"Do you always have to be so damned cheerful?" Remo growled. "It's getting on my nerves."
"Sorry." Wolfshy arranged some sticks inside a circle of stones for a fire. "Say, could I borrow a match?"
Without speaking, Remo picked up a small gray stone and spun it toward the unlit fire. The stone first struck one rock, then the second and third, and continued around the circle, sending off shooting sparks each time it struck. The movement was so fast that, to Sam Wolfshy, the fire seemed to ignite spontaneously.
"Wow, that was really something," he said. "Maybe you're part Indian. Do you think I could learn that? I mean, it must be in my blood, right? I could—"
Inexplicably, he turned a double back flip, then landed in a sitting position.
Chiun was standing nearby, slapping his hands together as if to wipe dust from them. The expression on his face was sour. "Keep this person out of my sight," he said.
"He doesn't mean any harm," Remo whispered. "And we did ask him to be our guide."
"Guide? Hah. This mushroom-brained fool is incapable of guiding himself across a postage stamp. Also, he talks incessantly. He has no sense of direction. He is a stone around our necks. And today alone, he has asked to borrow sixty-four items from me."
"Yeah, he's a dipstick," Remo said. He looked past Chiun to the fire, where Wolfshy crouched, stirring the contents of a metal pot with a stick and singing "Old MacDonald," complete with sound effects, at the top of his voice. "But there's something about him I kind of like."
Wolfshy looked up and smiled. "Chow's ready," he called.
"At least he can cook," Remo said. With a snort, Chiun padded to the fire.
"Hope you guys are hungry," Wolfshy said, sniffing the air like some TV-show gourmet. "Doesn't that smell good?"
"What manner of foulness is that?" Chiun shrieked, pointing to the pot.
Wolfshy looked into the pot, then at Chiun, then back at the pot. "Beans," he said innocently. "Just baked beans. Very nourishing, if you don't mind a little gas."
"And those globs of fat?" The old man's long fingers quivered over the bubbling concoction.
"That's pork. It gives the beans more flavor. Here, have a taste."
Chiun slapped the stick out of the Indian's hand. "Remo, eliminate him."
"Calm down, Chiun," Remo said. "He was only—"
"Not only is he a brainless, worthless fool, but now he seeks to poison the Master of Sinanju by feeding him pork fat."
"Gosh, I wasn't…"
Remo silenced him with a gesture. He listened to the forest. There was a sound that did not belong.
Immediately, Chiun and Remo went to opposite sides of the clearing, and it came again: a faint rustle of leaves and the unmistakable crack of wood beneath a human foot.
Silently Remo darted into the forest. There was a flutter of activity and a muffled cry. When he reappeared, he was holding a small, dirty, unconscious woman in his arms.
"Who's that?" Wolfshy asked.
Remo set her on the ground. "How would I know? She tripped and knocked herself on the head before I could reach her."
"The garment she is wearing is disgusting," Chiun said, wrinkling his nose. "Perhaps she is a musician."
The woman groaned as she came to. As soon as she saw their faces, she flailed out with both her fists.
"Take it easy," Remo said, catching her hands in one of his. "Nobody's going to hurt you."
She looked around, her eyes wide and frightened. "You're not with them?" she whispered.
"Whoever 'they' are, we're not. You're safe."
"Thank God." She buried her face in Remo's chest and sobbed. "I made it. I got away."
Remo rocked her gently. Wherever she had been, it obviously hadn't been a picnic for her. "Can you tell me about it?"
"Yes… that's why I'm here," she said, sniffing. "I've got to get help. For the others."
"Slow down," Remo said. "What others? Where did you come from?"
The woman clasped her hands together in an effort to calm herself. "My name is Karen Lockwood," she said shakily. She told them about the strange occurrences that had taken place since she'd been picked up by a blue Econoline van off the interstate.
"The prison's on this mountain?"
Karen nodded. "I think it used to be a church or something. While I was running away from the place, I looked back and saw a bell tower."
"Sounds like the Franciscan monastery," Wolfshy said.
"Well, there aren't any Franciscans there now. Those soldiers shot at me every step of the way until it got dark."
Chiun's brow creased. "Then they are nearby."
"We've all got to get out of here and contact the police," Karen said. "How far is the nearest town?"
"It's fifty miles or so to Santa Fe. You can take the jeep. We'll stay on here," Remo said.
"Uh, are you sure about that?" Sam sputtered. "I mean, if they've got guns and everything—"
"All right, you can go with the girl."
Sam's pinched face relaxed. "I'll take good care of her, don't you worry. Why, when my ancestors walked this land—"
"Shhh." Remo nodded toward Karen. She was propped up beside a rock, fast asleep. Her dirty face looked as innocent as a child's.
"She was exhausted," Chiun said. "Let her sleep. There will be time in the morning to go for the police."
"And easier to find our way, too," Wolfshy added.
Remo cast him a withering look.
"Well, anyone can get lost."
"Go to sleep," Remo said.
"What about those soldiers she was talking about?"
"They've probably given up the search. At least for tonight. I'll wake you if anybody comes."
"Aren't you going to sleep?"
"Not if you two continue this offensive chatter," Chiun screeched from the other side of the clearing. He was sitting in full lotus beneath a tree.
"Sorry," Wolfshy said. "I didn't know you were asleep. Your eyes were open. I guess that's Zen, huh? Like hearing the sound of one hand clapping." Sam grinned, pleased with himself.
"If you are not utterly silent within five seconds," Chiun said, "you will hear the sound of one hand tearing the tongue from your throat."
Wolfshy walked wordlessly to his sleeping bag. Remo took it from him. "For the girl," he whispered. The Indian curled near the dying fire as Remo carried the sleeping woman to the warm pallet.
The night was silent except for the chattering of small woodland animals. Remo lay beside Karen Lockwood, studying her face. It was bruised and cut, and her arms bore marks of beatings. What had she been through? What sort of men ran the prison at the top of the hill, and why?
Karen had said that all the prisoners were young women who'd been kidnaped. They believed their families had been destroyed. That had to account for the bodies found in the mesa, Remo figured. So the rash of unexplained murders Smith was so concerned about was only the beginning.
Remo looked through the woods up the rocky slope of the mountain. Somewhere atop that peak stood a fortress where a madman kept a harem of beautiful women, and then tortured and starved them. Whoever that man was, Remo was going to find him. As soon as the girl and the Indian were out of the way, Remo and Chiun would begin the search.
A twig snapped. From the lightness of the sound, Remo knew a man hadn't caused it, but Karen was up like a bolt, eyes wide open, mouth gasping in fear.
"It's all right," Remo said gently.
She pumped her legs out of her sleeping bag, oblivious to his reassurances. "They're coming," she said.
"No, they're not. Honest. It's just an animal or something."
Sweat was pouring down her face. Remo knew nothing would calm her now except hard evidence. "Look. I'll prove it, okay?"
He stalked silently into the woods. Karen listened. The young man with the thick wrists made no sound as he walked. Then a tree shuddered and there was a sudden commotion that made her feel as if her heart had just shot into her throat. A moment later, something came hurtling out of the shadows at her.