To Suk, the home was a garish mishmash of styles.
Checking first to see that he wasn't being followed, he made his anxious way up the path to the big, ugly house.
He found the front door unlocked.
Pushing open the door, Suk slipped inside, relieved to be able to shut out the persistent howling wind.
There was a light switch next to the door, but he dared not use it. Instead, he pulled a powerful flashlight from the pocket of his heavy down jacket.
As he shone the light around the interior of the first room, Keijo Suk's jaw nearly hit the floor. Every spot his flashlight illuminated was filled with gold and jewels. It was more than a king's ransom, more than that of ten kings. In fact, enough treasure was crammed into this one room alone to ransom every ruler in the history of mankind.
Suk had developed a powerful love for material wealth since assuming his post in Berlin. That was his reason for being here. It was difficult for him to break the initial numbing trance this fabulous store of wealth had put him under.
After a few moments of slack jawed gawking, Suk managed to pull himself together. He had a job to do. Stepping around the room, he began to search methodically through the bags of jewels, the golden statues and the gem-encrusted chests of heaping ingots.
IT TOOK HIM two solid hours of searching, but he finally found what he was after.
The lights in the village had winked out one by one. All had gone to bed for the night, never noticing the strange flashes of light that came from the house on the hill.
The object of Suk's search was propped up in a small room adjacent to the first. He had almost skipped searching this tiny chamber when his initial flashlight sweep failed to illuminate a single diamond.
The room looked to be some sort of library. There were huge leather-bound books, as well as a number of rolled parchment scrolls. The books were lined up on shelves while the scrolls were squirreled away in an ornate mahogany wall unit divided into tiny cubbyholes.
The object rested on a separate wall unit along the narrow distant wall. Suk recognized it immediately. It was exactly as the man in Germany had described it.
Suk had to step over a pair of large stone tablets that sat in the center of the floor. He pulled the object of his quest down from the shelf. Unbeknownst to him, Suk left a trail of freshly disturbed dust in its wake.
He picked his way back out into the outer room. Across the room, flushed with triumph, Keijo Suk gave in to the urge to grab a handful of gold coins from an urn near the door. He couldn't help himself.
Like mints in a fancy restaurant, they sat there waiting to be taken.
Opening the door, Suk paused. He reached over and grabbed a few more handfuls of gold coins. Hands shaking, he stuffed the coins into the pockets of his coat. A few fell to the floor. Suk hardly noticed.
Giddy with success, Keijo Suk hurried back out into the frigid Korean night, slamming the door tightly behind him.
In the weak Asian moonlight, the three coins Suk had dropped glowed dully on the living-room floor of the Master of Sinanju.
Chapter 11
The corridors of Folcroft Sanitarium were cloaked in chilly semidarkness as Remo Williams roamed up from the basement rooms in which he and Chiun had been staying since arriving back in the United States.
Ten days had passed since he had lost the elusive head of IV in the mountains of Argentina. Ten days of inactivity, ten days that Adolf Kluge would have used to burrow himself further and further away from the prying eyes of the world.
When he had returned to the top of the mountain, Remo found a computer area in one of the old temple rooms. Someone had hastily sifted through everything and boxed up and carted off whatever was deemed necessary. Everything else had been left.
The computers had been smashed to pieces, their hard drives destroyed.
Virtually.
They had been damaged, but apparently not enough. Smith was able to access a fraction of what was left on one of the hard drives. From this, the CURE director was able to reconstruct the entire structure of IV's finances.
Remo had never seen his employer appear quite as shocked as when Smith successfully broke the IV encoding system and uncovered the vast holdings of the neo-Nazi organization.
Smith had immediately set to work cutting the purse strings to IV. Some corporations he sold off; others he forced into bankruptcy. It took five whole days of work, but Smith had finally finished that afternoon. Wherever Kluge was hidden, he would not be able to access any IV funds.
Once the finances were out of the way, Smith was able to finally devote full attention to locating the head of IV. So far Smith had had no luck. And without a trail to follow, Remo was helpless to do anything.
Remo wandered off the elevator on the second floor of Folcroft's administrative wing.
Smith's outer office was empty. Mrs. Mikulka had gone home hours before. Remo walked through the secretary's drab little work area and pushed open the door to Harold Smith's slightly larger but no less drab office.
Smith glanced up from his work when Remo entered.
"Nothing yet," he said. He looked back down at the computer screen set into his desktop. Smith's weary eyes scanned back and forth along thin lines of text. The dull amber glow of the computer screen cast a demonic glow across the CURE director's pale, haggard features.
The Master of Sinanju sat cross-legged on the threadbare rug before Smith's desk. Crossing the room, Remo sank down into a lotus position before him.
"Did you sleep well?" Chiun asked.
"Not a wink," Remo replied.
"Sleeplessness does not a great assassin make," Chiun intoned. He was a pool of calm.
"Did you write that little aphorism for the next Official Assassin's Newsletter?" Remo deadpanned.
Chiun's brow furrowed. "Is there such a publication?"
Remo shook his head. "No," he sighed.
Chiun nodded. "I did not think there was, for no one contacted me. I sincerely hope that when there is, I will be the cover story of its premier issue."
"Speaking of grand delusions," Remo said, "any luck with either of your statue ideas?"
Chiun shook his head. "Lamentably, no," he said. "Emperor Smith has been far too busy with his current project. He has offered to take the matter under advisement."
As good as dead, Remo thought. Aloud, he said, "I'll put in a good word for you."
Chiun nodded. The two men fell silent. The only sound in the room was the incessant tapping of Smith's fingers as they struck against the high-tech surface of his desk.
Remo and Chiun sat in stony silence for more than two hours when the phone on Smith's desk suddenly squawked loudly. Smith had been deeply engrossed in the seemingly endless scrolling text on his computer screen. The ringing shook him from his work with a start.
It was Folcroft's outside line. Sanitarium business. Smith reached for the receiver, at the same time looking at his watch. He frowned at the lateness of the hour.
"Smith," he said tartly. His features bunched into an unhappy mass as he attempted to discern what the speaker was saying. All at once, his eyes opened wide. He held the phone out to Chiun. "I believe it is for you."
Chiun scooped up the phone. Remo raised a quizzical eyebrow as the Master of Sinanju announced his formal title in archaic Korean.