Aside from the dull glow from its many streetlights, Paris was dark. The lights in the public and private buildings had been doused in accordance with a decree issued by the city's new military ruler.

The inhabitants of Paris had been remarkably submissive over the past twelve hours since the occupation had been announced.

Smith had learned that this was due in large part to the fact that the elected president had appeared on neo-n.a.z.i controlled local television and instructed citizens to stay indoors during this early part of the occupation. He had informed the population of the bomb and mustard-gas threats and told them that the leader of the group responsible had vowed to kill one hundred randomly chosen French civilians for every single neo-n.a.z.i soldier killed. It was too dangerous for them not to comply.And so the population remained as they had been told to remain. In hiding in their darkened rooms. Of course, it wouldn't last.

Smith had known many ?ne men on the streets of this very city who would die before shrinking away from doing that which was right. At this very moment, one of them watched over his wife.

France would ?ght back.

When the time for rebellion ?nally came, there was no telling what the madman in command of this insane scheme would do to stop it. With his ?nger on the trigger of so many explosives, the resulting deaths could quite easily be tallied in the hundreds of thousands.

That was why Smith was on the streets alone now. For he had learned something in his youth that had been a cornerstone of his belief system his entire life. It was what he had tried to tell Remo a few short days before.

One man could make a difference.

Smith's footfalls were tiny clacks against the damp sidewalk. He walked as quickly as possible toward the president's palace.

He knew that there were patrols out. He had avoided two since leaving his wife several streets back. Just a few more blocks to go, and he would be home free.

Smith stepped down from the sidewalk and was hurrying across 4 Septembre Reaumur when he heard the sudden rumble of an engine.

He hadn't heard it coming soon enough.

Heart quickening, Smith ran across the street, still trying to conceal the awkward shape of the machine gun beneath his coat.

Too late.

All at once a large truck rolled into view around the corner from Sebastopol.

Smith was trapped in the headlights like a ?y in amber.

There was a shout in German as the truck picked up speed, barreling toward him.

All hope of avoiding confrontation before reaching the palace was gone. Ever rational, Smith realized he had only one option open to him.

As the truck ate up the s.p.a.ce between them, Smith pulled the machine gun from beneath his long coat. Without hesitation he raised the weapon and ?red.

A short controlled burst shattered the windshield on the driver's side. The truck immediately began decelerating.

At the same time Smith saw a dark shape hang out of the pa.s.senger's-side window. A series of ?ery bursts exploded from the darkness behind the bright headlights.

The bullets ?red from the truck missed their mark. As Smith had expected, it was dif?cult for the man in the pa.s.senger's seat to aim while the vehicle was moving.

Smith had no such problem. He redirected his ?re, this time at the skinhead with the gun. Bullets pinged off the truck's metal body, sending small ricochet sparks into the night.

Unlike before, however, his target was no longer where it had been.

Just as Smith opened ?re, the pa.s.senger ducked back inside the cab as the truck continued to slow. Blind luck kept him from being shredded by gun?re.

Through the shattered window, Smith could barely make out the slumped form of the driver. He was obviously dead. The second man pushed the body out of the way and climbed in behind the steering wheel.Smith ?red again, but he saw at once that it was futile. His target was staying hidden beneath the dashboard.

By this time the truck was nearly upon him. Jamming the gun close to his chest, Smith ran the rest of the way across the street. He ducked inside a protective alcove between two buildings just as the truck careered past.

It squealed to a stop a few dozen yards beyond the spot where Smith had taken refuge.

He heard a voice hissing a stream of furious German. Most likely into a radio.

It was over. There would be dozens of reinforcements here in no time. Smith had failed.

Distantly he heard the truck engine shut off.

The German was creeping toward him. Although the man was walking lightly, Smith heard the occasional scuff of a boot heel against the wet street.

He was a sitting duck. The alcove he was hiding in went back only a few feet. If he tried to run, he would be plainly visible to his stalker.

Smith felt his heart thudding beneath his rib cage. It ached. As if someone had kicked him in the chest. His breathing from his exertions was ragged. He was an old man. Not suited to this sort of activity.

It wouldn't matter much longer.

Smith didn't consider himself to be a heroic man. He only ever did that which he thought was necessary. To "go out ?ghting" was an axiom that he felt was intended for fools. It had always had very little meaning to him.

But for the ?rst time in his life, Smith found that he was out of options. And for the ?rst time Smith realized the truth behind the words.

Back braced against the wall, Smith raised his gun level with his chest. He prepared to ?re on the skinhead the instant he came into view.

As he stared out into the street, gun?re suddenly erupted from beyond his ?eld of vision. Bullets raged against the side of the old building, spitting out jagged red chunks of brick and small puffs of mortar. Smith ducked farther back, plastering himself against the wall. He blinked to clear the dust from his eyes. And in that instant, he saw a dark shape glide into the alley beside him.

Wheeling, Smith turned the gun on the shadow. Before he could ?re, he felt the weapon being pulled gently from his hands. He grabbed for it with arthritic ?ngers.

"You could hurt someone with that," Remo's familiar voice said. Smith spun to the sound. The face of CURE's enforcement arm was serious. Remo handed the weapon back over his shoulder.

The Master of Sinanju stood beyond Remo. He took the gun by the barrel, holding it at arm's length between his thumb and index ?nger.

"All hail, Emperor Smith," Chiun intoned. "Shooter of Guns. Vanquisher of the Pinheads." Chiun twisted the gun into a U-shape before tossing the weapon out into the street. It clattered loudly against the damp pavement.

