"Yeah. And mares eat oats and does eat oats," the young one had said, peeved. "Can we get this over with?"
American. Obviously. Soe had instantly screamed for the guards. That had been a mistake.
Three armed men arrived. Stunned to see the pair who had somehow penetrated their security, they had instantly raised their weapons. That, too, was a mistake.
The old one stood placidly, eyes resting flatly on Soe's increasingly shocked face, while the young one turned to the North Korean soldiers.
Soe never even saw the hands move. All he managed to glimpse were the obvious aftereffects of the young man's flashing hands.
Six small somethings banged against the door that Soe held open. He found out later that they were kneecaps.
The three men fell to the ground, mouths open in shock.
Guns hopped from hands as if charged with electricity. The young one steepled the rifles together above a nearby rosebush before turning back to the screaming soldiers.
Toe kicks to foreheads finished the trio. Afterward, the young American took the bodies and leaned them against one another much as he had done with the rifles. They formed a macabre tripod on the opposite side of the steps from their weapons.
The soldiers had not fired a single shot.
Soe puffed out his chest, pulling his eyes away from the carnage. "I will die, as well, before I betray Korea," he announced courageously.
"Don't tempt me," the American said, grabbing Soe by the face and pushing him back inside the embassy.
Inside the mission, Ambassador Sok was called. Rim Kun Soe accused him of giving aid to the enemy.
Sok denied the charge.
Only after an emergency call to Pyongyang placed by the old intruder himself was it determined that this was none other than the Master of Sinanju in their midst.
On the telephone, Kim Jong Il, Supreme Leader of the DPRK and secretary-general of the Korean Workers' Party, had himself insisted that the embassy and its staff be put at the disposal of the great Sinanju Master. In an ironic quirk of fate, Soe who had been placed in Berlin because of the criminal actions of another-was put in charge of a smuggling scheme far greater than the one that had gotten him posted to Germany in the first place.
It was the aide to the ambassador who had made arrangements for each shipment of Chiun's gold to be slipped in secret aboard Kim Jong II's private jet.
There was too much treasure to be sent at one time. The plane never would have gotten off the ground if they had attempted to send the Nibelungen Hoard to North Korea all at once. As it was, the two dozen flights had probably been overloaded. Luck had been with them so far.
At the far end, Soe learned from friends in the security ministry that a caretaker for the Master of Sinanju met every shipment. Soldiers were conscripted into service to haul the treasure back to Sinanju. It was an incredible waste of men and resources, all for one small man who somehow had all of the North Korean government wrapped around his bony fingers.
Rim Kun Soe greatly resented the Master of Sinanju. The old one represented greed more typical of the decadent West than of Soe's beloved Korea. He also had an infuriating habit of casting aspersions on Soe's native city of Pyongyang. These generally involved members of his immediate family.
Soe would have delighted in killing the old one.
And, as bad as the Master of Sinanju was, his pupil was even worse. An American of polluted lineage, he was surly, smart-mouthed and easily annoyed.
Soe had been looking forward to the day when this dubious enterprise was at last over. That was supposed to have been today. Now that was in doubt.
Standing in the basement of the Berlin embassy, the ambassador's aide made certain the crates had been secured as per the instructions of the Master of Sinanju's protege.
The wooden lids were nailed tightly shut. There were no holes through which a single coin or gem could drop.
Soe hefted the nearest crate.
Heavy. It would take two men at a time to bring them out to the wall of the embassy.
He dropped it back to the floor, feeling the heaviness in his straining arm muscles.
"You and you," he said, tapping the chests of the nearest pair of waiting soldiers. "This one." He pointed to the crate he had just lifted.
Dutifully, the men lifted the heavy chest.
"Do not make a sound," he instructed.
They nodded their understanding. The Berlin police still had the embassy surrounded. Soe did not wish them to be alerted to the activity on the far side of the thick embassy walls.
The two soldiers carted the wooden crate across the floor and up the granite-slab stairs to the rear garden.
"You next," Soe said, pointing to the next pair of guards. There was only one more set after them. "Go in staggered rounds. Do not try to carry them out all at once."
As the next soldiers lifted the second chest and headed for the door, Soe left the basement.
He found the Master of Sinanju sitting on the floor of the embassy library.
"I have done as you instructed," Soe said.
"Your men did not help themselves to my treasure?" Chiun asked. His cobwebbed eyes were closed in meditation.
"I watched them myself," Soe insisted. "They did not steal from you. Nor would they, after what you did to their compatriots."
A faint nod. "Fear breeds honesty," Chiun admitted.
On his way to the library, Soe had not seen the Master's pupil. Although the two of them appeared to bicker constantly, they were rarely far apart.
"Where is your American lackey, O Master?" Soe asked.
Chiun opened his eyes. There was bright fire in their hazel depths. "Watch your tongue, Pyongyanger," the old Korean warned. There was a chilly edge in his voice that seemed to actually lower the room temperature.
"I have heard you call him worse," Soe pointed out.
"I may call him what I wish. You may not."
"My apologies, Master of Sinanju," Soe said, bowing.
Chiun's steely gaze bore through to Soe's soul for a few long seconds. At last he drew his thin papery lids across the frightful orbs. "My son is securing us transportation," the elderly Korean said.
"Forgive me, 0 great Master," Soe said. "But there are many police officers outside. This embassy is at the center of a scrutiny far greater than that of the Vatican mission in Panama several years ago. Even General Noriega surrendered eventually. How do you hope to get out alive?"
"Know you this, son of a Pyongyang whore. The Master of Sinanju and his heir are not pineapple-faced despots cowering behind the skirts of the Church of Rome. We will leave when I have deemed we should leave. Until then, be certain that your men take not an ounce of gold, lest your neck suffer the consequences of their actions."