"No!" he screamed. Beneath their feet, the earth cracked again. A serpent jumped out of the earth, long as a train and bigger around than a redwood. Its orange-brown translucent body writhed like an earthworm. And out of its massive jaws, yellow flames seared.
"You'll need more than your tricks to beat me now, Purcell," Remo said. "You're finished."
"No!" shouted Jeremiah Purcell. And the voice was the voice of the beast within him, but the cry was tinged with fear. He felt his other knee sink inexorably, humiliatingly to the ground. "I am stronger than you! Greater than you! More Sinanju than you!"
Colors swirled around him and the discordant music swelled. The Master of Sinanju put his hands over his eyes to block out the awful glare. The ground bubbled, as if it had turned to lava. Blocks of granite stood up on caterpillar legs and marched toward the center of the ruins, where the combatants were locked in a death grip.
The Master of Sinanju watched in horror, not knowing what was real and what was not.
It had seemed as if Remo were winning, but now, with the music rising to a manic crescendo, the Dutchman suddenly had Remo in a chokehold. Remo's arms flailed, his mouth gulping air like a beached fish. Chiun watched as, brutally, like a python squeezing its prey, the Dutchman continued his cruel hold until Remo's face darkened with congesting blood.
"Remo! Do not let him defeat you!" Chiun cried. He started for them, but with a callous glance the Dutchman made a line of granite blocks between them explode into a thousand pieces. The Master of Sinanju retreated into the shelter of a fallen castle wall. He remained there while the fragments of stone peppered the ruins around him.
When he emerged, the Dutchman stood triumphantly, holding Remo by the scruff of the neck, shouting at the top of his voice.
"I am invincible. I am the Dutchman. There is no greater Master of Sinanju than Jeremiah Purcell. Do you hear me, Chiun? Can you see me, Nuihc, my father? I am supreme! Supreme! "
In his hands, Remo hung limp and unconscious. And the heart went out of the Master of Sinanju.
"You will not live to drink the nectar of your victory," declared Chiun, drawing himself up.
"Supreme!" cried the Dutchman as he dropped Remo scornfully. He flung his arms out as if to offer his glory to the universe. His uplifted face, almost beatific in its exultation, saw the taunting gleam of the morning star hanging in the purple sky.
"Supreme," he whispered, focusing all his energy on one point of tight millions of miles away.
Chiun bounded over fallen blocks, his feet leaping, his blazing hazel eyes focused on the Dutchman's imperious form. But he was too late. The music grew. And high in the sky Venus became a tiny flare of silver that swelled and swelled until it filled the mountaintop with unholy light.
The Dutchman lifted triumphant fists. "Supreme!"
And as the dissonant music grew unbearable, the ground opened up beneath the Dutchman's feet.
"No!" cried Chiun. But it was too late. The Dutchman fell into a widening crater, arms flailing as he screamed his final words. They echoed deep from the earth.
"Supreme! Supreme! Supreme!"
And with his agitated purple figure tumbled the limp body of Remo Williams.
When they were lost from sight, the ground closed up with a finality that silenced everything. Including the mind music of the Dutchman.
Chiun landed on the crack. He threw himself upon it, digging and clawing frantically.
"Remo! My son." His fingers excavated the edge of the crack. But he only succeeded in scratching it. The crack had closed fully.
Head bowed, the Master of Sinanju was silent for long moments. Finally he scratched a symbol in the dirt with a long fingernail. It was a bisected trapezoid, the sign of Sinanju. It would forever mark the resting place of the two white Masters, the last of the line.
Resignedly the Master of Sinanju got to his feet. He wiped the red earth from his kimono, muttering a prayer for the dead under his breath. He turned to walk away from Devil's Mountain, empty-handed, realizing that there was a worse thing than carrying a dead son down a mountain. And that was leaving him there.
A voice stopped him outside the ruins. "Leaving without me, Little Father?"
Chiun wheeled at the sound. His face widened in such surprise, his wrinkles smoothed out.
"Remo!" he breathed. Then, louder, "Remo, my son. You live?"
"More or less," Remo said nonchalantly. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat. Under one arm he carried a lifeless figure in purple whose wrists were bound by a yellow sash. Jeremiah Purcell.
"I saw you both swallowed by the earth."
"Not us," said Remo. He tried to crack a smile, but Chiun could see that it was an effort. The Master of Sinanju walked to Remo's side and touched first his arm, then his face. "You are real. Not a cruel illusion designed to prolong my grief."
"I'm real," said Remo.
"But I saw this carrion defeat you."
Remo shook his head. "You saw what the Dutchman imagined. What he wanted to believe. You were right, Chiun. He had gone around the bend. Remember when the colors got really bright?"
"Yes. "
"I had him then. And he knew it. I think his mind really snapped then. He knew he couldn't win. He couldn't bear to lose, so he created the illusion that he was winning. I saw it too. I had him on his knees. Suddenly he collapsed. Then there was another Dutchman and another one of me and they were fighting. When I realized what was happening, I stepped back and watched just as you did."
"But the pit?"
"An illusion. Maybe you could say the pit was real in a way. It was the pit of madness and the Dutchman finally fell in. All I know is that here I am and here he is."
"Not dead?" wondered Chiun.
"He might as well be," Remo said, laying the Dutchman across a block of broken stone. Jeremiah Purcell lay, breathing shallowly, only the faintest of lights in his eyes. His lips moved.
"He is trying to say something," Chiun said.
Remo placed his ear to the Dutchman's writhing lips. "I win. Even in defeat."
"Don't count on it," Remo told him. But just before the last light of intelligence fled from his eyes, the Dutchman reared up as if electrified. "You will never save the presidential candidates now!" Then he collapsed.
Chiun examined him carefully.
"He lives. But his eyes tell me that his mind has gone."
"He won't menace us again. I guess I did it, Chiun. I stopped the Dutchman without killing him or myself."
"Do not be so boastful. The Dutchman's last words indicate that he may have the final victory yet."
"If we hurry," Remo said, hefting the Dutchman into his arms, "we might be able to get back in time."
"No." Chiun stopped him. "I will carry him down. I have waited many years for this day of atonement. "
And together they descended Devil's Mountain, the clear light of the morning star hanging in an untroubled blue sky above them.
Chapter 36
Every major network and cable service carried Decision America, the election-eve presidential debate broadcast live from a Manhattan television studio. The candidates had been introduced and the Vice-President had given his opening statement, ending with a reaffirmation of his promise to put an end to all covert operations by American intelligence agencies.
Governor Michael Princippi led off his remarks with a solemn vow to expunge all black-budget projects from the federal books.
In the middle of his statement, television screens all over America went black.
The Secret Service had every entrance to the television studio covered. Heavy, bulletproof limousines were parked bumper to bumper all around the block instead of the usual clumsy concrete barriers. They were prepared for anything.