thedestroyer.slavesafari-第11节

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　〃Meaning？〃
　〃Meaning；　you　forgot　the　moments　of　selling。　I　do　not　watch　them。　I　do　not　use　soap　powder。〃
　Chagrined　because　he　had　indeed　forgotten　the　three　minutes　of　mercials　at　the　end　of　the　day's　stories；　Remo　said；　〃Yeah；　well；　anyway；　I　was　talking　about　the　brochure。〃
　〃It　may　not　be　a　lie；〃　Chiun　said。
　〃Look　around　you；　it's　not　a　lie？〃
　〃I　look　around　and　I　see　that　perhaps　at　one　time　it　was　the　truth。　I　see　elegance　in　decay。　So　if　these　things　were　said　about　this　palace　when　they　were　true；　then　the　advertisement　is　true。〃
　〃Are　you　telling　me；　Little　Father；　that　to　say　this　is　a　stinkhole　is　a　lie？〃
　〃I　am　telling　you　that　truth　is　a　matter　of　time。　Even　in　this　very　land　there　are　people　who　were　once　great　and　who　now　hide　in　the　hills　like　frightened　calves。〃
　〃Well；　I　don't　need　that　drivel　now；　Chiun。　I　need　advice。　I'm　supposed　to　see　the　top　man　in　this　country　to　find　out　about　that　white　house；　without　letting　him　know　that　I　know。　But　he　won't　see　ma〃
　Chiun　nodded。　〃Then　my　advice　to　you　is　to　forget　all　your　training　and　run　head　first　like　a　crazed　dog　into　what　you；　hi　your　lack　of　perception；　think　is　the　center　of　things。　There；　thrash　about　like　a　drunken　white　man；　and　then；　at　the　moment　of　maximum　danger；　remember　just　a　brief　part　of　the　magnificent　training　of　Sinan…ju；　and　save　your　worthless　life。　At　the　end　of　this　disgrace；　you　might　by　good　fortune　have　killed　the　right　man。　This　then　is　the　advice　of　the　Master　of　Sinanju。〃
　Remo　blinked。　He　stood　up　from　the　bed。
　〃That's　utterly　stupid；　Chiun。〃
　〃I　just　wanted　for　once　to　give　you　advice　I　am　sure　you　would　follow。　But　since　I　have　invested　such　wealth　of　knowledge　with　you；　I　shall　increase　this　investment。　You　think　because　the　emperor　appears　to　be　the　center　of　things；　he　is　the　center　of　things。〃
　〃It's　president；　not　emperor。〃
　〃Whatever　name　you　wish　to　give　to　an　emperor　is　your　pleasure；　my　son；　but　emperors　do　not　change　in　stare。　And　what　I　am　saying　to　you　is　that　you　must　know　the　center　of　this　thing　before　you　can　attack　it。　'You　are　not　an　army　that　goes　blindly　wandering　through　bush　and　hill　and　can　by　sheer　weight　of　numbers　accidentally　acplish　what　it　wants。　You　are　skill；　a　single　skill　that　is　designed　to　crush　one　point；　not　ten　thousand。　Therefore　you　must　know　that　point。〃
　〃How　can　I　find　that　point　waiting　around　here　in　this　crummy　hotel？〃
　〃A　man　sitting　sees　many　sides　very　well。　A　man　running　sees　only　ahead。〃
　〃I　see　many　sides　when　I　run。　You　taught　me　that。〃
　〃When　you　run　with　your　feet；〃　said　Chiun；　and　was　silent。　Remo　left　the　room　to　see　if　he　could　find　something　to　read；　someone　to　talk　to；　or　even　a　vagrant　breeze　to　get　into　the　middle　of。　He　was　unsuccessful。　But　at　the　stately　doors　of　the　hotel；　he　saw　a　busboy　run　desperately　past　him　with　fear　hi　his　eyes。　The　manager　of　the　hotel　hid　the　books。　The　doorman　snapped　to　attention。
