"Nothing," Chiun muttered. "Especially him."
"Let's go swimming then," Kim said with a smile. "The water looks beautiful."
"Good idea," Remo said. "Chiun, I'll practice later. I promise."
"Let us hope that later is not too late," Chiun said.
Kim Kiley said, "I brought a surfboard along. We can take turns on it." She pointed up to the tall saw grass where a long blue-and-white fiberglass board was lying.
"I'll go first," she said. "I want to get the board back by four."
"Go ahead," said Chiun. "You can take my turn too. Also Remo's."
"You're sweet," Kim said.
"Just what I was going to say," Remo agreed. Kim got the board and launched herself gracefully into the surf. After she cleared the crest of an incoming wave, she jockeyed herself into a sitting position and began to paddle farther out.
"This is impossible," Chiun said. "How can we accomplish anything with all these distractions?"
"This is a vacation," Remo reminded him. "Distractions are what vacations are all about. And anyway, Kim isn't 'all these distractions.' She's the only one."
"It only takes one for you to neglect your training," Chiun said.
Remo's reply was cut short by a cry for help. It was Kim's voice, raised in a thin plaintive wail as the wind carried it across the water. Remo shaded his eyes and spotted her, a tiny speck in the distance. Her head was just above the ocean's surface. Her arms were wrapped around the slippery surface of the board as it bucked and fishtailed, buffeted by the choppy wind-whipped waves.
Remo dived into the surf and swam toward her, his smooth powerful strokes eating up the distance between them. He felt a sense of exhilaration, of breaking free. He had not been able to concentrate during the brief training session; it was all part of that restless feeling that he kept thinking would go away but which he had not been able to shake for the last two weeks. But this, this now felt right.
Raising his head, Remo peered above the white-foamed waves to catch a glimpse of Kim as her hands lost their tentative grip on the board and with one more cry for help, she slipped beneath the surface.
Remo glided across the water now, moving through it not like a man but the way Chiun had taught him, like a fish, being in the water and of it. When he reached the spot where Kim had gone under, he kicked his legs back, twisted and dived. Even this far out, the water was crystal clear.
But he saw no sign of her. Where was she? He started to dive deeper when he felt the slight pressure of movement in the water behind him. He turned, expecting Kim and instead found himself suddenly entangled in a vast net. It closed around, covering him on all sides as if he were some kind of insect who had mistakenly strayed into a spider's waiting web. He struggled to break free, but the more he struggled, the more his twisting body became tangled up in the net. It clung to his arms and legs, and wrapped itself around his body and head. His vision was obscured by the fine, metal-reinforced mesh. Every move he made only bound him tighter.
Remo felt a flash of panic, not for himself but for Kim. She needed him. This was only a net, a simple fisherman's tool, he told himself. Nothing to get worked up about. He would break the net and then continue his search.
Back on the beach, Chiun watched the shadow cast by a ragged-leaf palm tree. Its length told him that two minutes had passed since he had seen Remo's head duck under the waves. Chiun thought he would head back to the condominium soon. It had been a trying day and a cup of tea would be soothing.
Calming himself, concentrating, Remo grasped the net in his hands and felt it slip away. He tried again and again missed. Whipped by the strong current, the fine-meshed webbing kept moving out of reach, and his efforts had only served to draw the net tighter around him. It surrounded him completely now, as tight and clinging as a newly wrapped shroud.
Chiun sighed. He glanced to his right and saw Kim Kiley come running out of the surf and then across the sand back toward her condominium building. Even that woman had sense enough to come in out of the water. It was six minutes now according to the ever-lengthening shadow of the palm tree. Chiun wasn't going to sit here all day while Remo frolicked in the sea. He would wait only a bit longer and then return to the condo alone if Remo didn't get back. If Remo wanted to splash around like a fool all day, that was his business. But Chiun wanted a cup of tea. Was that too much to ask?
Remo felt a tiny trace of light-headedness, the little warning indicator that his thrashing around had begun to use up his air. As the tight-woven netting slipped across his face, he caught a glimpse of a figure in the distance swimming steadily toward him.
Kim, he thought. He had come to save her and now she was going to rescue him.
