Then he reached out and slapped the horse’s neck.

  “Okay, Windy,” he yelled. “Do it for Daddy.”

  There was a loud whooshing sound like a balloon bursting as the black stallion broke wind. And then took a long, giant dump atop the grave. The rancorous smell of the manure overpowered the sweet scent of the thousands of flowers and blocked out the delicate smoke of the burning incense. The odor of the horse excrement hung heavy on the cool night air, as thick as the smell of death itself.

  “Good boy,” Reggie said, clapping the horse’s throat. He glared around and said, “That’s how we reward failure. What the hell good is trying if you don’t succeed? I’m fed up with this family and all its failures and I’m glad this son of a bitch is dead and the next one who fails I may just hang from a tree to rot. Now. Who’s going to be next?”

  Nobody moved. No one spoke. The silence was so thick it could have been spread on a cracker.

  “Well?” Reggie demanded. “Who’s next?”

  After a long minute, there was a stirring in the shadows. A beautiful woman emerged, the reflected moonlight silvering her lustrous black hair.

  “I will be next,” Kim Kiley said quietly.

  Reggie smiled. “Why have you finally deigned to join us?”

  “I was researching the subject,” Kim responded calmly. “I am ready now.”

  “How will you kill him?” Reggie demanded.

  “Is the white man the important target?” Kim asked coolly.

  For a moment Reggie was flustered, then said. “No. Of course not. The Korean is the real goal.”

  “Correct,” she said. “You asked how I will kill the white man,” and she shook her head. “Not I alone. That way will lead to only more failure. We will kill him. All of us.”

  “In what manner?” Reggie said.

  “In the manner described by the stone,” Kim said with a smile. “And that will bring the old Korean into our grasp too.” She paused and stared directly at Reggie, who fidgeted in his saddle. “It was there all the time,” Kim said. “You just had to see it. You see, Remo’s only weakness is the old man, Chiun, the Korean. And Chiun’s loyalty is to Remo. They are two of a kind. They are the plums of the stone.”

  “But how do we kill them?” Reggie asked.

  “The old man is the first plum,” Kim said. “And the way to kill the first plum… ” She hesitated and smiled. “ …is with the second plum.”

  “And how do we kill the second plum?” Reggie asked.

  “With the first plum,” Kim said softly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “THERE’S SOMETHING OUTSIDE the door, Chiun,” said Remo.

  “Of course there is. All through the night, I heard herds of people throwing things against our front door. I didn’t sleep for a second,” Chiun grumbled.

  “It’s only an envelope,” Remo said. He turned the buff-colored square of paper over and saw his and Chiun’s name written on the front in a bold flowing hand with lots of curlicues and swirls.

  The note inside carried a lingering trace of familiar perfume.

  Dear Remo.

  Sorry about the disappearing act yesterday. But the current finally pulled me and the surfboard back to shore and I wanted to get the board back to the rental place before they charged me overtime. Anyway, I know you’re a good swimmer so I knew you were safe. But I still feel bad about leaving you without a word, so to make up for it, I’d like to invite you to a party. It’s a kind of family reunion that my people are having. It starts at two this afternoon at the Woburn estate on the northern tip of the island. Please bring Chiun along too. I’ve told everyone so much about you two and the family is very anxious to meet you both. There’ll be a special surprise.

  Love, Kim

  Chiun padded out of the bedroom and saw Remo in the doorway reading the note.

  “Are you finished reading my mail?” Chiun asked.

  “What makes you think it’s for you?”

  “Who would write anything to you?” Chiun said. He snatched the note from Remo’s hands and read it slowly.

  “It’s from Kim,” Remo said. “An invitation to a party.”

  “I can see that for myself. I remember you took me to a party once and people kept trying to get me to eat vile things that were piled up on crackers and buy plastic bowls with lids on them. Do you think this will be that kind of a party?”

  “I don’t think so,” Remo said.

  “Wait. Hold. A special surprise, she says,” said Chiun.

  “Right.”

  “What is that?” Chiun asked.

  “I don’t know. If I knew, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Remo said.

  “It’s Barbra Streisand,” Chiun said. “I know it. This Kim person has been feeling guilty because she has been keeping you away from your training and now she is going to present me with Barbra Streisand to make amends.”

  “I don’t think any party you’re likely to go to is going to make you a gift of Barbra Streisand,” Remo said.

  “We are going,” Chiun said with finality. “I will wear my new robes. Do you want one of my old robes to wear?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “A black T-shirt and black pants,” Remo said. “Casual, yet restrained. A perfect complement for every occasion.”

  “You have no imagination,” Chiun said.

  “Yes I do,” Remo said. “Today I’m thinking about wearing socks.”

  “I’m sure all will be impressed,” Chiun said.

  “Nothing’s too good for Barbra Streisand,” Remo said.

  · · ·

  They left to walk to the party but were only a few yards along the beach when the telephone back in their condo rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Remo said, turning back toward the front door.

  “Get what?”

  “The phone,” Remo called back.

  “Just don’t bring it back with you,” Chiun said. “I hate those things.”

