"Little Father," he said softly.
The Master of Sinanju turned, his eyes quizzical. He saw his pupil's thumb surreptitiously jerking in the direction of the stone snake idol.
Chiun's eyes went very wide. Then, in a high squeaky voice, he said, " I hope our friend Josip Broz Tito arrives very soon."
"Yes indeedy," Remo chimed in brightly, edging away from the massive idol. "Be nice if he's early. The plane is waiting to take us back to the U. S., where we'll all be nice and safe."
"True, true," Chiun rejoined, also stepping away from the idol. "There is no telling what will happen to him if these Mexicans discover he has usurped their precious statue. He will be in very grave danger. They are no doubt pursuing him mightily at this very moment."
"Hope nothing happens," Remo added loudly. "I'd sure like to help him out."
They stopped. The statue simply stood there, immobile, invincible, inert. An Aztec golem.
"Maybe they already got him," Remo ventured pointedly.
"Yes, you are undoubtedly correct, Remo," Chiun said. "Let us go. There is nothing we can do for poor Tito now."
They started down the steps.
The sudden sound was like breaking rocks. It came from the summit. They turned, their hands lifting defensively, ready for anything.
The stone idol called Coatlicue roused to life. The kissing serpents parted and pointed down at them, a doubleheaded monstrosity on weaving stone necks. Its arms lifted to show its maimed forearms. And it spoke in a voice like grinding stones.
"I am here!" he rumbled.
"You are no longer Tito," Chiun remarked calmly.
"I can assume whatever shape I desire."
"We are pleased to meet you again, O statue," Chiun called up. "For we have come to parley."
The idol stepped forward on its clawed feet. Both heads looked at Remo. "And you?"
"We're both ready to negotiate," Remo said.
"Very well. I will surrender your President on two conditions."
Chiun smiled thinly. "Name them."
"One. That we are taken to a place of safety."
"Done," said the Master of Sinanju.
"Two. That I take the place of one who holds a position of security in the President's government."
"Tito's dead," Remo called, "and he's not with our government. "
"I mean the meat machine you call Vice-President of the United States."
Remo's eyes went wide. Chiun's narrowed.
"Why would you want that?" Remo wondered sincerely.
"I understand his duties are undemanding. I understand that he is well-paid, well-protected, and has much leisure time."
"You understand right," Remo said.
"These are my conditions. I am prepared to assume the form of the Vice-President at any time. I pledge to serve the office well, asking only to be unmolested for the natural span of my lifetime."
Remo and Chiun exchanged glances.
"Couldn't be any worse than the VP we already have," Remo muttered.
They turned to Coatlicue's wavering stone serpent regard.
"It's a deal," Remo said, poker-faced. "Now that that's settled, where are you keeping the President?"
The stone serpent heads opened their dry cold mouths to answer.
From far below came the sound of car engines and slamming doors. Feet scraped on rocks.
Remo whirled. Racing across the Avenue of the Dead came Officer Guadalupe Mazatl and a host of men he had never seen. Armed men. One in a blue DFS uniform. He was pulling Guadalupe along.
"Who are those meat machines?" rumbled the idol who was Mr. Gordons.
"-Search me," Remo mumbled.
"Why should I search you?"
"Just an expression," Remo said quickly. "They're not with us. Honest."
"Is this a trap?" asked Mr. Gordons in a flinty voice.
"Of course not," Remo said quickly. "Is it, Chiun?"
"No, it is not a trap," the Master of Sinanju snapped. "We have nothing to do with these people."
" I recognize the female meat machine. She accompanied the old one before."
"But she's not with us anymore," Remo said quickly. "I don't know what's going on."
The contingent of men came up the steps huffing and puffing.
A voice called out. Guadalupe's.
"Remo! Por favor! Help me!" It ended in a fleshy smack and a whimper.
There was no other way down, so Remo and Chiun simply waited, their eyes shifting between the looming entity on the summit and the approaching gunmen.
When they were within earshot, Remo called down.
"That's far enough. What do you want?"
Guadalupe started to speak. Her eyes focused upon the statue of Coatlicue. "What is that doing here?" she demanded fearfully.
"I think she means you," Remo told Mr. Gordons.
"I am here to negotiate for my survival," Gordons rumbled.
And Guadalupe Mazatl, hearing the stone voice of the Mother of the Sun, screamed.
She was flung aside. A corpulent man in a silk shirt and rings on his fingers shouted up.
"I have come to bargain for the life of the U. S. presidente!"
"Too late," Remo called back. "He's coming with us. "
"I will double their offer," Jorge Chingar said. "I am El Padrino. I am very wealthy. I can make your every desire come to pass."
"Stuff it," Remo said. "We already have a deal. Right?"
Mr. Gordons spoke up. The snake heads peered down. "I am promised the office of the Vice-President. What can you offer me?"
El Padrino laughed. "They are lying to you, amigo. It is all a trick. They know you are Senor Gordon."
At that, the stones monster stepped off the summit, its clawed feet cracking the steps.
"Damn!" Remo said. He threw up his hands. "Okay, you got us. We know you're Gordons. But the deal's still on. We have authorization."
The idol lurched down, its ungainly arms flung out for balance. The pistoleros of El Padrino clustered about him protectively, their Uzis and Mac 10's trained upward at the advancing colossus.
"It is too late to bargain," Chiun intoned. "We will have to fight."
"No!" Remo said anxiously. "We waste Gordons, and we've lost the President."
"Smith said that the President is better off dead than in the hands of evil ones," Chiun said. "We first of all must ensure our own survival."
Remo hesitated. "I'd love to debate this, but there's no time," he said. "I'm with you."
Together they raced up to meet the lumbering monster that was Mr. Gordons.
"Okay, Gordons," Remo challenged. "We tried to do this your way. Now the gloves are off. We do this our way or it's rock-garden time."
"You attempted treachery," Gordons said, the dismembered hands on his chest grasping like dying spiders.
A blunt arm lashed out. Remo ducked. Not fast enough. His reflexes were sluggish. One stone limb connected with a glancing blow. Remo was sent stumbling backward.
But the blow left Mr. Gordons exposed on that side.
The Master of Sinanju angled in, one fist out. His blow was solid. It chipped stone. The creature, off-balance, rocked back from the impact.
It turned, a grinding stone automaton. Both arms raised like pile drivers.
Landing on the terrace below, Remo recovered quickly. His head hurt. He clambered to his feet, the sight of the upraised arms descending on his teacher galvanizing him to action.
Then the shooting started.
Bullets spanked off the pyramid side and steps. Remo whirled away from a stinging bullet track.
El Padrino's voice lifted.
"Cease fire," he called. "We are here to negotiate, not battle."
The upraised stone arms froze. The Master of Sinanju faded back from their menace.
Mr. Gordons turned his blocky body clumsily. The serpent heads looked down.
"I will listen to any reasonable offer as long as my survival is not threatened," he said.
"Senor Gordon, I can assure this," said El Padrino. "I am a very rich man. I own a fine hacienda that is like a fortress. I will see that no one injures you ever. I ask only that the President be handed over to me."