"Not if you cease interrupting me," Chiun snapped as he stamped a loose stone heart to grit.
Chiun was working, furiously. The thick slices of Coatlicue were coming off the knees now-or where the knees should be. They were piling up like home fries.
Not all of it was stone, either. Some was distinctly organic. A few times actual blood flowed.
It was grisly work, but Chiun refused to let it faze him. Each time a section came away, they checked it for any sign of Gordons's electronic brain. It was the small, irreducible heart of the assimilator. Every time they had crushed a Gordons form, the assimilator always found a way to another host, animal, vegetable or mineral, and rebuilt itself. Only by obliterating the brain could they ever be sure he would never return to haunt them again.
The trouble was, they had no idea what it looked like. Only that it was very small.
Remo was hacking away at the other leg now. The first lay shattered and unrecognizable now. His technique was different. He felt along the rough outer skin until his sensitive fingers found a weak spot. Making a fist, he hammered away.
Cracks formed. Rock dust squirted. Liquid squirted, too. The stone fell into large sections that in turn crumbled because they had been disrupted on the molecular level.
"It's not fighting back or reacting," Remo said hopefully.
"Therefore, it is dead," said Chiun.
"So where is the brain?"
"Talk will not find it," said Chiun, face tight, not looking away from his task. "Only force."
It took a while, but in the end the Coatlicue statue lay in heaps like a rock pile after the chain gang had finished. They stamped these into grit and mush.
"No brain," said Remo, looking around.
"No brain, no gain," said Chiun, eyeing the heavy-branched cypress tree with wary concern.
Remo frowned. "This is bigger than the both of us."
"No tree can defeat a Master of Sinanju, much less two."
"No argument there, but I think we have better ways to pass the next year." Remo looked around.
He was wondering how many antitank rockets it would take to blow apart a two-thousand-year-old tree when his gaze fell on the helicopter where Winston Smith and Assumpta waited for them with remarkable patience.
Subcomandante Verapaz was calmly walking toward it. He walked with very jerky steps and was taking great care how he placed his feet on the rainslick ground.
"Damn," Remo said. "Verapaz is trying to escape."
"Do not worry. I disabled the craft so it cannot fly-"
"How?"
"By disabling the pilot's ability to fly."
WINSTON SMITH WAS FUMING. His feet were on the chopper's pedals and he couldn't work them. His hands hung limp at his side, like spaghetti.
In the passenger seat, Assumpta was just as helpless. Her eyes kept looking toward him. Every time their gazes met, he had to look away. They were like a knife in his gut. It was a sickening feeling. He wanted to fly her away. He wanted to find some place where they could just live. Screw Verapaz. Screw the UN. Screw everyone. It wasn't worth it. Assumpta was worth it. He saw that clearly now.
The rain beat down on the cockpit bubble, obscuring his view of his surroundings. All he could do was wait.
A figure approached. He wore a black ski mask from which a pipe jutted.
Then abruptly the door opened and a strange voice said, "Hello is all right."
It was a crazy thing to say. Then Winston remembered what the old Korean, Chuin, had told him just before he squeezed their spines, rendering them helpless in their seats: I go now. But I will return. Remember this. Trust no one who may greet you with the words 'Hello is all right.'
It had made no sense, but now someone was saying exactly that. Smith said nothing. His jaw was locked up tight by whatever had stolen his motor control.
"Do you understand English? Are you deaf?" the unaccented voice asked.
When Smith failed to reply, a cool hand began feeling about his neck. With a sudden chiropractic crack of vertebrae, feeling flowed back into his limbs.
"Thanks," Winston said, grabbing the controls.
"I require transportation."
"You got it. Just help my friend the way you helped me."
"Certainly."
The masked man went around to the other side and relieved Assumpta of her paralysis, too. Winston saw then that his eyes were a very distinct green.
Assumpta squealed with joy, "Lord Verapaz! I greet you in the name of the people of Escuintla."
"It is imperative that I escape this area."
"Hop in," Winston said. "There's room in the back."
Assumpta crawled back, saying, "You may have my seat."
Subcomandante Verapaz got in. The chopper settled heavily when he did. He obviously weighed more than his size suggested.
Snapping switches, Winston got the rotor spinning and the ship into the air. The chopper was even more sluggish than before. It rose ponderously, spun once as the lift fought against whatever was weighing it down.
"Damn. We're too heavy!"
"Fire the rockets," Verapaz said.
"What?"
"My enemies approach. We are too heavy, and they will be upon us in under sixty seconds. Fire the rockets at them. This will solve both problems simultaneously."
Winston peered through the rain. Remo and Chiun were closing fast. He hesitated. Once they got within reach, that was it. He could kiss escape goodbye. Assumpta, too.
The words that came out of his mouth surprised even him. "Nothing doing."