"There is a n.a.z.i soldier out there," Smith stressed, nodding to the street.

"I kind of ?gured," Remo said, "seeing as how he just tried to kill me and all." He ambled out toward the sidewalk.

"I believe he may have used a radio to signal others," Smith called after him.

"There aren't that many to signal," Remo said as he slipped from the alcove.

Chiun appraised Smith. A tiny hint of approval played in the light that re?ected dimly in his youthful hazel eyes."You are looking well, Emperor," Chiun said.

"Thank you, Master of Sinanju," Smith replied tensely.

"In future, however, I would beg that you refrain from the use of ?rearms. They re?ect poorly on both you and your humble servants." He bowed slightly.

Smith returned the bow with a faint nod. "I will do my best," he said.

Smith was waiting to hear the inevitable gun?re that would sound when the German soldier at last spotted Remo. As he strained to hear, however, the only noise that drifted into the alcove was a groan of metal and a dull cracking sound. Afterward there was silence.

"Remo has cleared a path for your n.o.ble self," Chiun announced, motioning to the street.

Smith knew better than to doubt the Master of Sinanju.

Chiun trailed him out to the road. Remo was trotting back from the body of the fallen skinhead.

The young man's remains didn't look right. From the angle Smith was viewing it, it looked as if the skinhead's helmet had swallowed up his head. Obviously it was a trick of the light. He was distracted from his observations by Remo.

"What are you trying to prove, Smitty?" Remo demanded, coming up to meet them. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"That was not my intention," Smith said brusquely.

"I'll tell that to your widow," Remo replied. "Where is she, by the way?"

"She is in the care of an old friend."

"Since when do you have friends?"

Smith's lemony voice became more tart. "That is irrelevant," he said sharply. "We must hurry. The architect of this nightmare is at the Palais de L'Elysee."

"We were already on our way there when we heard this nonsense," Remo said, waving to the bullet-riddled truck.

"In that case, let us continue."

Smith started down the street. Remo stopped him with a ?rm hand on the shoulder.

"Look, Smitty. Your wife is probably scared out of her wits right about now. Go back with her and sit tight. We can handle things from here."

"Remo, this is too serious," Smith pressed. "We cannot leave things up to chance. Parisian television is broadcasting scenes from Germany. This new fascist takeover has sp.a.w.ned a blood l.u.s.t in that country. Even if you stop this new fuhrer, if he manages to ?rst detonate his hidden stores of explosives, he could inspire his followers to further acts of violent aggression."

"The emperor is correct," Chiun said, nodding his agreement. "The Hun have been kept at bay for many years, but that will not last forever. Their desire for con?ict originates in the womb. However dormant it might have been, a victory here could in?ame it anew."

Remo sighed. "So what are you saying?" he asked Smith.

"Get me inside the palace. If there is a computer system or some other technological means used for detonation, you and Chiun will be out of your element. Perhaps I can stop the bombs before they go off. Without an explosive ?nale, those negative elements within Germany's borders might not have inspiration enough to attack."

"Can't you access it from outside?" Remo asked.Smith shook his head. "My laptop was destroyed."

"Figures," Remo said, shaking his head. "Okay, we'll get you inside. But promise me, Smitty. No more of this Schwarzenegger c.r.a.p."

"I promise to do only that which is necessary," Smith said tightly.

"A typical nonanswer," Remo sighed. "Let's go."

The three of them headed for the parked German truck.

Chapter 29.

The deaths of the three soldiers at the Hotel de LePotage were reported by radio to the Palais de l'Elysee.

After the treatment old Fritz had received, the aged n.a.z.i who was manning the radio station would have been happier to keep this information from Nils Schatz. But since the fuhrer was standing directly behind him when the news came in, that proved impossible.

"Send in reinforcements," Schatz ordered.

"We haven't many men to spare, Fuhrer," the old man said. "Several patrols have failed to report in."

"How many are at the murder scene now?"

"Only two, mein Fuhrer."

"Give me that," Schatz said, grabbing the microphone from his henchman. The old man at the radio hurried to stab the Transmit b.u.t.ton. "Listen to me," Schatz intoned. "This is your fuhrer speaking. I want everyone in that hotel shot as a traitor to the fatherland."

Four staticky words came back over the oldfashioned radio setup.

"The hotel is empty."

"What?" Schatz demanded.

"That is why it took so long to ?nd them," the radio operator explained. "No one reported the crime."

Schatz's face twisted into an angry scowl. "Burn the hotel to the ground!" Schatz ordered.

"Yes, mein Fuhrer!" came the scratchy reply. Schatz threw down the mouthpiece.

In the instant before the portable transmitter that the skinheads at the hotel were using cut out, the radio operator swore he heard a surprised shout and a sudden burst of machine-gun ?re. He glanced at Schatz.

Stomping down from the stage, the fuhrer hadn't heard. The radio operator decided to remain silent. Schatz marched back and forth in front of the dais, his cane tucked up beneath his armpit like a swagger stick. He ?nally stopped on the side of the room where the hostages had been forced to sit since they had been taken captive.

Some of the men were asleep. Many more sat on their haunches, hugging their knees to their chests. Adolf Kluge sat silently behind the president of France, trying to remain inconspicuous.

"See how the Fourth Reich deals with murderers and saboteurs?" Schatz said to the president.

The president said nothing.

"Soon a legion of brave Aryan soldiers will swarm across your borders," Schatz sneered. "Perhaps if you behave, I will reinstall you as puppet president."The leader of France spoke softly.

"I a.s.sure you that sovereign France will never allow those men to cross into this country."

Schatz laughed. "We will see."