"Exactly. And you would march with them?"
"I don't generañy work with groups," Remo said.
"Ahh, but you could," Chiun said. "You could lead them. And I could lead the sheik's men. We Koreans know all about horses. And we could let them fight, you and I, and we would not have to."
"Why don't you just stay with me, let's get the bacterium and get the hell out of here?" asked Remo.
"Because I have a contract. It is older than my contract with Smith and takes precedence over it I have to honor it."
"Let's think about it," Remo said.
Talking to Chiun, he noticed six men busy burying three posts into the sand twenty-five feet in front of the reviewing stand. The posts were padded, covered with cloth, and after their triangular bases were buried, they stood six feet high. They were spaced eight feet apart in a line and reminded Remo of striking dummies he had often seen in karate centers.
This would be it, Remo thought. Because the girl, Zantos, had told him that there would be an attempt on his life, he had been on guard all day. But the sword-flashing displays and the rodeo riding had contained no threats to him. But these posts, obviously some kind of target and so conveniently set up in front of him, would provide the frilling attempt.
He glanced over toward the sheik and saw Ganulle looking at him sharply. The pinch-faced Arab smiled at him condescendingly; it was a smile that told Remo
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that Ganulle thought he knew something that Remo didn't.
The try would come now.
Did Chiun know about it?
Would Chiun care?
Were they now really enemies? He and Chiun on opposing sides. Did that mean that he could die and Chiun would not care?
He wondered about that and leaned over to Chiun and said softly, "Little Father, I..."
"Shhhh," Chiun hissed. "I want to watch my new army."
Remo sighed and shook his head. To hell with it.
Nine horsemen galloped into the clearing from the far end. They massed down there, a hundred yards away, then wheeled as a group and began galloping toward the reviewing stand. In their right hands, they held six-foot-long lances; their left hands bunched the horses' reins, controlling them expertly as they raced across the powdery white sand.
Twenty yards from the three target dummies, they lowered their right hands, and as the horses pulled abreast of the dummies, with the reviewing stand as the backdrop, the horsemen flung their spears in an unusual underhand motion.
Remo could hear the thunk, thunk, thunk of lance after lance smashing into the dummies. And then one lance came over the top of the dummies, flashing toward the high-backed seat in which Remo sat, flashing toward his chest.
Remo kept his hands at his sides.
It was up to Chiun.
It all seemed to pass in slow motion. He could see the lance moving toward his chest. In the bright Arabian sun, he could see the steel tip shining and glinting. The spear was revolving on its long axis, much like a bullet fired through a rifled barrel, rotating for stability. That was the reason for the underhand throw, to give the spear that rotation.
The tip had almost touched him when, still in slow
motion, he saw a long-nailed yellow hand move out in front of his chest and slowly, ever so slowly, close tightly around the spear. Its tip stopped just short of touching Remo's skin.
"You fool," Remo heard Chiun snarl.
The riders had wheeled around in front of the reviewing stand. The sheik was on his feet.
"Stop that man," he shouted, pointing to one of the riders, but before anyone could move, Chiun was standing, and the spear, now turned around in his hand, was whistling back over the dummies. It struck one of the horsemen square in the chest. Involuntarily, his hands flew to the lance, but as the man's body turned, Remo saw that the spear had gone all the way through it.
Slowly, the rider slipped to one side and then fell from his horse. The animal, trained for war, galloped on as his dead rider lay motionless in the sand.
Remo turned toward Sheik Fareem. He was staring at the dead horseman. Behind him, Ganulle stood, shocked, his mouth open. He looked toward Remo, and Remo winked at him.
Chiun stood in front of Remo. In Korean, he barked, "And you were going to let that stick impale you just to see if I would do anything about it?"
"Naaah, it wasn't like that," Remo lied. "I would have taken care of it."
"You are an idiot," Chiun said, "and an ingrate and white, but you are my son hi Sinanju. Do you think I would let anything be done to you by somebody who smells like sheep?"
"Then let's get the bacterium and get out of here," Remo said.
Chiun shook his head.
"No," Remo said. "I know. You've got a contract."
Chiun nodded.
But Remo felt good. He turned around and saw the young green-eyed woman, Zantos, looking at him. He met her eyes only briefly and nodded slightly.
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Remo had not heard a sound, but there was Chiun, standing inside his tent.
"It is done," Chiun said.
"What is?"
"I have spoken to Sheik Fareem. He agrees. You will go to the capital city and bring back their army. I will train his. We will fight here, our two armies, as in the olden times, for the right to destroy this country's oil."
"I guess this is the best we can hope for," Remo said, and Chiun nodded.
"You will leave right away?"
"I suppose so," Remo said. "You're not just waiting for me to turn my back and then dump that stuff in the oil, are you?"
"No. The sheik is bound by his word. He looks forward to a war. And he looks forward to my training his son to be a leader."
Remo said, "It's going to be funny, leading an army against you."
"Any army you lead will be funny," Chiun said.
Remo let it slide. "You know who was behind that spear-throwing today?"
"Yes."
"ItwasGanulle."
"Why do you tell me that when I already told you I know who it was?"
"I just wanted to be sure you knew," Remo said. "I want you to be careful. Did you tell the sheik it was him?"
"No," said Chiun. "It is better for assassins when their emperors know nothing. Why do you think he ordered you killed?"
"I don't know," Remo said. "Maybe because I'm opposed to the sheik's plans?"
Chiun shook his head. "No, it is not that."
"Keep an eye on him," Remo said.
"I will."
"We can't let him destroy that oil," Reva Bleem
i
said. She was sitting in the rear seat of her Rolls. Remo had ignored her open-door invitation and sat in the front next to Oscar, the thick-necked chauffeur.
"You should have thought of that before you let your lunatic brother play in that factory and start shipping that bacterium around."
"I know," she said. "I wish I knew where it was, why it isn't here yet. But that damned Wardley might have sent it by aborigine runner. We've got to stop it from being used. My Polypussides isn't ready yet."
"No. We've got to get that tank price down and save us all from becoming dwarfs."
"Right," she said.
"And when we do that," Remo said, "what's to stop you from cooking up another batch of germs to stick in the oil supply?"
Reva looked at him, and the chill she felt looking into his night-black eyes was mirrored on her face.
"I won't have to," she said quickly. "By the time I'm ready, my price will be competitive. My prices will go down. Synthetics always do. Oil prices will go up. Natural resource prices also always go up. We'll be even."
"And then you and the oil companies together will march the prices even higher?"
"Right," she agreed. "But through the free marketplace. High prices are only bad when they're caused by governments. Not when they're caused by free market greed." She leaned forward and put her hand on Remo's shoulder. "But we've got to stop them now. That means it's up to you."