  Smith was on the other end of the line. “I have it,” he told Remo. “The whole inscription.”

  “What is it?” Remo said.

  “The first part seems to be a listing of weapons. It talks about using spears and fire and the sea and finally it says to use time. It talks about a special killer. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No, but maybe to Chiun. Anything else?”

  “But the rest of it, that missing section?”

  “Yes?” Remo said.

  “The missing word is ‘cleaved.’”

  “Cleaved?” said Remo.

  “Right. Split. Broken. The inscription reads:‘The two plums, cleaved, are bereft.’” He sounded proud.

  “What does it mean though?” Remo asked. “It sounds like some whiny housewife’s note to a grocery store.‘The two plums, cleaved, are bereft.’ Who cares about broken plums?”

  “I don’t know,” Smith said. “I thought you would.”

  “Thanks, Smitty. I’ll tell Chiun.”

  · · ·

  When he told Chiun of Smith’s report, the old Korean seemed more interested in the listing of weapons.

  “You say the last one on the list was time?” Chiun asked.

  “That’s what Smith said. What kind of a weapon is time?” Remo asked.

  “The most dangerous of all,” Chiun said.

  “How’s that?”

  “If one waits long enough, his enemy will think he has forgotten and relax his guard.”

  “So you think this was really from the seventh stone of Prince Wo?” asked Remo.

  Chiun nodded silently.

  “And what is that about ‘The two plums, cleaved, are bereft’?” Remo asked.

  “I think we will find out soon,” Chiun said.

  · · ·

  The rolling lawns of the Worburn estate looked like the site for the annual Christmas picnic of the United Nations. People in every form of native garb Remo had ever seen milled about. They moved aside silently to let Remo and Chiun pass, then closed up behind them. The sounds of untranslated whispers followed them across the green field.

  Remo counted ten long tables draped in white damask and laden with all kinds of food and drink. The mingled aromas of curry, fish and meat competed with steaming cabbage and spicy Indonesian lamb. There were steam tables of vegetables and bowls of fresh fruit, many that Remo had never seen before.

  “This place smells like a Bombay alley,” Chiun said, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

  Remo pointed ahead of them. There was a small linen-covered table. Atop it was a silver pitcher of fresh water and a silver chafing dish heaped to the top with clumpy, mushlike rice.

  “For us,” Remo said. He thought it was nice of Kim Kiley to remember and he wondered where she was.

  He looked but could not see her in the crowd. She had said this was a family reunion and he had expected a couple of dozen people in leisure suits, shorts and funny straw hats, clustered around a barbecue grill. He hadn’t expected this.

  “I don’t see Barbra Streisand,” Chiun said.

  “Maybe she’s going to ride in on an elephant,” Remo said.

  A man in tweeds stepped up and offered his hand to Remo. “So very glad you could come,” he said. “I’m Rutherford Wobley.” He nodded politely to Chiun as Remo shook his hand.

  “And this is Ruddy Woczneczk,” he said. Remo went through the process again with a moonfaced Slav.

  “Lee Wotan,” the Oriental next to him said and bowed. “And these are… ” He began to rattle off the names of people standing near. Wofton, Woworth, Wosento and Wopo. All the names sounded alike to Remo and he nodded and smiled and as soon as he could slipped away into the crowd.

  The names, he thought. Why did every one of them start with W-O? And it wasn’t just the people he’d met this afternoon. There were William and Ethel Wonder, the film people, and Jim Worthman, their photographer. And what about the fanatical Indonesian who tried to kill the President? His name had been Du Wok. It seemed to Remo that everywhere he had gone in the last few weeks, he had run into people whose names began with W-O.

  With one bright, shining exception.

  Remo sauntered up the bright lawn toward the house. He had left Chiun behind, in animated conversation with a young aristocratic man dressed in an impeccable white linen suit. It seemed that he and Chiun had met on the island before because they were talking like old friends.

  Nearer the house was a series of reflecting pools strewn with water lilies and a large latticework gazebo.

  Next to the house he saw four towering columns, like flagpoles, each of them topped with a cluster of rectangles covered completely with dark cloths.

  He slipped into the house and found a telephone in the library. Smith answered on the first ring.

  “Look up a name for me,” Remo said. “Kim Kiley.”

  “The movie actress?” Smith asked.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Hold on.” Smith put the telephone down and Remo heard the click of buttons being pushed and then a muted whirring sound. “Here it is,” Smith said as he came back on the line. “Kiley, Kimberley. Born Karen Wolinski, 1953… ”

  “Spell that last name,” Remo said.

  “W-o-l-i-n-s-k-i,” Smith said.

  “Thank you,” Remo said. He hung up the telephone and stood there still for a moment, not quite ready to believe it. But it had to be true; there was just too much to be written off as coincidence.

  The sounds of the party drifted in through the open window. Laughter, music, the clinking of glasses. But Remo was not in the party mood anymore and he walked out a side door of the mansion and ambled along the beach.

