Heidi's hand brushed away from his shoulder. She turned abruptly on her heel. Marching briskly, she headed back across the frozen yard toward the sprawling old inn.
THE LIGHTS BURNED well after midnight as Chiun, Kluge and Heidi labored over all the details of the expedition.
Kluge thought that he should be compensated for the use of his people and equipment. Chiun agreed and told him to see Heidi. Heidi said that this was out of the question since she had already cut her share of the take in half. She suggested that the cost of mounting the expedition was offset by his dishonesty in stealing the Sinanju piece of the carving.
Chiun agreed with all of this, provided it didn't cost him anything.
It was approaching 12:30 a.m. when Kluge finally agreed to absorb the cost of the trucks and supplies. The three of them then set about recording the terms of their contract on paper to allay any confusion as to precisely what terms had been agreed upon. This started the whole negotiating process anew.
At one point, Remo stuck his head in the door to the inn's library where the trio was negotiating. He announced that he was turning in for the night. No one-not even Heidi-seemed to notice he was there.
It was approaching two in the morning when their meeting at last broke up. Each of the interested parties went to bed with a version of the contract, handwritten by the Master of Sinanju himself in Korean, English and German.
The ink was still wet on his copy of the contract as Adolf Kluge made his weary way up to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him with a soft click.
Alone, Kluge massaged his aching throat as he stepped over to his suitcase.
Folding the seven sheets of paper carefully, he tucked the contract in his meager luggage. He dared not throw it away. Not yet. Kluge would keep up the act until it was no longer necessary.
Kluge had memorized the details of the Sinanju and Siegfried family sections of the map. Likewise, he had committed to memory all that was visible in the photograph of the Hagan piece. He had then destroyed all three.
Chiun claimed to know all that was on the Sinanju piece.
Heidi had the full Hagan segment.
But only Kluge had seen the Siegfried quarter. Apparently, the Nibelung king had told the carver to put something extra on the piece he had intended for himself. It was probably an incentive for the others to not stumble blindly into the treasure trove, even if they somehow managed to find it without the missing piece.
It was King Siegfried's revenge from beyond the grave.
And since Kluge was the only one who knew what was on that quarter, he was the only one of them who would be truly safe when they opened the age-old chamber.
Kluge would sign as many contracts as they wanted him to sign. He would argue passionately for each bargaining point as if it truly mattered to him. But it did not.
With what he had learned from the piece of the carving in his family's safe-deposit box, he had all the bargaining chips he would ever need.
Tomorrow they would find Siegfried's gold. And then Chiun, Remo and Heidi would die.
Chapter 19
The shabby convoy was lined along the ancient road that snaked through the thickest forests of Schwarzwald, eventually leading to the shores of the famous Danube River.
The sallow sky held the promise of snow, though no meteorologist had forecast it. The swollen white clouds vied with gray, pressing down like a gloomy canopy to the gnarled treetops.
It was 6:00 a.m. The Master of Sinanju went from truck to truck, inspecting tires and checking equipment. He found Remo leaning against one of the rear trucks.
"I would have thought this sort of thing would be beneath you," Remo commented as Chiun tugged at one of the bungee cords on the supply truck.
Chiun regarded him with flinty eyes. "I do what I must," he said.
"I've noticed that about you," Remo said, nodding. There was no malice in his tone.
At that moment, Heidi walked into view around the truck, nearly plowing into Remo.
"Oh-" she seemed surprised to see him "-good morning, Remo. Are you going with us?"
Remo shook his head. "Naw. I'm sitting this one out."
Heidi nodded her understanding. Her face was flushed as it had been the previous day at her family's castle. This time, however, it was not from embarrassment, but excitement.
She and Chiun began the long trek up to the lead car. It was the one Remo had rented on their return to Germany the previous day. Since he didn't intend to leave the inn until they returned, he would have no use for it.
As Chiun and Heidi walked beside the trucks full of skinheads, Remo trailed distantly behind them. He noted that there were a few of the blond-haired mutes from the IV village mixed in with the rest. Remo couldn't help but think of the vast number of them that had been mowed down by Kluge's machine guns beneath the shadow of the old stone fortress.
There were fifteen trucks lined up behind Remo's rental car. Chiun commented to Heidi that they would likely not be enough.
Kluge was seated behind the wheel of the rental car. Chiun climbed into the back. Heidi debated for a moment whether she should join the Master of Sinanju but finally decided against it. She sat in the front beside Kluge.
The head of IV started the car's engine. Behind him, the other fifteen vehicles rumbled to life. Before the car could drive off, Remo tapped on the rear window. Kluge powered it down from the front.
"Little Father?" Remo called in softly.
Chiun's hazel eyes were focussed on the road ahead.
"Yes."
Remo smiled tightly. "Good luck."
The Master of Sinanju nodded crisply. The window rolled back up with a smooth hum.
Kluge waved his arm out his own window in a circular fashion. With a crunch of gravel, the convoy began moving forward down the long road. The last of the trucks pulled away a minute later.
Standing alone on the desolate country road, Remo could only watch them go.
NEWS OF THE EXPEDITION to find the lost treasure of the Nibelungs reached the hands of the German chancellor by fax at nine o'clock that morning.
It was the sort of crank note that would have been filed and forgotten under ordinary circumstances. The thing that made this fax different from the rest was the signature. At the bottom of the page where there would ordinarily have been a name, a Roman numeral had been sketched in large, careful letters. It was the number IV.
His assistant had brought it to him at once.
The chancellor's pudgy fingers shook as he scanned the few short lines of text. Swirls of sweat had dampened the curled fax paper by the time he placed it on his desk.
This was a crisis far greater than that of a few short months before. The neo-Nazi takeover of Paris had been an embarrassing reminder of Germany's unsavory past.
But this...
This could spell financial ruin for one of the greatest economies in the West. Perhaps, if the legends were true, it could even send the world into a spiraling depression, the likes of which had not been seen since 1929.