Warren Murphy: Market Force

Remo managed to drive ten feet before a speeding car crumpled his bumper. The driver had the dead-eyed look of Vox's other subliminal victims. When Remo tried to go around it, another cab hopped the curb and slammed them from the other side. They were pinned in a V of crashed cars as the mob from the terminal began swarming into the sunlight.

The crowd swamped the cab, smashing windows and pounding fists on buckling metal.

"Any ideas, Little Father?" Remo asked as he leaned away from hands that were trying to strangle him.

When he got no response other than the animal roar of the mob, he glanced in the back seat.

Chiun was gone.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Remo muttered. He popped the door and slipped out.

The crowd surged. Remo surged with it. As it continued surging, he bled back through it, leaving the mob to crush to death the empty space where he no longer was.

Their backs were to him as he hurried along the row of cabs. He kept to pillar and shadow to avoid detection.

He found the Master of Sinanju three cabs down. The driver of this taxi didn't have the look of a Vox viewer in his eyes. He seemed baffled by the activity up ahead.

"You wanna kill us, too?" Remo asked the driver as he slid in the back seat next to the Master of Sinanju.

"Only if you're a lousy tipper, mate," the man replied.

Remo gave the cabbie the address of Robbie MacGulry's flagship station. The two Masters of Sinanju ducked low, avoiding the crowd that was just beginning to realize that the two men they were after had disappeared.

"What did I tell you?" Chiun said. "This country is not safe for simpler travelers like me."

"Looks like it's plenty safe for people who aren't us," Remo said. "Friend must be expecting us. Do me a favor and keep from looking at any TV screens, okay?"

A strange look came over the old man's face. If Remo didn't know better, he would have sworn it was a flush of embarrassment on his teacher's cheeks.

Chiun didn't look at Remo. As they drove away from the airport, he fussed at the knees of his kimono. "Believe me, the last thing I want to see is your ugly white face on television," the Master of Sinanju sniffed.

He screwed his mouth shut tight for the rest of the cab ride from Sydney.

REMO HAD the taxi driver park at the back fence of the Wollongong Vox station. Avoiding guard booths and security cameras, the two Masters of Sinanju scaled the high fence and slid onto the grounds. The parking lots were empty.

"No cars," Remo commented as they headed for the main building. "Little early to be closed for Christmas."

"This is Australia," Chiun grumbled. "They were probably all stolen."

"Friend thinks we're coming. He's probably up to something. Just please, be careful."

His meaning was clear.

This time, the Master of Sinanju did not dignify his pupil's plea with a single word. Face stony, he mounted a set of rear stairs between security camera cycles. Remo darted inside behind his teacher.

They found themselves in a long air-conditioned hallway. The walls were thick glass. A door at the end of the hall led into a large control room.

The room was two stories high and filled with enough high-tech gadgetry to put NASA to shame. The air inside was cold. There was no one in the room. A pair of lonely security cameras scanned from high above.

Remo had already had enough of cameras lately. And now he knew who might be on the other side looking in.

On entering the room, Remo feinted left, Chiun dodged right. They each found a blind spot on opposite sides of the room where the cameras wouldn't be able to track them.

Once Remo was sure he sensed no listening devices, he called over to the Master of Sinanju.

"Just because they're broadcasting from here, doesn't mean Friend's around."

"No, it does not," Chiun agreed. "So you wanna be first?"

"As Master I was first," Chiun replied thinly. "Which means I decide who goes first."

Remo's eyes sank to half-mast. "Short straw again," he said. Sighing, he stepped down the painted concrete stairs.

The cameras had continued to patiently sweep the room. But as the first one passed Remo, it stopped dead. An instant later, a phone at his elbow rang.

"Think it's for me?" Remo said dryly as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

"Hello, Remo," said a familiar smooth voice. "I'm surprised to see you here so soon."

Remo's eyes were trained on the security camera. The unblinking eye of Friend stared back.

"I got a good tailwind," Remo said.

"I see. Are you alone?"

Remo didn't dare shoot a glance at the Master of Sinanju. With his peripheral vision he saw his teacher moving like a wraith down another set of stairs. Both cameras were now trained solely on Remo. They missed completely the old Korean as he crept stealthily forward.

"Wasn't that your plan?" Remo asked. "You got to Smith and Chiun. You were knocking us off one at a time."

"That was part of the plan, not the plan itself," Friend admitted.

"Yeah, I know," Remo said. "You want to take over the world. Don't you ever get tired of singing that same song?"

"I only want those parts of the world where there is profit to be made. The technology I've developed will help me reach my goal. Imagine, Remo, any product I advertise on my global network will sell to young, old, rich, poor. Demographics will no longer matter. The profit of a single world media market utilizing the cryptosubliminal technology can be measured in the trillions."

"Right now it's not dollars I care about," Remo said. "It's my face being beamed to every koala coop and outhouse in the merry old land of Oz."

"They've seen you without actually seeing you," Friend explained. "The image will fade in their minds a day or two after their exposure to it. In the meantime, I have a business proposition for you."

"If this is the one where you offer me a job, been there, done that," Remo said. "So why don't we just skip ahead to the part where I pull your plug?"

"Don't bother," Friend said. "You're too far away to be a threat to me. I can move before you can reach me."

Across the room, Chiun had stopped by some thick electrical cables. They ran through the wall close to his ankles. A steady hum of artificial life surged through them.

"Wrong again, chips for brains," Remo said into the phone.

And as he spoke, the Master of Sinanju jumped. The cameras were too slow to track him. Chiun snatched up cables in both hands. They were like thick black snakes. With a yank, the cords snapped one by one, surrendering sizzling sparks from their frayed ends.

The lights dimmed. The power hummed down for a moment. But with a distant click and whir, the overhead lights came back up.

"Dammit," Remo snapped. "Must be a backup generator." In a blur, he flew forward and began tearing wires from the backs of monitor stations.

On the other side of the room, the Master of Sinanju became a vengeful dervish. Flashing hands ripped cords from floor pads and consoles. Sparks sizzled white across the cold concrete floor.

"Okay, that got him this-" Remo stopped in midsentence.

The phone on which he'd been speaking to Friend dangled from its cord near the floor. An electronic shriek rose from the receiver.

"The thing is moving," Chiun hissed.

"He's transferring himself through the phone lines," Remo agreed. "Where the hell's the line?" Chiun wasn't listening. The old man had already turned on his heel and was racing up the stairs. Remo flew after him out the door. Down the hall, they ducked back out into the sunlight.

Outside, the Master of Sinanju scanned the side of the building for the black cable of a telephone line. He found it attached to the second floor.

"Aiiee!" cried the old Korean. Calves tensing, he launched himself from the ground.