He never screamed.
Consuela turned away, sobbing. There was a scramble of footsteps on the stairs. Five soldiers appeared, holding helmets filled with stones.
"That was just the opening act," Quantril said with a ringmaster's flourish. He picked up one of the stones and hefted it. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the feature attraction."
He took aim and threw the rock. It struck Consuela on the back of one knee, causing her legs to buckle. The other women hushed as she teetered on the edge of the parapet trying to regain her balance. As soon as she did, Quantril threw another rock that hit her square in the middle of her back.
"Be my guest, fellows," he invited. The four soldiers and Bauer helped themselves to stones from their helmets. Bauer yelped in triumph as one of his stones rapped the girl on the back of her head, producing a spurt of blood.
Consuela bent over pitifully, her limbs shaking as the blows dug into her flesh.
None of the other women dared speak. The only sounds were the raucous shouts of the six men hurling rocks as if at some inanimate target, and the dull thumps as they hit the woman's battered body.
"Aren't you ever going to jump, bitch?" Bauer shouted gleefully. "Maybe we should've washed her up first. Them Mexies are so dirty, their feet stick to anything."
The men howled with laughter. Bauer drew back, taking aim again, when he saw a sentry rushing over to him.
"You want some action, too?" the major said, his eyes feverish with excitement. "Here, see what you can do."
"Sentry report, sir," the young soldier said. "There are three men approaching the mission. Civilians, sir."
Bauer felt something tighten inside him. "What'd they look like?" he asked warily.
The soldier thought. "One of 'em's white, tall, skinny. One's an Indian or something. Long black hair. The third one's an old gook, maybe a hundred years old. Looks like he'd keel over if you breathed on him too hard."
Quantril dropped the stone he was holding. "Weren't they the men you blew up the mountain for?"
Bauer's face twisted. "It can't be them, sir. They've got to be dead." He looked into the valley. "They've got to be."
?CHAPTER ELEVEN
"You're really something," Sam Wolfshy said for the hundredth time as they neared the peak of the mountain.
Since their escape from being buried alive, Chiun had become even more of a hero to the Indian than he had been before. "I can't get over it," Wolfshy said. "That Sinanju stuff is the greatest. You got to teach it to me, Chiun, okay?"
"Do not insult the sun source of the martial arts by associating yourself with it," the old man said crankily.
The Indian was undaunted. "If you'll give me lessons, I'll pay you for them later," he said. "It'll be sort of like borrowing a little information."
"The art of Sinanju requires more than a little information, O lard brain," Chiun said. He cocked his head. "Although you are correct. I was quite remarkable. To hold up the boulder as I did is a feat of extraordinary discipline, both mental and physical. Without my perfect breathing and impeccable timing, we would never have escaped from the bowels of the earth alive." He polished his fingernails on the sleeve of his robe.
"Hey, wait a minute. I'm the one that got you out," Remo groused.
"Oh, yes," Chiun conceded. "You performed quite adequately— for a white thing."
"For a—"
"Look at my robe. It is in tatters. Remo, remind me to get some others on our next trip to Sinanju."
"You mean there really is such a place?" Wolfshy asked. "Can I go?"
"Certainly not," Chiun said. "I would be laughed out of my village if I were to take you. Besides, you would manage to get us lost on the way."
For the first time, the Indian showed dismay. "I found the path, didn't I?" His head hung low.
"Cheer up, Sam," Remo said. "Sinanju isn't exactly the garden spot of the world."
"But I want to see it. I want to learn what you guys do. I know—"
"Hold it. Look over that rise."
Over a grass-covered knoll rose the bell tower of the monastery. In the center of the crumbling outer wall were twin gates of rough-hewn timber bound together by thick bands of iron. Even though the place had housed an order of holy men, it looked like a fort. The analogy became even more pronounced as the three men watched a dozen black-clad soldiers spread along the top of the wall. Their gun barrels caught and reflected the late-morning sunlight.
And there was something else up there, too. Remo squinted to look into the light. "I think there's a woman standing on the wall."
The small nude figure crouched, holding onto her elbows.
"Huh? Where?" Wolfshy asked, straining unsuccessfully to see.
"She has been beaten," Chiun observed. "This must be the place you seek."
From the deep grass on the valley floor came a low groan.
"Try to get into the monastery," Remo told Chiun. "Sam, you take cover. I think we've been spotted."
He waded into the deep grass, searching for the source of the sound. He almost gasped when he saw Kains, or what was left of him. His arms and legs lay immobile in unnatural positions. Bones in his chest and arms jutted brokenly through his black uniform. Kains coughed, and a fountain of blood spurted from his lips.
"Jesus," Remo whispered.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." The words came out in a feeble whisper.
Remo tried to dredge in the faraway corners of his memory for some words of comfort. He had been raised as a Catholic in the orphanage, but he could remember nothing that would make death easier for this or any other man.
"He forgives you," Remo said. He was not a religious man, but he couldn't believe that God could look at a man as mangled as Kains and turn His back on him.
"Thank you," Kains mumbled. Blood oozed out of the corner of his mouth. "I did it for Consuela."
"Sure, kid," Remo said. He arranged the young soldier's limbs into a more normal appearance.
"But Quantril's going to kill her all the same."
Remo's ears prickled at the name. It was too uncommon and too famous. "Who's Quantril?"
Kains's lips quivered in an effort to speak. "Quantril's the boss. Rich man."
"Miles Quantril? The big business type?"