  It was all connected somehow. Kim and all the others whose names began with W-O. All the loose threads tied in with the attempts on his life, an ancient stone that spoke the truth, an unbending prince and his descendants and Masters of Sinanju, past and present. They were all bound together by a cord that stretched from this moment back across the centuries. What was it Chiun had said? Remo remembered:

  “As long as the bloodline flows unbroken, the memory never dies.”

  * * *

  Remo found that his footsteps had carried him to the secluded cove where he and Kim had first made love. That still bothered him. If Kim was a part of some kind of revenge scheme, why had she stayed in the cave with him? They had been making love when the giant wave came crashing in. If she had lured Remo there to kill him, surely she must have realized that she was going to her own death as well. Somehow he didn’t believe that.

  Kim might be a loyal descendant of Prince Wo but she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would kill herself just to even up a two-thousand-year-old score.

  Remo padded into the cave and smiled when he saw the spot where they had lain together on the warm sand. The memory was still vivid, as real as the salt in the sea air.

  He wandered back farther into the cavern. He remembered now that when the thundering wail of water had filled the mouth of the cave, Kim hadn’t run instinctively toward the entrance. She had turned instead and bolted toward the back of the opening, farther from safety, farther away from the air and the land above.

  Remo walked back to the spot where he had scooped her up as she kicked and struck and bit at him. He glanced up and saw a glimmer of light from above. There it was. An opening in the roof of the cave, just big enough for one person to pass through. If a person were standing on this exact spot, the onrush of water would lift him up right to that opening.

  No wonder Kim had fought so hard when Remo grabbed her. He had chalked it up to panic but, in truth, she had been trying to break free to save herself, never considering the possibility that Remo would be able to swim against the onrushing water and carry them both to safety.

  Just to make sure, Remo clambered up the rocks and boosted himself through the opening. It was a tight squeeze for him, but it would have been easy for Kim Kiley.

  He found himself on a rocky promontory above the cave. Even when the tide was highest, someone standing here would have been safe.

  There was nothing to do now but to accept the facts. It had been Kim all along, not caring for him at all, but leading him around like a sacrificial lamb. First the cave and when that had not worked, out into the ocean where the frogman had been waiting to finish him off. And she had probably been tied in with the gunmen too, those at the Indian reservation.

  What Remo had thought was an affectionate caring woman had turned out to be nothing more than an attractive piece of bait.

  Remo made his way back along the beach, through the mansion and out onto the spacious lawn. The party was in full swing. He saw that Chiun was still talking to that aristocratic man in white, as well as a half-dozen others gathered around in a tight circle.

  Remo felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Kim there, looking heartbreakingly beautiful in a low-cut blue silk dress.

  “Darling,” she whispered and threw her arms around his neck.

  She held Remo tight, pressing against him. His nostrils filled with the scent of the perfume she wore. It was just as he remembered it from the very first day, rich and exotic. Bitterly he told himself: as primitive and powerful as a carved stone on a tropical beach.

  She finally released him but the heavy perfume seemed to cling to his clothes like a constant painful reminder of his own vulnerability.

  “Are you having a good time?” she asked with a Hollywood dazzler of a smile.

  Remo said nothing. He looked at her once more, then turned and started through the crowd to get Chiun.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HE DID NOT SEE CHIUN and the crowd was already surging up the hill toward the mansion. A young tweedy man stepped up next to Remo and nudged him with an elbow.

  “The entertainment’s about to start.”

  “I bet,” Remo said.

  He caught a glimpse of shimmering green and gold that must have come from Chiun’s robes and pushed his way through the crowd until he found the aged Korean.

  “They don’t have Barbra Streisand,” Chiun said. “But they’re going to have a circus.” He sounded happy.

  Remo leaned over to whisper so that no one else could hear. “Chiun, these are Prince Wo’s descendants. They’re our enemies.”

  Chiun hissed back. “I know that.”

  “Then what are we staying here for? Let’s book.”

  “That means leave?” Chiun asked.

  “That means leave,” Remo said.

  “So we leave and what then?” Chiun asked. “Another day, another year and these people who would not pay their proper bill to Master Pak come to us again? It is better that we resolve all this now.”

  “If you say so,” Remo said.

  “I say so,” Chiun said. “You go stand on the other side and keep your eyes open.”

  “Is there a leader? Why not just splatter him now?” Remo said.

  “Because we do not know what will happen then. To act without information is to court disaster. The other side.”

  “All right,” Remo said, and moved around onto the other side of the rectangular clearing which was marked at each corner by the large columns he had noticed earlier. The black cloths that covered the tops of the columns were still in place.

  The young man whom Chiun had been talking to earlier was now standing in the center of the clearing.

  He raised a hand for silence, got it, and announced in a clear voice: “I am Reginald Woburn the Third. I welcome you to the Wo family reunion. Let the fun begin.”

  As he stepped out of the clearing a brass gong somewhere was struck, sounding a deep-throated reverberation. A trio of high-pitched wood flutes lay down a sweet chord of melody. Cymbals crashed and the gong boomed again as a troupe of brightly clad Oriental acrobats came tumbling through the crowd and into the ring.

  “The Amazing Wofans,” the young man next to Remo said.

  “If you’re going to be my tour director, what’s your name?” Remo asked.