　And　then　Remo　saw　it。　ing　up　the　main　street　of　the　capital　city　of　Busati；　an　army　convoy；　machine　guns　bristling　from　jeeps。　Leading　it　was　the　man　who　had　extended　the　invitation　that　writer　Remo　Mueller　see　General　Obode。
　When　the　lead　jeep　of　the　convoy　arrived　at　the　doors　of　the　Hotel　Busati；　it　stopped　hi　a　screech　of　dust　off　the　unpaved　street。　Soldiers　jumped　off　their　jeeps　all　along　the　line　before　their　vehicles　braked。
　〃Ah；　Remo；　glad　to　see　you；〃　said　now…General　William　Forsythe　Butler；　quickly　climbing　the　once…white　front　steps　of　the　hotel。　〃I've　got　a　bit　of　bad　news　fory　ou。　The　bit　is　you're　returning　to　America　this　afternoon。　But　I've　got　some　good　news　for　you　too。〃
　Remo　smiled　perfunctorily；
　〃The　good　news　is　I'll　be　going　with　you　and　I'd　be　happy　to　answer　every　question　you　have。　As　a　matter　of　fact；　Busati　feels　it　owes　you　a　favor　which　it　hopes　to　repay。〃
　〃By　kicking　me　out　of　the　country？〃
　〃President　Obode　has　had　some　very　disappointing　experiences　with　white　journalists。〃
　〃Then　why'd　you　say　I　could　get　to　see　him？〃
　〃I　thought　I　could　prevail　upon　him　but　I　couldn't。〃　Butler　shrugged；　a　big　muscular　shrug　of　his　shoulders。　〃We'll　talk　about　it　some　more　on　the　way　to　the　airport。〃
　Frankly；　Butler　was　relieved　that　this　Remo　Mueller　would　be　leaving　the　country　since　the　fewer　Americans　there　were　nosing　around；　the　less　chance　of　the　white　house　being　discovered。　That　relief　only　grew　when　he　got　his　first　look　at　Remo　Mueller's　traveling　panion；　an　aged　Oriental　who　padded　silently　out　of　the　Busati　Hotel　behind　Remo；　acknowledged　Butler's　lukewarm　greeting　with　a　silent　stare；　and　sat　like　stone　in　the　back　seat　of　the　jeep。
　What　was　it　Obode　had　said？　〃When　East　and　West　are　like　father　and　son　near　the　Busati　River；　then　a　force　that　no　man　can　stop　will　e　to　shed　blood　in　the　river　and　on　the　mountains。〃
　East　and　West。　The　aged　Oriental　and　the　young　white　American。
　Butler　could　do　without　Remo　and　the　Oriental。　He　had　his　own　interpretations　of　the　legend。。。　an　interpretation　that　he　knew　would　carry　him　to　the　Busatianp　residential　palace；　and　power　over　all　the　people　of　all　the　tribes。
　He　thought　about　this　in　silence　as　the　jeep　convoy　rolled　toward　the　airport；　and　then　realized　he　was　being　a　bad　host
　It　was　where　the　road　banked　in　along　the　Busati　River；　that　he　turned　toward　the　back　seat　to　see　how　his　passengers　were　doing；
　They　were　gone。
　〃What　the　hell？〃　said　Butler。　〃Stop　the　damned　convoy。〃
　He　looked　at　his　driver；　then　looked　back　to　the　rear　seats。　They　were　indeed　empty。
　〃Did　you　see　them　jump　out？〃　asked　Butler；　almost　as　a　reprimand。
　〃No；　General；〃　said　the　driver。　〃I　didn't　know　they　were　gone。　We　were　doing　forty…five　miles　an　hour；　General。〃
　The　long　convoy　bunched　up　into　tightly　packed　jeeps　as　it　stopped　on　Busati's　Route　One　and　Only；　which　ran　from　the　capital　city　to　the　airport。　Butler　could　see　for　a　half…mile　in　each　direction。　There　was　no　sign　of　them。
　〃Their　bodies　must　be　up　the　road　no　more　than　a　hundred　meters　or　so；　General。〃
　Butler　stood　up　in　the　jeep　signaling　to　the　vehicle　cramped　in　tight　behind　him。
