"I am trying," Yusef grunted. "Which way?"
"Left. No, the other left, fool!"
"I am steering left. Why are the wheels not responding?"
Then the two figures appeared in the road ahead.
"Jihad, look! Are those not the bugs we squashed before?" Yusef asked.
"Forget them. Steer! In Allah's name, steer!"
"I am steering!" shouted Yusef as the sweat of his struggle beaded his forehead.
, Remo set himself. The giant tires hummed toward him like big black Ferris wheels.
Poised, Remo watched the front tires loom over him. Then, kicking hard, he tapped the great lead tire, using the hard rubber to rebound away to safety.
On the other side, the Master of Sinanju performed the exact same maneuver in perfect synchronization.
Then Remo and Chiun were rolling away and into the soft earth just in case the worst happened.
gave a sudden lurch, and in the cockpit Yusef Gamal and Jihad Jones found their
"You can if you know where to stick your toe,'' said Remo, stepping aboard. "Come on, we have places to
go."
Grasping his stick, the pilot lifted the helicopter off the ground and took a long, hard look at the churning water. Air bubbles the size of Hula Hoops were popping on the surface of the muddy river beside the burning mangle that had been a great span.
, the water entered in a flood.
"We are drowning, Jihad," Yusef Gamal sputtered.
"It is your fault."
"My fault! You were at the wheel."
"You were at the wheel, as well. Therefore, it is equally your fault."
They tried the hatch but found it had no inside handle. There was no escaping this watery tomb where the light was shrinking. The thought sunk in.
"Jihad, my brother, we are going to die."
"At least there is that."
"Yes, at least there is that."
"But first we must arm the Fist of Allah so that we die with dignity while inflicting terror upon the godless," said Jihad.
"I will do this great thing," Yusef said, reaching for the holy crank.
"No, I have decided to do this wonderful deed."
But as they clawed and struggled in the upside-down cockpit, they found they could only brush the crank hanging over their heads.
"I will stand on your shoulders to reach it, then," Jihad said.
"No, you will not stand upon my Arabic shoulders. I will stand on your Egyptian back."
"If you do not do as I say, no one will die except us."
In the end, Yusef allowed the Egyptian to climb upon his shoulders. The crank was seized and turned. Three times. Four. To no avail.
"What is wrong?" Yusef sputtered as Jihad jumped down to join him amid the clammy, cold wetness that was now nearly to their shoulders.
"It does not work. The water. The cursed water has no doubt made the arming mechanism useless."
"Then only we will die," Yusef said dejectedly. "This is terrible. I am a suicide pilot-martyr. I must take my enemies with me or I will die unfulfilled."
That horrible thought sunk in, too.
As the water rose to the level of their mouths, Jihad Jones looked to Yusef with agonized eyes.
"Remember, when we get to Paradise, I do not know you."
"When I get to Paradise, I will personally point out your Crusader blood to any who will listen," Yusef spat back.
"And I will partake of your unspoiledstealing those I can."
"Pork lover!"
"Cross-kisser!"
Chapter 35
Three days later, Remo and Chiun were in their bell- tower meditation room watching television when the telephone rang.
"I got it," said Remo.
It was Harold Smith. "The autopsy report came in on the Deaf Mullah," he said.
"What'd it say?"
"The FBI pathologist wanted to put down 'cause unknown,' but political pressures forced him to state a definite cause of death. He has it down as 'shaken baby syndrome.'"
"Yeah, before we left the mosque, I took the Deaf Mullah's head in my hand and shook it until his brains pureed like a milk shake."
"It will go down as a consequence of the launching of the Fist of Allah."
"They got it out of the water yet?"
"The Army Corps of Engineers are still working on that. Now that we know it was only a radiological bomb and not a true thermonuclear device, it is not so delicate a task. EPA should be able to contain any radiation leakage."
"Still, if it had gone off, it would have been pretty bad." "They could have brought down the World Trade Center, crippling the city, killing thousands and making lower Manhattan uninhabitable for decades to come. Except for one minor detail."
"What's that?" asked Remo.
"The Fist of Allah has been measured. It was five feet too wide to fit through the Lincoln Tunnel. It would never have made it onto the island."
Remo laughed. When he was done, he asked, "So where did they get Fist of Allah?"
"It was a NASA surplus missile carrier they converted for the purpose. I am still attempting to trace the radioactive waste they filled it with, but there are many unscrupulous waste-disposal companies perfectly willing to allow such materials to fall into questionable hands for a price.
"The FBI roundup appears to have gotten every remaining Messenger of Muhammad, so that crisis is settled," Smith continued.
"What about the fake Deaf Mullah—the one in solitary?"
"He was willing to serve out the real Deaf Mullah's time for the cause. He will continue to enjoy that privilege."
"Is the mail moving again?"
"Given the current state of the postal service, it may be weeks before anyone can answer that question authoritatively," Smith said without sarcasm.
"That pretty much wraps things up, doesn't it?"
"Until the next crisis," Smith said firmly.