Warren Murphy: The Empire Dreams

He was running now in the direction opposite the men from Sinanju.

Schatz had no idea how far he could get in four minutes. He hoped it would be far enough. One thing was certain, though. There was no way the two Masters of Sinanju would be able to escape the blast.

He ran for half a minute before realizing that he had left his treasured walking stick behind. It was too late to return for it.

He would get another. When the bomb exploded and the tower fell. Once the world recognized that the Fourth Reich would not be trifled with. The fuhrer would have his choice of the finest walking sticks in the world.

His aged lungs burned as he ran. His arms and legs moved in pained, jerky motions.

How much farther would be safe?

He fixed his gaze on a tree far ahead. That would be the point. Surely if he reached that, he would be free of the blast zone. And he would most certainly reach it.

That certainty vanished a few seconds later when it occurred to Schatz that the scenery before him wasn't getting any larger. Was that not what generally happened as one approached something?

Another moment and he realized why.

He looked down at his feet. They were several inches off the ground. Though his legs pumped madly, they pushed against empty air.

Schatz looked back over his shoulder. He saw a hand that extended into an abnormally thick wrist. Beyond them both was a familiar cruel face. It was the same face that had mouthed the words "I am going to kill you" on the camera at the Guernsey air base.

"We had a date. Remember?" Remo said coldly. Holding the old German by the scruff of the neck, he carried Nils Schatz back to the Eiffel Tower.

"DO YOU NOT KNOW how to disarm it?"

"Do I look like I know how?" Remo asked.

"You are American," Chiun insisted.

"So?"

"So true Americans know such things."

"Look, they don't teach bomb disarmament in Catholic school," Remo said.

"They do in Ireland," Chiun suggested.

Remo ignored him. He studied the wires running from the bottom of the detonator. They were multicolored and ran into one of the largest of the rusted shell casings. The timer was ticking down to the oneminute mark.

Behind them, virtually ignored, stood Nils Schatz. Remo had deposited the old Nazi near the front of the broad iron support column before he and Chiun turned their attention to the bombs.

Schatz glanced over at one of the crashed trucks. It was still in good shape. Its engine hummed softly.

"I think I should cut the red one," Remo decided, reaching for a wire.

"Why?" Chiun asked, stopping him with a longnailed finger.

"I saw in a movie where they cut the red wire to stop a bomb," Remo explained.

"I once saw a movie in which a man flew. I do not believe, Remo, that men can fly."

"Hmm," Remo said, sitting back on his haunches. As Remo studied the bomb, Nils Schatz began inching toward the parked truck. Along the way, he collected his treasured walking stick.

"Sever the blue one," Chiun said authoritatively.

"Why?" Remo asked.

"Blue is my favorite color."

"So what?" Remo asked. "Red is my favorite color."

"That is because you lack taste."

They heard the sound of the truck engine revving desperately. Both men looked over in time to see the big rented vehicle back away from the second damaged truck.

Nils Schatz sat in the driver's seat, eyes wild. He spun the wheel furiously, turning the truck away from the tower. Stomping on the gas, he began speeding away.

Remo looked at Chiun. He shrugged helplessly. "Shits is right, Chiun," he said. "I'm stumped." The Master of Sinanju frowned. The timer continued ticking down. As they watched, it slipped below the thirty-second mark. Chiun shook his head. "Let us make haste," the Master of Sinanju said. Swirling, he and Remo raced from the base of the tower.

SCHATZ WAS GOING to survive!

He would live, and along with him the dream of a thousand-year Teutonic dynasty.

His foot pressed heavily on the accelerator as he raced away from the tower. His heart thudded loudly in his narrow chest. He could see the Eiffel Tower's massive shape illuminated in his side-view mirrors by floodlights.

The fools from Sinanju would perish after all. The old one would finally pay the ultimate price for the shameful death he had forced on the first fuhrer.

His heart and lungs ached from his exertions. Any second now. And afterward the world would never again question the power of the Fourth Reich. Schatz glanced in the side-view mirror once more. He saw something that made his desperately beating heart stand still.

The young Master of Sinanju was running down the road after him.

He glanced in the mirror on the far side of the cab. The old one was reflected there. And he was coming closer.

Impossible!

Schatz pushed harder against the accelerator. It was already to the floor.

He glanced in the side-view mirror once more. Remo was almost upon him.

Schatz glanced frantically around the cab for a weapon to use against them. All he saw was his beloved walking stick.

The driver's-side door suddenly popped open. Schatz noted it dully.

A second later, the passenger's-side door opened. The Master of Sinanju slid into the front seat. He didn't even look in Schatz's direction.

Schatz felt Remo's strong hand on his shoulder. They passed one another at the door frame. Somehow, in the wink of an eye, Remo was seated behind the steering wheel and Nils Schatz was hanging by Remo's left hand out over the flashing roadway. "Thanks for keeping my seat warm."

With a flick of his wrist, Remo flung the new fuhrer backward.

Schatz sailed through the air, landing on the seat of his pants in the middle of the road. Remarkably he was not killed. Friction burned the flesh of his backside painfully away as he slid in a seated position all the way back to the stack of ancient ordnance.

Smoke poured from his trousers as he landed with the gentlest of touches against the explosives.

Schatz looked up at the digital counter. Ten seconds left.

As he reached for the timer, he glanced back in the direction from which he had just come. The truck continued speeding away.

He saw a hand appear from the driver's-side window, throwing something back in his direction. Whatever the object was, it was long and dark. It flew at him slowly, end over end. Moving almost hypnotically.

Five seconds.

His hand froze over the timer as he realized what it was Remo had thrown. In the cheerful glow of the floodlights, he could see the bronze tip of his cane.

Two seconds. Still time to stop the countdown. The slowness was an optical illusion. The cane flew in at supersonic speed. The metal end of the walking stick impacted with the shell casing of an old artillery shell.

The collision sparked the combustible material within.

Fire swelled from a single spot, bursting out around the screaming, bitter old Nazi.

"Noooo... !" Nils Schatz shrieked as the pile of old ordnance erupted in a massive conflagration that shook the ground for miles around.

And as the fire consumed him, another, greater fire welled up around the self-proclaimed fuhrer. To Schatz, it felt as if the very earth had opened up and the flames into which he slipped and which took firm hold of him burned unquenchably for a thousand years. And beyond.

REMO SLOWED the truck to a stop. He and Chiun looked back on the flames burning at the base of the Eiffel Tower. A gift shop had caught fire, as well as several trees. However, the tower itself had weathered the blast remarkably. It remained fully intact.

"They just don't build eyesores like that anymore, Little Father," Remo commented.

Putting the battered truck in gear, they drove back through the silent streets to the presidential palace.