The noise they had both heard grew fainter as they climbed over the edge of the pit. Propping their hands against either metal side of the ladder, they slid down to the bottom of the pit.
The vertical shaft stabbed deep into the bowels of the mountain. The wide stone floor at the base was rimmed with shattered yellowed bones. Remo and Chiun touched softly to the floor amid the dusty, headless skeletons.
A horizontal shaft ran off from one side of the pit. They followed the ancient escape route down a gradually declining tunnel. Emerging into sunlight a few moments later, they found themselves on a hollowed, level plateau, rimmed on nearly all sides by mountains. Only a narrow path appeared to lead down to the valley below.
But it was not the path that would have carried Adolf Kluge to safety.
The noise they had heard from inside was so indistinct by now as to be only a mocking memory. Remo's jaw clenched in helpless rage as his gaze settled on the well-tended and empty helipad that had been constructed on the plateau.
As the echoes of the helicopter's rotor blades faded, Remo became aware of another noise coming from behind them. He didn't even turn around as Heidi Stolpe burst, panting, from the mouth of the long tunnel.
"Where have you been?" he snarled. He was still staring up at the empty sky.
"Hiding," she said, breathless. She adjusted her backpack. "There was a soldier in the house you threw me into. I barely escaped with my life."
"You're not the only one," Remo said.
Heidi also detected the faint sound of the helicopter. As she strained to hear, the sound was swallowed up by the mountains. Kluge was gone.
Wordlessly Remo wheeled back around to the tunnel's circular black mouth. As he did so, there was an angry rumble from within the dark cave.
The explosions came one right after another. The bombs had been placed midway up the length of the tunnel. As they were detonated from some remote location-presumably the helicopter-their force ripped apart the long rock cavern.
With a shudder of earth, the tunnel collapsed, sealing them outside the quickest route back to the IV village. A thick cloud of dust belched out in a massive mocking blast onto the elevated rock face on which they all stood.
"Perfect," Remo snapped.
It would take forever to climb back up the side of the cliff. The path was out of the question. The valley circled too far around the broad bases of several converging mountains. That route could take days. And there was the matter of Heidi. Remo looked dully at her.
"Um..." she said. She looked first to the path, then to the rocky cliff face.
Chiun had turned away in disgust. He was already scaling the mountain face up toward the flat rear wall of the huge temple.
Heidi smiled wanly. "Could you...?" Sheepishly she pointed up toward Chiun.
Remo considered leaving her there. But his conscience got the better of him. "Let's go," Remo said with a deep sigh. Hefting Heidi up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, he stepped over to the sheer rock face.
Trailing the Master of Sinanju, Remo began the tedious climb back up to the top of the mountain.
OVER THE COURSE of the next three days, Remo and Chiun searched for Adolf Kluge in vain. The trail was cold.
Heidi left for parts unknown. The Master of Sinanju eventually hunkered down in their hotel in Uruguay, refusing to involve himself in yet another wild-goose chase.
Smith had no luck finding the fugitive head of IV with the CURE computers. Eventually, he admitted defeat.
With great reluctance, Harold Smith ordered Remo and Chiun home.
Chapter 10
When Keijo Suk accepted the money with a promise of more, he didn't know it was all the man had left in the world. He immediately deposited the large sum of cash in one of Berlin's many impressive Western banks.
If Suk had so chosen, he could have left it at that. The man who had given him the money had a desperate, hunted look about him. His clothes were disheveled, his hair unkempt. It looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Dark semicircles rimmed his watery blue eyes. If Suk had kept the cash without performing the requested service, he doubted the man would be able to do much to stop him. But the man had surprised him.
"You will not be able to take so much with you back to your country," he had said.
Suk only nodded. Already he had decided in his head which bank the money would go into.
"You will likely leave it here," the man continued.
Again, Suk silently agreed.
"If you attempt to keep the money without supplying me with that for which I have retained you, I will turn you over to the authorities of your country. I am certain they will want to know how you came to have so much in an illegal bank account."
The look in the man's sleepless eyes convinced Suk that he was telling the truth.
Suk decided to abandon his plan to cheat the man of his money. Besides, he had been assured that there was much more to be had if he performed but one small service. When Suk returned for the balance, he wouldn't leave the West again. He would live like a king for the rest of his life.
But there was still the matter of the duty he had been hired to perform.
His flight from Berlin connected with another in Moscow. The plane he took from Russia carried him across the remainder of Europe and on into Asia. When he finally landed in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, Keijo Suk was exhausted.
But Suk didn't have time to rest.
In Berlin he was the official representative of North Korea's Culture and Art Ministry. Allegedly sent to "promote positive global understanding" with the German people, Keijo Suk had in truth been sent to the West in order to form ties with the former Communists of the former East Germany who were vying for positions of power in the new, united Germany.
As a member of his nation's elite, Suk was allowed the privilege of owning a fine Western automobile. His Ford Taurus was waiting for him at the airport in Pyongyang.
When he drove out into the streets of the North Korean capital, Suk didn't head for his small apartment. He instead turned north, driving out of the city into the featureless, flat expanse that was the Korean countryside.
The official People's Highway was dotted with few cars-fewer still as he drove farther northwest. The traffic he met was largely people on foot or on bicycles.
Eventually the pedestrian traffic ended completely. He found himself on a long multilaned stretch of barren highway that appeared to go nowhere.
But Keijo Suk knew better than that. He knew precisely where this long road ended. He arrived at the rocky shores of the Korean west coast a little after sundown. The highway simply stopped dead, and a small footpath that seemed as old as the stars in the dark black canvas of the night sky angled down off the road. At the other end of the path, Suk spied bright square patches of yellow-the lights of a lonely fishing village.
Leaving his car on the highway, Suk skirted the edge of the village. He had no strong desire to draw unnecessary attention to himself.
A massive garbage heap overflowed onto the ground beyond the highway at the rear of the nearest houses. Though it was cold, rats cavorted freely through the piles of ordure.
Suk had to pull the tails of his dress shirt up around his mouth and nose in order to ward off the stench. The smell was so overpowering, his eyes watered. Unlike the rest of the population of North Korea, the people of this village ate well. The evidence was everywhere he stepped.
Scraping the muck from his shoes, Suk continued past the massive dump.
The village was positioned on the shore of West Korean Bay. Powerful gusts of early-winter wind whistled in off the churning black waters, stabbing frigid knives through layers of clothing. The only article appropriate for the weather was Suk's thick Western winter coat. It did him no good. He shivered madly as he walked stealthily forward.
The backs of the houses were plain wood with no windows. Suk crept past the homes, careful not to alert the occupants. His nervous heart was ringing in his ears.