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The fat man held up a staying hand. "I know another number," he promised.
"Give me a moment." As the ministry man dug through his pockets for the second
number, the chancellor turned back to the window.
He couldn't believe his bad luck. How many chancellors had there been since
the last time? Any one of them should have had to deal with this. Mocking fate
had dropped him in office at this time.
At first the German leader thought he could dispense with all of this in a
quick, efficient German manner. But his first chosen champion-the talented
Swiss assassin, Olivier Hahn-had met an untimely end. After a scramble to find
a replacement, they found the best money could buy. Better, perhaps, than the
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dead Swiss killer. And now this.
Behind him, the defense ministry man had found the backup number. The
chancellor heard the beeps of the cell phone. The German leader tried to tune
out the sound.
Across the forest the sky continued to brighten. The castle was a sacred spot.
Ever since the time of Frederick Barbarossa this had been the traditional
meeting place between the leaders of Germany and the mysterious assassins from
the East. The castle had been maintained better in the earliest centuries. The
outer walls and outbuildings had begun to crumble four centuries before. The
modern age had brought the inner hall to partial ruin. But through many years,
from the rule of the Hapsburgs through the reunification of East and West
Germany at the end of the twentieth century, much of the castle still
remained.
In the modern age the upkeep expenses were part of a black budget. No one
outside a tight circle within the government even knew of the castle's
existence. The small stipend earmarked for the Barbarossa castle was barely
enough to maintain the main structure. Still, in spite of the ravages of time,
it remained one of the best preserved castles of its age in Europe. And one
that no government bureaucrat, college professor or camera-carting tourist
would ever see.
For an instant as he looked out the window of the great hall, the current
chancellor of Germany felt a tiny touch of the specialness of this place.
And as quickly as it came, the bubble that was his brief connection to the
history of his country popped. "Hey, Sergeant Schultz, is this Barbarella's
castle?" asked an American voice.
The German chancellor whirled.
There was another man standing in the vast hall. The intruder had come up the
east stairs. Silently, for neither the defense ministry man nor the chancellor
had heard him approach. The stranger was addressing the fat man on the phone,
a perturbed look on his cruel face.
The fat man looked desperately from the stranger in the black T-shirt and
matching chinos to the chancellor of Germany. The ministry man didn't know
what to do. He had not expected to be interrupted in so clandestine an
affair.
"Yo, Pudding Pop, I'm talking to you," Remo said, waving a hand in front of
the man's frightened face.
"You cannot be here," the chancellor called. Remo glanced up as Germany's
leader approached. The chancellor got between Remo and the throne, as if
partially blocking the massive piece of furniture in the ancient stone hall
would somehow hide his purpose.
"This is not a place for tourists," the chancellor said.
"Tell me about it," Remo groused. "It's not on any maps. Next world war you
guys should hide out here. It'd take us a hundred years to find you. You in
charge?"
The chancellor wasn't sure what to do. He had brought no security. His
helicopter pilot was the man with the phone. The fat man was shrugging
helplessly.
The chancellor stood straight, stiffening his shoulders. "You are
trespassing," he said. "I order you to leave this place at once."
"Sorry, Fritz," Remo said. "Not German. I don't do that whole
blindly-follow-orders thing. And it sounds like you're in charge. Here's the
deal. I'm the first Master of Sinanju in a thousand years who's had to do this
on his own, I've got some spooky prophecy dogging me and I'm in the kind of
mood you people get in just before you annex, invade or write an opera at
someone. So let's get this over with."
The chancellor took a surprised step back. With one hand he steadied himself
on the throne.
"You are the Master of Sinanju?"
"Transitional Master for the moment," Remo said. "And the faster I get through
here the faster I can transition to Reigning Master. Not that that's going to
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