"It is a good plan. And I will agree to it only on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You will pay me one gold ingot for any who drown through their own stupidity, trying to reach my boats."
Remo rolled his eyes. "Why not?"
The Master of Sinanju addressed the fishermen who watched the exchange with uncomprehending eyes, because it had been conducted in English.
"Hark," he said. "Very soon heads will appear in these befouled waters. It will be your responsibility to assist all who come to the surface into your boats."
"These guys are going to be scared witless," Remo added in Korean. "So if they put up a fight, just tell them you're South Koreans."
To a man, the villagers made faces and spat into the water.
"South Koreans are unclean and lazy," Pullyang protested.
"They would never believe this lie."
"You'd be surprised," Remo muttered. "Okay," he added, "tell them you're all CIA."
"CIA?"
"Comrades In Arms," said Remo, thinking quickly.
This seemed to satisfy everyone except Chiun, who glared at Remo. Remo disappeared into the water, with Chiun only a half second behind him.
They started at the stern where Chiun's first contact had been made, banging on the hull every six feet or so. Remo got a response.
He then banged out a long series of dots and dashes with his fist, hoping his Morse code was still accurate.
He got a brief banging back he couldn't understand, and then the Master of Sinanju scored a long line along the hull over the banging. He did this by walking backward in a crouch, repeating the process three times, each time cutting deeper into the hull, causing the frangible steel hull plates to peel away, exposing the heavy pressure hull.
When he was satisfied, Chiun went to one end and Remo to the other. He nodded and brought a fist down on the scoring.
The pressure hull ruptured like a sardine can.
The bubbling was like some submerged giant erupting out of a sea cave. Water poured in. Remo and Chiun worked the long rent in the hull, widening it with their hands.
Sailors began floating out after the second minute had almost elapsed. Kicking and frantic, they emerged only to have hands grab them and propel them along faster.
Ten sailors were sent on their way, and then Remo and Chiun went into the flooded compartment. They found no one alive. Surreptitiously, Chiun sent two drowned bodies surging toward the air, hoping Remo would not notice.
The second contact produced only one sailor. Remo carried him up to the surface personally.
He went back down to help Chiun with the third contact.
It went smoothly after that. The hull surrendered to their well-trained hands, which could by touch discover weak points and exploit them with uncanny skill. The thick pressure hull parted along molecular lines, and the edges were bent back by fingers that knew exactly how to manipulate them.
Each time they were careful to let the water in slowly at first so the survivors were cushioned by a protective womb of seawater before the water rushed in at full force.
Once, they found a compartment that could only be reached by swimming into the sub's innards and opening a door. This time Chiun helped with the door, which had to be opened with the inrush of water. Remo let himself be carried in, grabbed handfuls of straggling hair and held the scratching, clawing men down as the water finally settled. Then Chiun joined him.
In the dark it was a nightmare. There were too many to subdue and carry at the same time. And the only way out was through an L-shaped corridor in which bloated corpses floated aimlessly.
They lost one man who panicked in the confusion. The others were hauled out by their hair and, once free of the sub confines, clawed to the surface under then- own power.
Remo and Chiun surfaced after that, Chiun holding the dead sailor by the hair.
"This one has perished, alas," he said plaintively.
"That's the one that got away," Remo pointed out.
"He did not get away from me," Chiun clucked.
"He was already dead. You just pulled him along for the ride because you knew he was worth another gold ingot."
"I was thinking of his poor mother who now has a son to bury instead of the hollow bitterness of an empty grave."
Remo looked around. The sailors were huddled in the boats, which were starting to take on water.
"What about those two?" Pullyang said, pointing to a pair of blue-clad bodies that floated facedown.
Remo went to them and brought their faces up to the moonlight. They were not only dead, but had been for many hours.
"Did you haul them out, too?" Remo accused Chiun.
"Perhaps. In the confusion any miracle is possible."
Remo lifted his voice and said, in English, "This is an official U.S. rescue. We're going to take you to shore, where you'll be given food and beds before you're repatriated in the morning."
"Nothing was said about beds," Chiun said in Korean.
Remo glared at him. "They get beds or you get to search for the gold all by your lonesome."
Chiun lifted a delicate finger. "If I find it, it will all be mine."
"It probably is already, but whichever way you slice it, these guys go back to the States."
"They will have beds once I am satisfied they speak the truth about what happened to their vessel."
The boats barely made it to shore. Remo and Chiun had to get out and push each one along in turn, finally beaching them between the Horns of Welcome.
The surviving crew of the USS Harlequin stumbled onto the mud flat, coughing and looking like men who had come back from hell to the world of the living. In a way, they had.
"I counted forty-seven," said Remo.