The adversary seemed to understand. Two-handed, he drew back his ebony blade, cocking it so that the blade lay across-his right shoulder. It was a preliminary movement Chiun didn't recognize. The ronin swung it outward once, twice, slowly, with a measured confidence.
Did he expect Chiun to walk into a swinging twohanded blow? Even if his blade possessed no bite?
Chiun waited warily.
Abruptly the armored arms swung forward. The blade left the mailed fingers. It sailed toward the Master of Sinanju, moving silently, neither cleaving the air nor displacing it.
"You seek to frighten me with your ghost tricks, ronin, " said Chiun, calmly lifting his index finger to block the blow with his nail just in case.
The blade turned twice in the air as it spiraled toward him. Chiun saw it as if in slow motion. There was no threat in this ghostly blade. It held no more substance than a moonbeam.
The blade swung into its third silent arc and intersected with Chiun's upraised nail.
He felt no bite, no impact, no resistance. It would not even be necessary to duck this harmless blade, he told himself.
Just as it passed without cutting through his nail, Chiun sensed an abrupt change.
And in the firred forest of darkness, he screamed in unexpected pain.
Chapter 8
It was easier than Remo thought it would be.
He drifted along the shoreline until he came to the rescue site. Everyone was busy. No one had any time for a casually dressed man whose slim form seemed to melt into the shadows while avoiding the sweeping searchlights as if designed to repel all illumination.
They had a big yellow crane at the water's edge, where workmen were lashing lines to the last submerged car. The crane strained upward, and with a sucking sound the coach came up out of the water, gushing noisy strings of water from every joint and broken window.
They let it hang over the water until it finished draining. All eyes were on this scene. Lights were directed onto the coach, and it was possible to see the interior through the windows. See the tangle of humanity that floated in the sinking water as in a fishbowl that was leaking.
As the water level fell, the bodies settled down to the bottom, moving aimlessly and involuntarily like clumps of dead jellyfish.
Remo checked through the salvage debris that was stacked here and there. Piles of it lay unattended. Baggage. Briefcases. Purses. Knapsacks. Articles of clothing. Even toys.
Remo found Harold Smith's briefcase in the second pile he picked through. There was no mistaking it. Once it had been tan, but decades of wear had aged the skin and darkened it to the hue of an old saddle.
Remo claimed it, looked around to make sure he wasn't seen and, satisfied, started back for the Dragoon.
The case sloshed in his hands, drooling malodorous water. It was heavier than normal but grew lighter with each step.
Far ahead a sound pierced the night.
"Aiiee!"
Remo knew that sound. It was Chiun's familiar cry of anguish, only it had a weird, horror-struck quality now.
Clutching the briefcase, Remo broke into a run. His feet floated across the sand and into brush. From there, he sprinted through the trees. He had no eyes for anything along the way, counting on his ears to take him to the site of the anguished wail.
Whatever it was, Chiun was in trouble.
Deep trouble.
CHIUN BURST OUT of the trees before Remo could reach the exact spot.
The Master of Sinanju clutched one hand. It was wrapped tightly in the wide sleeve of his kimono as if injured.
"Chiun! What is it? What's going on?"
"I am wounded," he said in a thin, disbelieving voice.
Remo dropped the briefcase. "What!"
Chiun danced in place. "I am maimed. I am undone."
"Let me see it. Let me see it."
Chiun recoiled, one hand clutching his muffled wrist. "No, Remo. It is too horrible. The sight will drive you mad."
"I can take it, Chiun. Just let me see it."
Visions of a bleeding wrist stump jumped into Remo's head.
Chiun looked down at his feet. "Where is it?"
"Where is what?"
"We must find it. Perhaps the surgeons of this land can reattach it."
"God, no," said Remo, hearing his worst fears confirmed.
"Do not stand there like a dunderhead. Help me find it."
"Okay. Okay. Where did it fall?"
"Back there." Chiun pointed into the forest with his uninjured hand. The indicating nail gleamed like a blade of polished bone.
Remo swept past the Master of Sinanju, eyes scanning the fir needles. He spotted footprints that looked like Chiun's, but that couldn't be. The Master of Sinanju didn't leave footprints.
"I don't see it here," Remo called hack anxiously.
"Be careful where you step. Do not break it."
"Your hand?"
Chiun's voice grew querulous. "Hand? What are you babbling about, Remo?"
Remo looked up. "I'm looking for your hand-aren't I?"