Colonel DeSouza had heard about the convoy that was heading their way from the North. Intelligence claimed that it was probable the force was not hostile. There were too many civilian cars in the line. One report even had two of the bulletproof limos of Kim Jong Il himself at the lead.
DeSouza didn't doubt that there was some kind of force heading his way. What he did not trust was the speculation that it was not hostile.
There was no telling what was going through the mind of the North Korean premier at any given time. Some claimed he was eccentric; others insisted he was insane. Colonel DeSouza fell into the latter category.
Obsessed with motion pictures, Kim Jong Il was probably filming the invasion from the comfort of his limousine. Who knew? Maybe one of the nukes the North was supposed to have been working on sat in the back seat. The car would be driven as far as the demilitarized zone, and kaboom!
It could be anything. To try to outguess the Korean premier was to go crazy oneself.
DeSouza felt the frustration of not knowing what was going on, but hid it from his men. His face was blank as he stared beyond the ever running truck parked at the midpoint of the Bridge of No Return.
The faintly rusted bridge was the tenuous link between the two halves of the Korean Peninsula. Whatever was going to happen as far as the North and South were concerned would happen there. Everyone along the DMZ knew it.
As he was staring-seemingly into space-the colonel heard the sound of a whining jeep engine.
The men around him tensed.
DeSouza spun. "How far away is that convoy?" he demanded of a subordinate.
"Two miles, Colonel," reported the soldier, who had just run up from the command center.
"It was two miles ten minutes ago."
"It's stopped, sir. No forward progress at all in that time."
The colonel turned back around. The jeep sound still persisted. Briefly, DeSouza thought it was the spook returning-the guy he had pegged as CIA. As he watched, the vehicle appeared out of the rugged terrain.
It wasn't the CIA operative. The man behind the wheel was Korean. What's more, he was dressed in the uniform of a South Korean general.
The jeep screeched to a stop at the far side of the bridge. It was still rocking on its shocks when the general popped out. He threw his hands into the air.
"I must cross at once!" he demanded. "An emergency situation has developed!"
"I beg your pardon, sir," DeSouza called, "but who in the hell are you?"
"I am Assistant Minister Bae Park of the Ministry of National Defense of the Republic of Korea and I have important information for my government."
DeSouza shook his head. "Do you have any identification to back up your claim?"
The man stepped onto the bridge. He walked slowly, hands still raised above his head. "Idiot!" he spit. "Is not this uniform identification enough? When I went on my secret mission to the North, I buried it not far from here in the event of just such an emergency. Now I order you to let me pass."
He was at the idling truck and still coming. The men around DeSouza were tensing, guns trained on the lone intruder. Some looked to the colonel for orders. The rest stared coldly at the general.
"I'm sorry, General, but I can't do that."
The man was beyond the truck by now. He was nearly over to the other side of the bridge. He stopped only a few yards away from DeSouza.
"The North is about to drop a bomb on your fool head!" the general screamed.
He stabbed a finger into the darkening northwestern sky.
Colonel DeSouza followed the frantic gesture. He saw that a new star had appeared in the sky.
No, two. But they were not stars. With sudden horror, he realized all at once what the swiftmoving objects were.
"Incoming!" DeSouza screamed, racing from the bridge.
The South Korean general was forgotten as the men scrambled for cover. As the rockets from the frigate Chosun roared in, the Reverend Man Hyung Sun threw his hands down. Running in his baggy South Korean army general's uniform, he scrambled into an American jeep.
Steering away from the imminent explosion, he raced down the road away from the DMZ.
THE AIR AROUND THEM crackled with electricity. The men who had gathered around as the two Masters of Sinanju squared off felt the hair at the backs of their necks rise from the palpable energy being thrown off by the only human beings on the face of the planet trained to the limits of their physical and mental capacities.
Neither of them had yet struck a blow. It was like some friction-causing dance that would go on and on until the energy level became so unbearable that the built-up power would have to be released.
To the spectators, the younger Master of Sinanju seemed strong and agile, but the old Master exuded a sense of quiet confidence and grace.
At the center of the crowd, Remo washed slowly around the flawlessly artful movements of his mentor.
Chiun had yet to attack. One thing was certain-Remo would be damned if he'd be the one to strike the first blow. If Chiun was so sure of his allegiance to Man Hyung Sun, he would have to be the first to lash out. Only then would Remo defend himself. But so far, Chiun had not fired a fist.
The surge of raw, violent power welling up around them was beginning to throw off Remo's senses. His nervous system was so finely tuned that it could not long take exposure to the kind of unseen dynamic energy that was produced by another Master of Sinanju. It was like putting a magnet next to a compass.
Expecting an attack, they had both cranked up their senses to the limit. When one did not materialize, they still could not tune down their level of preparedness, lest in relaxing either one of them would leave himself open to an assault from the other.
Remo was beginning to sweat. Across the cold plain, he could see beads of perspiration break out on the furrowed parchment forehead of the Master of Sinanju.
They were both beginning to tire.
Remo felt dizzy. He tried to concentrate the awkward sensation away.
Chiun suddenly stumbled over a small stone that was jutting from the frozen mud. He caught his balance quickly, resuming his deliberate circuit around Remo. Though he did not otherwise show it, the point was made. He was feeling as lightheaded as Remo.
The parked cars swept up behind Remo as the two men pirouetted around one another. He felt the crowd, more dense at his back toward the road.
Ordinarily, he would have been able to hear and sort every individual heartbeat within the multitude. Here, they were just background noise. A cacophony of thudding.
He circled back around. Chiun was now moving toward the road. They were almost to the point where both of them were parallel to the stretch of desolate roadway when Remo's senses picked up something from the string of army vehicles.
It was an odd sensation. Something concentrated, directed at him.
No. Beyond him now.
As Chiun moved toward the road, Remo realized that whatever had been focussed on him was now aimed at Chiun.
He was straining too hard. It was too difficult to push his senses farther than Chiun. He was about to shift his attention solely back to the Master of Sinanju when he heard a distinct metallic sound. It spurred him to action.