"I'm sorry I took so long, Little Father," Remo said, "and my feet are dry."
"We will not quibble over small things," Chiun said. "Did you come here to comfort me before I freeze to death while you are spending your time in comfort before a warm fire?"
"Sorry about that," said Remo. "It's your choice after all."
"Sorry. Sorry. That is all you say. Sorry you are late. Sorry your feet are wet . . ." "They're dry," Remo said.
"Sorry. Yes. You are a very sorry person. And sorriest of all he would be who would not let the Master bring his few meager possessions so that I might not have to spend my time in these mountains like the wild deer or bear or camel." "No camels up here," Remo said. "What do you know of camels? Nothing. I will tell you. You know nothing of camels. As you know nothing of responsibility, and so I am forced to face the elements here alone."
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"Chiun, thirteen steamer trunks just wouldn't hack it," said Remo.
"Why hot?"
"You're supposed to be a wise and gentle, old religious man . . ."
"It sounds exactly like me," Chiun said.
"... who's up here on a spiritual retreat. Remember? You told Smith that once every ten years or so you have to commune with nature?"
"Correct. Get to the point if you have one."
"Little Father, saintly men do not take thirteen lacquered chests of Cinzano ashtrays and stolen restaurant napkins with them when they go into the mountains to meditate."
He looked at Chiun, who stood leaning against a tree, arms folded impassively, and looking down at the full blooming winter trees in the artificially warmed valley.
"Remo, there is one thing I don't understand," Chiun said, staring down at the trees.
"Yes?"
"I have tried to insulate you from the world, as much for the world's protection as for yours. So where do you learn all this nonsense?"
"What? About thirteen steamer trunks?" Remo said. "They're not filled with stolen ashtrays and napkins and matchbooks?"
"They are filled with personal treasures that do not concern you. But nowhere does it say that one cannot meditate without being miserable and cold. Maybe Chinese believe that, maybe monkey-faced Japanese; they believe anything. But how did these stupid ideas come to infect you?"
"I guess I'm a disappointment to you."
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"You certainly are."
"I'll try to make it up to you."
"It's too late now," Chiun said.
They stood in silence, both looking down at the val-ley.
"These are those copa-iba trees, I guess," Remo said.
"They do not look like any Korean tree I ever saw," Chiun said.
"One of us has to stay here and watch them," Remo said.
"Perhaps if I had just one of my trunks, I would be able to do that," Chiun said. "But I have nothing except the clothes on my back. And besides, somebody is already watching them."
"Who? Where?"
"There is some big clod wandering around out there," Chiun said softly. He waved his hand toward the lip of the valley to their left. "I have heard him splashing around."
And then the fires went out. The roaring died. For a moment the hills were filled with the echoes of the dying flames, and then there was only the sound of the giant fans now blowing cold air onto the giant copaibas. Then that sound, too, died away, and the only sound left was that of the mountain wind.
Chiun and Remo stood silently for the space of seven slow heartbeats. Then Chiun raised a bony finger and pointed to the farthest left burner.
"There," he said. "Two men."
After another heartbeat, Chiun pointed to a second spot, closer to the mouth of the copa-iba valley.
"And there. The other man, the big clumsy one."
"Stay here, Little Father," Remo said. He started moving in a long, fast glide toward the two men.
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Remo knew he was not the only one moving through the moon-clouded dark. Ahead of him, he could hear the pair of men trying to get away. And off to his left, he could hear the sound of the big man moving as quickly and quietly across the snow as he could.
In seconds, Remo had closed the distance between himself and the two men to just a few dozen yards. So, to Remo's surprise, had the big man. For a moment then, everyone but Remo stopped moving, and the mountain was as quiet as mountains ever get on cold, windy winter nights.
The light of the moon rebounded off the powdery white snow, and the edges of the valley were surprisingly bright. Remo could feel the temperature dropping, as warm air stopped rising out of the copa-iba valley. If the trees really needed a tropical climate to live, the cold would soon destroy them. Cutting off the gas-fired heating machines was their death sentence.
The big man was to Remo's left. He had stopped moving, and now he stood upright, stock-still, only a few yards from the other two men. They too stopped momentarily. Then the big man called out.
"Allo. Allo there," he roared in a voice loud enough and deep enough to match his six-foot-six and 250 pounds. "You will please to stop. We must talk."
The words were bellowed in a heavy French accent.
The man closest to the big man quickly slapped a rifle to his shoulder, and rapidly and surely squeezed off two rounds at the big man. But he was too late. The big man had seen the motion begin and had dived for cover behind the framework supporting one of the blowers.
The bullets cracked and whined through the frigid night air, but they missed their target. The big man
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started to stand up again, and this tiine the man was waiting for him. The rifle cracked again; again the big man ducked. But this time he did not escape unharmed, because as he pulled himself back into cover— successfully avoiding the bullet once more—he hit his head against one of the platform's steel support bars. The resulting crack set the whole structure echoing and re-echoing. The big man cursed loudly, moaned softly, and fell face forward into the snow.
Remo was confused. He had assumed all three men were working together, but' it was obvious now that the big man was on a different team from the other two.