"Of course." The Luzu chief nodded. "Great warriors, all, I am sure."
Standing in the squalor of his village, dressed in the finery of days long past, Batubizee couldn't help but give the impression of someone embarrassed by the pitiful state he found himself in. He was like a once rich man, now destitute, in a losing battle to maintain as much of his former air as possible.
"We must confer," the chief said softly. Chiun nodded silent agreement.
Batubizee turned to his people, raising his flabby arms high in the air. "My people, this is truly a glorious day! One that will be spoken of for generations to come! Today is the beginning of the new Luzu Empire!"
The cheers that had trailed Master Nuk as he sailed away centuries before had long before faded to morose silence. The men and women gathered in the dust of this day remained sullen and quiet as the Master of Sinanju and Chief Batubizee ducked inside the big house.
Afterward the crowd silently dispersed.
THE ENGINE Hum of Defense Minister Deferens's limousine had faded in with the other background traffic. Remo drifted down the sidewalk, lost in private thoughts.
The businesses in this part of town seemed devoted to all things pornographic. He therefore wasn't surprised when Trollop Seasoning bounded out onto the sidewalk from one of the small shops, her arms loaded with packages. Her thick purple heels clattered loudly as she hustled to a waiting car. "Girl domination!" she shrieked over her shoulder at the store's closing door.
The other Seasonings screeched the same words from somewhere in the dark recesses of the sex shop.
Trollop dumped her booty in the car. As he passed by, Remo noted that the vehicle had government plates.
He had gone only a few feet more when a grating voice chimed in from behind him.
"Well, hello, sailor!" cried Trollop. Balancing on five-inch heels, she hurried up beside him. "You look like a guy who likes a good time!"
"I like my eardrums more," Remo replied.
"Huh?" Trollop asked. She didn't wait for a response. "What say we find someplace quiet and make it loud!"
Remo stopped so abruptly, Trollop plowed into him.
There was something distinctly odd about her exposed belly. It felt too soft and cold.
"Are you talking sex, Austin Powers?" he asked.
Her crow's-feet wrinkled appreciatively. "The best you ever had, baby," Trollop vowed.
"Will you talk while we're doing it?"
"Talk?" Trollop scoffed. "Baby, I'll scream."
Remo mused for but a second. "Pass."
He continued on.
Trollop obviously was not used to rejection.
"I can rock ya till your fillings pop out," she promised, hurrying after him.
"Don't have fillings," Remo said. "I lost a couple of teeth playing high-school football, but they grew back."
"You still had baby teeth in high school?" she asked.
"Nope," Remo replied simply.
She didn't even hear. As she clip-clopped beside him, Trollop rubbed the sides of her strangely elastic protruding belly in what was supposed to be a seductive manner.
As her tongue lapped her glossy lips and her eyelids batted ropy lashes, Remo briefly wondered what kind of parent in their right mind would have allowed their teenaged daughter to buy into the whole "Seasonings" concept.
"Next alley we pass, I'm yours," she breathed. "I know what you need, what you really, really need."
That did it. It was the quoting of her band's most famous song that finished Remo. He stopped dead. "Condoms," he announced.
Her smile broke full on bleached teeth. "Got 'em," she replied excitedly. She began fishing in her purple purse.
Remo shook his head. "Not enough. I know where you've been. I'll need seventy or eighty. Enough that I won't even have to be in the same room while we're doing it. And you're going to need some kind of gag. Preferably one with some kind of locking mechanism and a key that can be easily lost."
"I'm on it!" Trollop promised. "Wait right here!"
Turning on one huge heel, she thundered down the street.
The rest of the Seasonings were just walking out of the sex shop, their arms loaded with overstuffed bags when Trollop plowed into them. The big boxes that were balanced on their massively pregnant stomachs went flying in every direction.
Remo wasn't around to witness the fallout. When the screaming started, he was already ducking around the corner of the busy four-lane street.
He didn't have time to revel in the little bit of unhappiness he'd delivered into the lives of the four women who had irritated him so much. The instant he turned the corner, he became aware of someone watching him.
It wasn't one of the Seasonings, or even one of the many prostitutes who trolled the streets of Bachsburg. With a shudder, he realized that it was the same strange sensation he'd felt at the Carlson wake.
Without breaking stride, he casually sought out the source.
Years of exacting training designed for the express purpose of not telegraphing moves to an opponent couldn't prepare him for the shock of what he found. Any pleasure he'd gotten from tormenting Trollop Seasoning bled away.
Standing on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the busy street was the child from baby Karen's wake. The same Korean boy he'd seen at the airport in New York.
Remo stopped dead. Someone bumped into him from behind, cursing him for stopping so abruptly. Remo didn't even hear.
It was impossible. First in Peoria, then the disappearing act at JFK and now here.
There was something very odd going on.
As the cars continued to rush past, Remo caught only glimpses of the boy between them. At one moment he was staring at Remo, his big brown eyes filled with a world of sadness; the next he had turned away. With small, mournful steps, he began walking slowly down the adjacent street.
On the other side of the road, Remo shook his head. "Not this time," he muttered firmly.
There wasn't time to wait for a break in traffic. From a standing position, Remo vaulted into the street.
His toe caught the hood of a speeding Jaguar. It made neither dent nor scratch as he pushed off. Brushing the roof of a Volvo, he skipped over the two racing Saabs that were heading in the two opposite lanes before landing at a full sprint on the far sidewalk.
But when he reached the spot where he'd last seen the boy, he was no longer there.
Remo scanned the sidewalk, spinning a complete circle.
The foot traffic was not so great that the boy could be swallowed up by it. Yet he was nowhere to be seen. As he had at the airport, the young Korean child had vanished.
Remo didn't know what to make of it. But one thing was certain. The depression he had been feeling was beginning to be eclipsed by a growing sense of apprehension.
Keeping his eyes peeled for the strange apparition, he began walking down the suddenly eerie East African sidewalk.
Chapter 8
Tea and fruit had been laid out on a long low table in the center of the small dining area. There were also strips of fish that had been cured in salt, making them inedible to the Master of Sinanju.
Choosing a small sliver of citrus fruit, Chiun settled amid the rugs and pillows arranged on the dirt floor of the oversize hut. On one knee, the Master of Sinanju balanced a china teacup and saucer; on the other knee was a matching plate with his meager slice of fruit.
"Your journey was a pleasant one, I hope," Chief Batubizee said. The big man had settled into a comfortable pile of cushions across from the old Asian. Bubu stood behind him, off to one side.
"As pleasant as travel through the air can be," Chiun replied, lifting his china cup.
Batubizee nodded. "I have never been in an airplane. They are frightful contrivances. I fear the wings will drop off and they will plummet to the ground."
"A wise concern." Chiun nodded. "Yet to avoid all progress is to be mired hopelessly in the past." Letting his words hang in the air between them, the old man bit into the wedge of fruit. It was sweet and pulpy. Frowning, he ate only one-quarter, leaving the rest on the expensive china plate.