"Why not? The gold was more money than they would ever see in their miserable lives. They would go to any lengths to evade discovery."
"Don't forget they radioed that a Korean frigate had overhauled them."
"A dead herring."
"That's 'red herring,' and I think we should check out the Korean angle before we tar the memories of dead U.S. sailors."
"I saw bodies," Chiun said pointedly.
"Yeah?"
"A man who wore the stars of a captain."
"The sub commander."
"He had been shot. This suggests mutiny."
"I want to see."
"And I want to show you," said Chiun. "Come." And the Master of Sinanju disappeared under the flat malodorous water.
Trailing tendrils of clinging oil, Remo and Chiun kicked down toward the submarine. Remo beat Chiun through the aft most hole.
Inside was a large flooded section. Remo had traveled on enough subs to figure out his way around the corridors, but it was strange and eerie to be swimming down them. He found his way to the main storage area.
There were lights here. Evidently somewhere in the ship batteries still produced juice. The protected lights glowed feebly.
The body of the captain of the Harlequin had floated to the top of a large storage room. Remo missed it until Chiun entered and tugged on his sleeve, pointing ceilingward with an impatient finger.
Remo swam up, pulled the body down and spun it around. The man's skin had turned a maggoty white, and internal gases had inflated his chest cavity, bursting his shirt buttons.
The corpse was a mess, but nothing could disguise the bullet holes in its chest. They still exuded dim threads of dissolving blood.
Frowning, Remo let the body return to the ceiling. He made a quick circuit of the storage room. There were other fragments of shipping crates, along with spent shell casings. He picked up a few and pocketed them. There was nothing else of interest. Debris floated past them with annoying frequency. Remo squirmed out of the storage room and tried kicking at several doors. He put his ears to them and heard nothing.
Coming back, he came upon the Master of Sinanju turning the wheel of one door.
Remo flashed to Chiun's side and pulled him away.
Abruptly Chiun disentangled himself from Remo's grasp and glared at him, his wrinkled face turning crimson with rage.
Remo tried to sign his annoyance, but couldn't make himself understood. He went to the door and put an ear to it.
He thought he heard breathing. He gave the door a smack. It rang, vibrating on its hinges.
No one responded, but the character of the breathing seemed to change. Concentrating, Remo tried to focus on it.
One man—if a man. Twisting about, Remo motioned for the Master of Sinanju to clear a path. Skirts fluttering about his thin legs, Chiun backed away with sweeping motions of his hands.
Remo set himself. If there was anyone alive on the other side, he would have to work fast.
He hunted for the valve he knew would be near the door. Opening the door would let in a solid wall of water that would probably crush the life out of the person on the other side. By flooding the compartment first, the door could be opened safely.
Remo found the valve. He opened it. Water began flowing in, gathering velocity. Putting his ear to the door, Remo heard the rush of water, frantic splashing and the panting of a man in escalating distress.
When the water stopped flowing in, he gave the door a violent turn. The creak of the mechanism unlocking carried through the conducting water.
Water pressure against the door kept it closed tight. Bracing a bare foot against the wall, Remo grabbed the wheel with both hands. His braced leg strained inexorably. He was using his muscles to unbend the legs, but the strength of his leg bones would make the difference. That was the Eastern way, to rely on bone where muscle was not enough.
The wall under his bare foot groaned, and a dent slowly formed. Remo pulled harder, pushing with the leg.
The door slipped out of its jamb three inches—and an eruption of water bubbles came percolating out while the sea flooded in to replace the air pocket.
Inside, a man screamed once for his mother and his God.
Remo hauled back, and the door surged wide. The water carried him in.
Relaxing, he went with the flow. There would be no use fighting it. Sinanju taught that some forces could be fought, others resisted and still others tamed by submission.
The water carried him into a wall, and Remo pushed back, feeling around in an inchoate darkness where a floating sailor kicked and thrashed as rushing waters flung him about.
Remo grabbed a wildly moving leg, pulled the man down and found he was wearing some kind of air mask. He yanked it off and closed off the man's mouth and nostrils with one hand to keep the sea out of his
lungs. The man fought back. Remo found a nerve in his neck and squeezed until he went limp in Remo's arms.
After that it was just a matter of holding his breath and keeping the seaman from inhaling while the water finished filling the compartment.
Remo swam out half a minute later, the man tucked under one arm. He used his feet to propel himself down the corridors and up out through the hole in the submarine hull and gave a last kick that pushed him upward like a missile from a tube.
Chiun was waiting for him when Remo broke the surface.
"We will wrest the truth from this laggard," Chiun said flatly, eyeing the drooping head of the unconscious seaman.
"First I gotta get him breathing again," said Remo, turning the man about and manipulating his spine.
The man coughed, started gasping like a beached fish and tried to get away.
"Easy," Remo said. "We've got you."
"Where—where am I?"
"Treading water. But don't worry, fella. We have you."
"I can't see a thing."
"You don't need to. We're your eyes."