In the end, he followed his orders. Rim Kun Soe left the old one to his meditation, wondering as he bowed from the library how the young one could possibly hope to get that much gold out of the North Korean embassy unnoticed.
REMO HAD NO IDEA how they were going to get all that gold out of the North Korean embassy unnoticed.
Under cover of darkness, he scaled the wall at the rear of the embassy, hopping down to the pavement between a couple of milling Berlin police officers. The uniformed men did not even notice him.
Merging with the shadows, he slipped through a line of parked cars, turning backward as he reached the police cordon. Flapping his arms, he was finally noticed by a young police officer who assumed he had slid between the security barricades. As he had expected, Remo was escorted out into the milling crowd of curious onlookers.
Outside looking in now, Remo stood with his hands on his hips wondering how the hell he was going to haul the remainder of Chiun's booty out of the embassy without alerting every cop in Berlin.
There were twenty-six crates in all. Each one as heavy as lead. Remo frowned as he scanned the area.
The crowds were thinner now than they had been. That was a blessing. Although people had been interested the night of the chase and crash, they weren't curious enough to endure the cold on the second full evening.
Unfortunately, the Berlin police had not followed suit. Their interest was as high as it had been the day before. Maybe higher. There was a huge number of police officers milling about outside the ivy-covered walls.
As he looked at all the crisp dark uniforms huddled together outside the high wall, Remo wondered if crime had suddenly been eradicated around the rest of the city. That was the only thing that should have allowed so many men to spend so much time here.
He realized that an end to criminal activity in Berlin wasn't very bloody likely. At least not if the Germany he had seen over the past few weeks was any indication. The only way to end crime would have been to throw a net over the whole damned country.
The day's endless drizzling rain had turned into spits of fat gray snowflakes. As they came in contact with the wet ground, they melted across the saturated pavement.
Already there were indications that the snow would accumulate to slush before the night was through. Remo didn't intend to be around to see it.
It would be easy enough to go out and rent another truck. But then what would he do with it? Drive it through the police lines and right up to the twisted and propped-up embassy gates?
There were about a billion cameras outside the gates at the moment with one cop for every camera. He wouldn't get anywhere near the front of the mission with another rental.
Truck, truck, truck, he thought. As he looked around, he rotated his freakishly thick wrists absently.
There were those tiny European police cars that would be laughed off the road back in America. A larger paddy wagon was parked for some reason away from the nearest cluster of cruisers. Probably preparing for a riot if one broke out. In Germany that was always a wise precaution.
A thought occurred to Remo.
It was a long shot, but it was the only chance they'd have short of sitting out the whole diplomatic fiasco.
Remo slipped back through the police lines, moving stealthily to the rear wall. He kept to the shadows once more, remaining just beyond the periphery of police eyes.
He scaled the wall rapidly, slipping back inside the embassy grounds near the spot where he had instructed Rim Kun Soe to leave the treasure crates.
They were stacked together on the wet lawn in neat piles. Thirteen piles of two each.
A line of huge fir trees grew at the interior of the high wall. Remo grabbed a stack of cases in each hand and slid over to the wall.
Dumping the crates four high into one arm, he used his free hand to scale the wall. He set the cases upon the wall, returning for the next four.
Once all of the crates were lined up amid the jutting branches of the fir tree, Remo dropped back to the sidewalk outside. He went back through the police lines, this time avoiding the police entirely. He found the paddy wagon parked where he'd left it.
The door was unlocked. Remo was ready to hotwire the truck-one of the few mechanical skills he had ever bothered to develop-but was surprised to find the keys dangling in the ignition. He also found a police officer's cap sitting on the passenger's seat.
Pulling the cap down over his eyes, Remo started the truck. Since he was not near the main gates, no one seemed to notice as he backed over to the rear wall.
At the wall, Remo let the engine idle as he sneaked back out of the cab. The rear of the truck was directly beneath the line of crates. Remo could see the lighter wood jutting from the shadows of the big trees.
Without hesitation, he scampered back up the wall.
He had opened the rear doors of the paddy wagon already. Atop the wall, he grabbed one crate at a time and flung it down into the open interior of the truck.
They should have made a racket when they landed, but Remo somehow managed to skim the huge boxes into the back of the police vehicle as easily as if he were skipping flat stones on the surface of a still lake. In less than a minute, he had loaded up all twenty-six.
He got back to the ground, closed the rear of the paddy wagon and was just putting one foot back inside the cab when his luck finally ran out.
"Entschuldigen Me?"
Remo was greatly tempted to just ignore the voice and get in the truck. He decided against it. No one-not Smith, not the Koreans, not Remo himself for that matter-wanted a repeat of the previous day's performance. Instead he turned, smiling amiably.
"Hi," Remo said to the lone policeman standing in the shadows behind him. "Lotta weather we've been having lately, wouldn't you say?"
The young man was far away from the rest of the cops that were assembled near the main gate. His face clouded when he heard the American voice coming from Remo's mouth.
The cop couldn't have been much out of his teens. His wide baby face was filled with uncertainty, even as he reached for his side arm. "You will stay still, bitte," he ordered, voice quavering.
"Sorry," Remo said, shrugging apologetically. "Nein can do. I've got places to go, heirlooms to smuggle."
The young officer had made the tragic mistake of stepping close to Remo as he issued his last order. He had not even unholstered his weapon before Remo shot forward.
Faster than normal human eyes could comprehend, Remo had slapped the gun back into the police officer's holster. Spinning the man in place, he grabbed a cluster of nerves at the base of his neck.
The cop's eyes grew wide in shock. Almost as quickly, his lids grew heavy. He sank gently to the sidewalk. Remo propped the sleeping officer up against the wall.
Hurrying forward to the truck cab, he got quickly inside. No one stopped him as he drove out through a weak point in the police lines. Remo was on the street with the embassy behind him in a matter of moments.
"And they make fun of the Maginot Line," he said.
Tossing off his policeman's cap, he steered the truck up a shadowy side street.
IN THE EMBASSY, the Master of Sinanju heard the car horn beep two times fast, three times slow.
It was about time. The stooges of Pyongyang were beginning to get on his nerves.
Rising like a puff of steam from the library carpet, he hurried outside.
FOUR MINUTES LATER, Chiun slipped in beside Remo in the dark cab of the parked paddy wagon.
"Took you long enough," Remo complained, pulling away from the curb.
"The police are more agitated than they had been," Chiun said aridly. "It seems some lout knocked unconscious one of their fellows without having sense enough to hide the body."