All any of them saw was the purple blur of Chiun’s nighttime robe. When he was done, the four rifles were propped together in a military tripod in one corner of the porch. On the other corner were propped the four men in the identical fashion. They looked like a singing group on a Philadelphia street corner.
No one inside the house had heard a sound.
Remo eased his way down to the third floor. There were two men around the corner at the bottom of the steps. Remo heard them talking.
“I think Pakir’s dreaming,” said one, in a harsh American voice. “There’s nobody here.”
“Just you and me,” said another American voice.
“And me,” said Remo, stepping from around the corner.
The two Americans wheeled toward him, their hands reaching for the guns in holsters on their hips.
Ten. That he knew of.
Inside the front door of the house, Chiun had paused, listening. There were no voices, no footsteps. The steps to the second floor were a long, curved staircase, and from the bottom floor it was impossible to see the second landing. On the side of the wall was the light switch, and Chiun threw it, casting the downstairs floor and the stairway into darkness.
“Light went off,” he heard a voice from upstairs call.
“Check it out,” another said.
“Sure. Anything’s better than standing here.”
Chiun moved to the stairway, and raced half up, stopping halfway to the next floor. He could tell by the sounds of their feet that two men were coming down. As they turned the corner so their vision covered the first floor, Chiun stepped out from the shadow at the side of the stairs. His long-nailed hands shot forward from his kimono sleeves and fastened themselves around the throats of the two men. They struggled for a brief instant, trying first to free themselves, then to scream. They did neither. Slowly, Chiun let them drop to the soft, carpeted steps. He ran up the remaining steps to the second floor. Remo was coming down the steps from the third floor.
Perce Pakir was walking into the Emir’s room. He carried a pistol in his hand.
Both Remo and Chiun saw him enter the room as they reached the second floor landing.
Four men, two on Remo’s side, two on Chiun’s side, also watched Pakir enter the room.
It was their last view of life. Remo and Chiun each moved behind their two men and silently throttled them. They released the men’s bodies which sank softly to the Persian-carpeted hallway floor, then the two men, Master and disciple, ran down the hallway, meeting at the center door to the Emir’s room.
“Took you long enough to get here,” Remo said.
“At my age, one must avoid sudden movements,” Chiun said lightly. “Quiet.”
Remo was silent as Chiun listened at the door. He turned back to Remo.
“There are three of them. The Emir, the Princess, and Pakir. Pakir is nearest us,” Chiun whispered.
“Then we might as well go in,” Remo said.
Remo tossed himself at the door, just at the critical point where the heavy oak and the brass hinges were misbalanced, and as the door swung open and Pakir wheeled, gun in hand, Chiun came through the door over Remo’s body, and with an elegant motion of a slippered toe kicked the gun from Pakir’s hand. Before the bearded aide could go for it, Remo had him paralyzed, digging his fingers into the Bislamian’s shoulder muscle.
“He was going to kill my brother,” Princess Sarra said. She stood next to the Emir’s bed, leaning over, as if ready to shield her monarch with her own body.
“I know,” Remo said.
Chiun retrieved Pakir’s gun from the floor and put it on the table, next to the Emir.
The old monarch’s eyes were fiery with anger.
“Why, Pakir? Why?”
“Because you are going to die anyway. Because when you die I will still be hunted by your enemies. But if I kill you, they will no longer hunt me and I will be wealthy. Wealthy beyond my wildest dreams.”
“Ten million dollars,” Princess Sarra said to the Emir. “That is what is offered for you.”
The Emir looked at her, then back at his once-trusted aide. “Wealthy beyond your wildest dreams? Your trouble, Pakir, is that you always dreamed small,” the Emir said.
His hand darted out from his bed and picked up the pistol Chiun had put on the end table. He brought his arm around and squeezed off a shot at Pakir. Remo felt the man grow limp in his hands and dropped him to the floor where he lay motionless.
“Good shot,” he said. “I’m glad you didn’t hit me.”
“I apologize.”
“That’s all right. I would have dodged,” Remo said.
“Not for that,” the Emir said. “For using the gun. There was a day when I would have strangled this traitor with my bare hands. But now… I cannot.” He looked toward Chiun.
The old Korean nodded. “Weapons take all the fun out of it,” he said. Something seemed to catch his attention and he went to the Emir’s large, bedroom window which looked out over the Atlantic Ocean.
He turned back to Remo.
“There is something out there,” he said.
“A boat,” Remo said.
Chiun nodded. “A black boat. Very black.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ELMO WIMPLER WAS ALMOST ready to go.
The joke would be on the man he rented the boats from when they were found, painted black, and he wondered why someone would want to deface his boats.
The boats had taken more paint that Wimpler had expected and he was glad that he had made up a new batch of the invisibility paint and put it into spray cans. The paint job wasn’t much, but it would do for a quick operation.
Maybe when this was over, and he found someone willing to pay him for having killed the Emir, he would move onto a boat. A yacht of his own. And he would only get off the ship when he wanted to make a contract for a killing, or to shop for supplies and food. He did not think he would leave the boat for a woman. It no longer interested him. He had thought a lot about women since the night he had worked his will on Phyllis and, frankly, there was no comparison. He preferred killing to sex.
And tonight he would kill his first monarch, he thought, as he finished pulling on his invisible, black trousers.
· · ·
There were twenty-one dead men on the island, counting Pakir.
Remo called Smith to tell him that the Emir was all right.
“Everyone else is dead?”
“They were all fakes,” Remo said.
“I hope so.”
“They were. And the Royal Guards were in Pakir’s pocket because they figured if they stayed loyal to the Emir, they’d be next on the hit parade.”
“Have you seen any sign of the bodies of our real agents?”
“I’d have to guess that they were dumped out at sea,” Remo said.
“The Princess?” asked Smith.
“She’s well and she’s clean. She’s the only one on the island who wasn’t part of it. I think Pakir had a thing for her and wanted to keep her alive.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Chiun and I are going after Wimpler. His boat is out there offshore.”
“Is that wise?” Smith said. “Leaving the Emir and the Princess alone?”
“It is now. I’ve taken care of it,” Remo said.
“Be careful,” said Smith.
Remo hung up the hall telephone and turned to find Sarra watching him from the doorway of her brother’s room.
“The Emir?” Remo asked.
“Not well. Pakir’s disloyalty is a crushing blow. Chiun is with him.”
“You trusted Pakir too, didn’t you?”
“I disliked him, but I didn’t think he would turn on the Emir,” she said.
“He had the hots for you,” said Remo.
“The hots?” she asked.