"There is nothing wrong with that," Chiun sniffed.
"You'd think, since they know we're here, they'd have the place on alert. But I don't see any signs of panic."
"The answer to that conundrum is obvious."
"Yeah? Explain it to an ex-Marine then."
"The overlord of this vault does not yet know he has allowed Sinanju into his lair."
The way was suddenly blocked by two rows of white-uniformed soldiers.
"But he's about to find out," Remo muttered, bringing the utility vehicle to a slow stop.
"Halt, please," ordered a soldier.
Remo lifted empty hands off the steering wheel. "Too late. We already did. Next order?"
"Dismount, please."
"We under arrest, or just prisoners?"
Rifle safeties latched off.
"You will please dismount instantly."
"Ride's over, Little Father," said Remo, stepping off the truck.
The Master of Sinanju stepped away from the vehicle as well.
They were surrounded at riflepoint.
"Last guys who did that to us ended up with their trigger fingers in splints," Remo offered in the way of friendly information.
"Place your hands atop your heads, please."
"Since you're all so polite I guess we can't say no, can we Little Father?"
"We will allow them to keep their fingers," Chiun said thinly. "For now."
They placed their hands atop their heads. Remo took a moment to scrutinize the faces surrounding them. The men all had a fresh, well-scrubbed look, like Boy Scouts coming into early manhood. The weapons at their shoulders were American-made Colt AR-15s. Purchasable at many sporting-goods stores. There was no hint of ethnicity in any of the faces. In fact, they looked corn-fed, most of them.
Remo frowned. More and more this was looking like a U.S. military operation. But who the hell was running it, and why?
Remo decided there was only one way to find out.
"Take us to your leader," he said, straight-faced.
The circle broke, and half the soldiers formed up behind them. The others formed an honor guard of sorts.
"March, please," the leader requested.
They marched.
"Why are they so polite?" Chiun wanted to know.
Remo shrugged as best he could. "Search me."
"No talking in the ranks, please."
"We are not of your ranks," Chiun sniffed.
"No talking, please. Thank you."
Remo and Chiun exchanged glances.
They were walked through a labyrinth of spotless tunnels. White-coveralled soldiers swabbed the pastel walls with ammonia-scented rags. Others dusted the exposed ductwork with white-enameled foxtail brooms.
Remo started whistling "Whistle While You Work" to break the silence, and the captain's head suddenly jerked around. For the first time, an expression crossed his set features.
"What's the problem, pal?" Remo asked. "You don't like my taste in music?"
The man said a tight-lipped nothing, but he picked up his pace. Consequently they all picked up their pace.
"These guys are too perfect to be U.S. military," Remo said, after some thought.
This time, the captain hissed for silence.
"Struck a nerve," Remo said.
The captain whirled, his corn-fed face white and tight. It almost matched his coverall uniform.
"I have instructions to shoot one of you to ensure the cooperation of the other."
Remo smiled tightly, "You forgot to say 'please.' "
"Separate them!" the captain snapped.
The Master of Sinanju shook his black silk sleeves off his pipe-stem forearms. He folded them resolutely, saying, "I will not be moved."
Remo folded his arms as well. "That goes double for me. I'm tired of all this pussyfooting."
"Shoot the old man."
Remo got between the captain and the Master of Sinanju and said in a low tone. "You forgot to say 'May I?'"
"Fi-yeeh!"