Chiun's eyes blazed open. His wrinkles gathered tensely and exploded outward as the impact of Smith's word's hit him.
Chiun was on his feet like a jack-in-the-box springing. Smith recoiled at the unexpected movement. Chiun was suddenly in front of him, looking up into Smith's shocked face.
"Remo. You have word of him?"
"Yes, I do," Smith said shakily. "And it is as I feared."
"He is ... dead."
"No, he is in Vietnam."
"Then he might as well be dead," Chiun snapped. "He expressly told us he would not go there."
"It might not be his fault."
"How can he escape that responsibility?" Chiun asked querulously.
"He could be having another flashback. Or something. I don't know. What I do know is that a Rye man named Krankowski has been hospitalized after having his hand removed from a brick wall with jackhammers. This person claims he was mugged by someone fitting Remo's description two night ago. The man has a long criminal record, so I have my own ideas about what really happened. Nevertheless, he claims his credit card was stolen. I ran a check, and someone using that card booked a flight to Bangkok and then on to Ho Chi Minh City on the night we last saw Remo. There's no question in my mind that it was Remo and he is now in Vietnam. God knows what he's doing."
"Perhaps not even Him, knowing Remo," Chiun muttered.
"We can't let Remo run loose over there. He could start an international incident and destroy all chance of getting our POW's back through negotiations."
"I will go there and bring him back," Chiun announced suddenly, the wind flapping his kimono skirts against his bony legs.
"I was hoping you would say that," Smith said gratefully. "But what about your atonement?"
Chiun drew himself up haughtily. "Why should I atone for Remo's idiocy?" he said peevishly. "I will go to Vietnam and drag Remo back by the scruff of his neck. He will sit on this roof without so much as a straw mat under him and atone for his own sins."
"Very good," said Smith, following Chiun to the roof hatch. "I will arrange a flight. There is a U.S. submarine in that area that will take you to a dropoff point. It will be up to you to bring Remo back."
"Remo will come back, never fear."
"Only Remo," Smith said.
Chiun turned. "Not his Army friends?"
Smith hesitated. "Not if any of them know him as Remo Williams. It will be hard on him, but we have no choice. CURE is too important."
"If I have to dispatch one of Remo's friends, he may never forgive me."
"We have no choice. Remo has given us none."
Chiun bowed. "Then the consequences will be on Remo's head, not ours."
Chapter 12
Remo Williams didn't notice he was running out of gas until the engine started missing. He looked down at the fuel gauge. The red pointer was bouncing off the empty pin.
Remo wrestled the bus over to the shoulder of the highway and braked. He turned in his seat. A score of unblinking eyes looked back at him, like baby owls in a forest.
"Listen up, everyone," Remo told them. "This is just a pit stop. I want everyone who has a rifle to deploy around the bus and stand guard. I hear running water. Probably a stream nearby. Two armed people will escort those who want to drink. Everyone else stay close to the bus. Got that?"
Their exotic faces bobbed in understanding.
"Then let's go," Remo said, jumping out. The AK-47 went over his shoulder without conscious thought. Remo removed the last remaining jerrican and unscrewed the gas cap. As he poured the evil-smelling gas into the tank, he tried to dig into long-buried memories. He'd been driving all night, and had no idea where he was, or how far it was to the Cambodian border.
One of the Amerasians hovered near him. Remo crooked a finger for him to step into talking range. "Yes?"
"What's your name, pal?"
"Nguyen. "
"How far to the Cambodian border, Nguyen?"
The man scratched his head and stared down the road appraisingly. "Forty kilometers," he said, pointing back in the direction they had come.
"You mean that way," Remo said, emptying the last of the jerrican and nodding in the westerly direction. Nguyen shook his head.
"No," he insisted, pointing east. "That way."
"That's the road back to Saigon," Remo said. "Cambodia is the other way."
"That road back to Vietnam," the man disagreed. "We in Cambodia now."
Remo dropped the jerrican in surprise. "When did we cross the border?"
"Hour ago. When we pass that mountain."
Remo followed Nguyen's pointing finger. Low on the horizon was a steep, forested summit. Remo had paid it no attention before. Suddenly he recognized it. It was the mountain known as the Black Virgin. It straddled the border of Vietnam and Cambodia. It was many kilometers back.
"Great," Remo said. "Why didn't somebody tell me?"
"No one want you to stop. This dangerous area. Khmer Rouge here. Much fighting."
The others returned from the bush at that moment, some of them wiping cool water off their mouths. They looked refreshed.
Remo went around to the front of the bus, turned on the headlights, and gathered them together in the light. "This is it, everyone. Cambodia. Last stop. You're on your own now. You have weapons, so you can take care of yourselves. "
"You take bus?" asked Nguyen.
"Yes," Remo said. "I'll need it if I'm going to rescue my friend. Sorry."
The green-eyed girl pushed out of the huddled group.
"Please not go, American. Stay with us. Help us reach U.S."