol-fueled breath.
"And how are you enjoying our party?" Mrs. Mandobar belched. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "Partner," she added, giggling.
His dark tan paled. Giovani strained to keep his horror from showing. "Keep your voice down, fool," he whispered. An unnatural smile that did not match his words was plastered across his weathered face. He tried to twist from her embrace, but her big arm was stuck fast to his shoulders.
"No one hears us," she grinned. She waved to the stage where three of the Seasonings cavorted in Lycra and Spandex. Their massive pregnant bellies bounced to the beat. "They're too busy enjoying the last party anyone here will ever have. Everyone but us, that is." Winking broadly, the former first lady of East Africa took a slug from her omnipresent glass.
"Shut up," Giovani snarled. He glanced around. "Have you seen Vincenzo?"
Nellie was exchanging her empty glass for a foamy green concoction from a passing waiter's tray.