"They were fools and died fools."
"You made a lot of noise."
"Striking terror into one's enemies is never wasted," sniffed Chiun.
They were standing on the rust-stained concrete loading dock.
"It covered the whizzing very nicely," said Remo.
"What whizzing?"
Remo had picked up a crowbar along the way. He drew back, letting fly.
It seemed a casual gesture. But the crowbar whizzed once it left his fingers. It kept on whizzing as it arced high out over the sound. The noise it made splashing was too far away to make much impression on their eardrums. But their sharp eyes easily detected the eruption a mile out on the sound where it struck.
"You threw my gold out to sea!" Chiun cried in horror.
"No," said Remo. "I threw everyone's gold out to sea. I threw high and far so no one noticed. Not even you. Of course, I had to work really fast and one ingot spun out of control and sank a DEA boat. But I figured they had it coming."
"What if my gold rusts?" demanded Chiun.
"You know that gold doesn't rust. Like I kept telling you, it's safe as soap."
Chiun puffed out his cheeks while his wrinkled face smoldered. "You will recover every dram of gold or you will never hear the end of it," Chiun said in a flinty voice.
"Done," said Remo unconcernedly.
"Any gold missing from my share will come out of your share."
"Fair enough."
"And any missing from Smith's share comes out of your share, as well. Unless, of course, Smith does not notice it-in which case, it goes into my share."
Remo blinked. "How is that possible?"
Chiun levered a quivering finger at the choppy waters of the sound. "Do not think. Swim. I will not endure the thought of the gold of the House of Sinanju lying wet and untended at the bottom of this barbarian bay."
"Next time let's use a bank."
"Pah! Banks are untrustworthy."
"How is that?"
"They accept your gold and money with smiles and promises of safekeeping. But when you demand it back, they are full of lies and excuses."
Remo looked puzzled.
"They never give you back your own money. It is always someone else's," sniffed Chiun.
Laughing, Remo started down toward the water. Chiun followed, gesticulating in anger with every step.
Once they reached the water, Chiun noticed the pleased cast of his pupil's face.
"What are you thinking of?" he asked.
Remo took the police sketch out of his pocket, carefully unfolding it. "I know what my mother looks like. She talked to me."
"She was an illusion."
"No. It was her. The Dutchman is good at projecting illusions, but he couldn't have cast one a whole state away. It was her. I don't know her name, but I know her face and her voice. It's a first step. And my father is out there, whoever he is." Remo stepped out of his shoes. "And I intend to find him."
"Do not get your hopes too high," Chiun warned.
Remo looked up from the drawing. "You seemed awfully eager to go along with that crap about Smith being my father. What was that all about?"
Chiun shrugged. "A mistake. Like your sending that noisy youth away."
"You think he's my kid?"
"He wears your face."
Remo shrugged. "Hard to tell under all that camo paint."
"I notice you did not wipe it away, the better to see the truth."
"Maybe I didn't want to know the truth."
Chiun smiled. "You are a good father, Remo Williams. Even if you have been woefully negligent in the past."
Remo handed Chiun the folded drawing for safekeeping and without another word slid into the water. It swallowed him without a ripple. After a moment there was no trace of his existence.
Down the road a car started up.
The Master of Sinanju stood looking at the regathering water, listening to the fading engine sound as his wizened features pulled tight and concerned.
Behind him the purple pterodactyls flying low over Folcroft Sanitarium on tiring wings slowly faded against the cobalt sky until they were no more.
Chapter 36
Big Dick Brull showed up at the Lippincott Savings Bank unannounced later that day. That was the way IRS usually hit a bank. Without warning. That way no one could bury records, pretending to misplace them or stonewall in other ways.
Striding through the staid lobby, his head swiveling like a radar dish, confident as only a man who worked for the federal government and had a fresh change of underwear could be, Big Dick Brull made a beeline for the director's office.
"Richard Brull, IRS, to see Jeremy Lippincott."
"Are you expected?" asked the secretary.