But as the shadowy figure approached and came into sharper focus, Remo saw that it wasn't Kim. It was a man in frogman's gear.
And he carried a sword in his hand.
* * *
Twelve minutes. Did Remo expect him to loiter around here the entire afternoon like some lavatory attendant hoping for a tip? No. He, Chiun, had better things to do and very soon now, Remo or no Remo, he would depart to do them. He could almost smell the fragrant aroma of fresh tea.
The frogman circled Remo, maneuvering for position. The clear blue water rippled as the thin blade struck out. It poked through the net, straight at Remo's unprotected chest. Remo threw himself sideways, barely out of its path as the blade passed within a quarter-inch of slicing open his rib cage.
The frogman withdrew the blade and quickly struck again. Remo whooshed out of the way but not quickly enough and this time the razor-honed blade had nicked his shoulder. It was nothing more than a scratch but there was a little blood and sooner or later it would draw the sharks.
This was not, Remo decided, such a great vacation after all.
Both hands on the sword this time, the frogman lunged at Remo from above. Fighting the constrictions of the net, Remo fell backward. He could feel the cold smooth steel, even colder than the water, as it passed over his cheekbone like a lover's caress, a foretaste of what was soon to come. He knew he could not last much longer. His head felt as light as a circus balloon.
When he had to, Remo could live on the oxygen stored in his body for hours. But that required stillness, a shutting-down of the body's oxygen needs. He was not able to do that here because of the frogman's attack and he felt a tingle in the lower part of his lungs. How long had he been underwater? It seemed a lifetime. No. Nineteen minutes. He could hang on, he told himself grimly.
Twenty minutes and Chiun couldn't understand what was keeping Remo. Maybe he had slipped out of the water without Chiun seeing him; maybe he was back at the condo, already having put the tea water on to boil.
Remo twisted his body but the blade nicked him again. It had taken almost all his strength to avoid a direct hit, and the net continued to draw tighter around him, restricting his movements further. His lungs were ready to burst; his head was filled with white light. It would all be over soon. He could see the frogman's carnivorous grin, distorted by the Plexiglas face mask. Remo had always wondered what death would look like when he finally met it face to face. He had never expected that it would be an idiot's grin under glass.
The frogman yanked the blade free of the mesh and raised it once more. Remo tried to will his body to move, but nothing happened. His body wasn't listening to him anymore. It knew when to give up. You give up when there is no more air left; you give up when there is no more strength left to fight. Your mind might tell you other things, but your body always knew when it was time to surrender.
It was all over. Good-bye, Chiun.
The long slender blade flashed through the water. Remo stayed motionless, his mind already accepting the steel, anticipating the first contact as it sliced through layers of flesh and muscle to burst the fragile bubble of his heart.
As the blade pierced the netting, a yellow hand streaked bubbling through the water, the extended forefinger poking a hole in the frogman's throat. Red bubbles gushed toward the surface like pink champagne as the sword slipped from the frogman's grasp and he sank, limp and lifeless, toward the bottom of the sea.
Remo felt strong hands grasp the net and simply yank it apart. Then he was being pulled upward. His head broke the surface and his lungs greedily gulped in deep drafts of sweet, saltscented air.
"Always nice to see a friendly face," he said.
"Do you know how long you kept me waiting?" Chiun asked. "And this kimono is ruined. This awful water smell will never leave it."
"Where's Kim?" Remo asked, suddenly panicked.
"She is all right. She had the sense to come out of the water before the games started," Chiun said.
"How did you know I was in trouble?"
"One can always expect you to be in trouble," Chiun said. He brought his hand up from under the water. The long slender blade of the sword glittered in the sunlight. Chiun's dark eyes narrowed as he read the simple inscription etched on the blade just below the handle. It consisted of only two words, the ancient Indonesian symbols for "Wo" and "son."
As they walked out of the water onto the shore, Remo said, "Little Father, I think I'm better now. I think the hiding time is over."
"Good," said Chiun. "Because it is time that I told you of the Master Who Failed."
Chapter Twelve
After Chiun brewed tea and Remo put on a dry T-shirt and chinos, they sat facing each other, cross-legged on the floor. It was late now and the setting sun filled the airy room with a warm glow.