　〃Sergeant；　did　you　see　our　passengers？〃
　〃Sir？〃　called　out　the　sergeant
　〃The　white　man　and　the　Oriental。　Did　you　see　them　jump　from　the　jeep？〃
　The　sergeant　threw　the　snappy　kind　of　British　salute　Butler　hated　so　much。　He　used　the　word　〃sir〃　to　punctuate　his　reply。
　〃Sir；　no　sir。　No　passengers　observed　leaving　your　vehicle；　sir。〃
　〃Form　search　parties　and　scour　the　road。　Fan　out　Find　them。　They　do　not　know　this　earth。〃
　〃Sir；　very　good；　sir；〃　said　the　sergeant。
　But　Remo　and　Chiun　were　not　found；　although　it　came　to　be　believed　that　at　least　five　men　might　have　stumbled　on　them　or　on　something；　because　the　necks　of　the　five　were　broken　and　they　lay　peacefully　in　search　formation；　the　safeties　off　their　rifles　and　their　fingers　on　the　feather…light　triggers；　as　though　a　breeze　of　death　had　gently　put　them　to　sleep。
　Three　other　men　were　missing；　one　of　them　a　captain；　but　General　Butler　would　not　wait。　He　would　not　have　waited　if　the　gates　of　hell　opened　before　him。　He　was　going　to　catch　a　plane　for　America　to　settle　the　last　payment　on　a　three…hundred…year…old　debt；　and　when　that　had　been　collected；　the　world　might　see　greatness　as　it　had　not　for　thousands　of　years。
　At　the　airport；　Butler　told　his　personal　Army　detachment　to　continue　the　search　for　the　Oriental　and　the　American　and　to　hold　them　in　custody　until　he　got　back。　〃I　shall　be　back　in　two　days；〃　he　said；　and　with　that　walked　quickly　to　the　loading　ramp　of　the　Air　Busati　707；　with　British　pilots　and　navigators。
　Three　years　before；　in　an　advertisement　for　Air　Busati；　two　Hausas　posed　in　pilots'　uniforms　for　photographs　and　the　planes　emptied　of　passengers　hi　less　than　a　minute；　most　of　the　passengers　being　Hausas　too。
　This　Butler　remembered　as　he　entered　the　plane　on　which　he　would　be　the　only　passenger　and　headed　for　the　lounge　in　the　back　to　change　from　his　military　uniform。　Butler　remembered　the　advertisement　well。　It　did　not　appear　in　any　African　newspaper　for　fear　of　losing　Air　Busati　the　few　passengers　it　had；　but　it　made　quite　a　hit　in　The　New　York　Times　where　one　militant　several　days　later　had　called　on　the　Busati　Air　Force　to　launch　an　immediate　strike　against　South　Africa。
　The　militant　had　held　up　the　advertisement　as　he　said：　〃Why　don't　these　black　pilots　spearhead　an　attack　on　racist　South　Africa？　I　will　tell　you　why。　Because　capitalism　forces　them　to　fly　mercial　airliners。〃
　Butler　had　almost　cried　when　he　saw　the　news　story　about　the　militant；　and　when　he　thought　that　black　men　did　indeed　fly　fighter　aircraft…in　America。
　As　the　707　jet　rose　sharply　into　the　darkening　Busati　sky　for　the　first　leg　of　its　journey　to　Kennedy　Airport　in　New　York　City　Willian　Forsythe　Butter　leaned　back　in　a　reclining　seat；　aware　that　he　was　making　his　last　trip　west　to　a　land　to　which　centuries　before　his　ancestors　had　been　transported；　shackled　in　the　holds　of　ships　built　for　carrying　cattle。
　Those　trips　had　taken　months。　Many　had　died　and　many　had　thrown　themselves　overboard　when　they　had　a　chance。　They　had　e　from　many　tribes…Lord；　Hausa；　Ashanti；　Dahomey…and　they　would　surrender　this　herit