But he wanted to live. And so he ran, step after step, sucking the cold, reviving air into his lungs, fighting the fatigue that threatened to engulf him.
He ran because, like a shark, if he stopped, he would die. He could not die, so he ran. And ran and ran and ran, his toes making tiny pattering slaps on the choppy gray-green surface of the Atlantic.
Remo smelled land before he saw it. Remo had no idea how much time had passed. But the smell of cooked food and burning fossil fuels and car exhaust pulled him on.
He saw rocks first. Cold, rockweed-covered New England granite half-eroded by relentless waves.
Remo ran for them. But somewhere in the last mile, his strength gave out. He misstepped, lost his footing and sank into the cold, unforgiving waters-within sight of land and life and safety ....
Chapter 8
She didn't know who she was.
Sometimes in the mirror, she thought she recognized her own eyes. Green eyes. Emerald green. Sometimes they were sapphires. Other times a dull gray. They looked familiar. Her hair did not, but she colored it so often she'd forgotten its true color.
She had been told she was Mistress Kali, but the name didn't fit. Somehow it didn't fit.
When she lay all alone in her great circular bed looking up at the mirrors on the ceiling, she knew she was not Mistress Kali. It was a persona she assumed when she donned the tight black leather that sheathed her supple form. She was Mistress Kali when the silver chains clinked and tinkled. She felt like Mistress Kali when she selected a suitable whip from her stock and donned the yellow silk domino mask.
When she stepped out of her private chambers with its implements of pain and discipline, she knew she was Mistress Kali. There was no doubt. Who else could she be?
But when the silken domino mask came off, the doubts returned. They crept into her mind unbidden.
"Who am I?" She wondered.
Once, she asked. "Who am I?"
"You are Mistress Kali," the sweet but distant voice replied.
"Before that?"
"Before that you were nothing."
"What am I when I am not Mistress Kali?" she pressed.
"Asleep," came the absent reply, dotted by the plasticky clicking of keys. The keys that were never still. The keys that were as much a constant in her life as the clink and rattle of chain. As familiar as the crack of the whip that brought a thrill of power control and sexual release whenever she laid it along a pale white spine and flicked an ass cheek into quivering spasm.
"What will I be when I am no longer Mistress Kali?" she wondered aloud.
"Of no use to me, Mother."
The slip had been strange. She put it out of her mind because the next words chilled her so.
"Do not forget this. Ever."
And the clicking of keys continued. Mistress Kali-she was Mistress Kali again-slid the watery blue-green glass panel back into place.
On the other side, the stunted figure at the computer terminal continued to type without rest. She never slept.
And so long as she never slept, the long, vague nightmare seemed to have no ending.
Chapter 9
The cold water rose up to claim Remo Williams. His mind went blank. He had not the strength to process what was happening to him.
Water touched his lips, splashed into his nostrils, stung his eyeballs.
He held his breath-and his bare feet touched cold, silty sediment. And under it, hard, seaweedslimy granite. Reflexively his legs straightened.
It took a few seconds for the truth to sink in.
The water didn't even cover his head.
Then Remo laughed. It was a laugh of sheer relief. Of pure joy. Within sight of land, he was standing in chin-deep water.
So he began walking, shivering once or twice when the natural protective defenses of the human body overcame his Sinanju training, which had taught that shivering wasted precious energy, even if the body's reflexes forced a person to shiver in order to stay warm.
The last few yards were rocky, and the rocks scummy under his feet. Remo didn't care. He had survived. Chiun would be proud. He had survived an ordeal that might have beaten some of the greater Masters of Sinanju.
But not Remo Williams. He was a survivor. He had survived.
Reaching shore, Remo clambered over the rocks and found a patch of dry, cold sand. His knees felt hollow.
There he lay down and slept until the rays of the morning sun touched his face and a voice asked, "Where the hell have you been?"
Remo blinked, lifted his head and saw a face that wasn't at first familiar, though the Red Sox ball cap was.
"Who are you?" he muttered weakly.
"Ethel. Don't you remember me? I gave you a lift. We had a deal."
"Oh, that. Sure."
Her lined face hovered over him, filling his field of vision.
"What kept you?" she asked.
"I was fighting off sharks."
"Where's the stuff?"
"Something went wrong."
"I kinda figured that." She stood up, eyed Remo critically and asked, "You know what?"
"What?" said Remo, not really caring at the moment.