Warren Murphy: Market Force

As they walked up the road, they saw a line of Subaru Outbacks parked inside the split-rail fence. A hundred men stood at attention before the cars.

The men were muscled and tanned. They wore short pants, khaki flak jackets, hiking boots and bush hats, the brims of which were buttoned up on one side. Each man held an assault rifle. Their eyes were glazed.

"The Running Line?" Remo suggested as they walked toward the gate and the waiting group of men. "Better for enclosed places," the Master of Sinanju replied.

"Could use the Ellipse Within the Ellipse. We haven't used that one in a while."

"Perhaps," Chiun said, frowning. His nose crinkled as he smelled the air.

Remo had caught the scent, as well. It was being carried to them on the faint breeze.

The air stank of beer. Lots of it. As he watched the line of waiting men, Remo suddenly realized why. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said all at once.

"Holt, hoo goes theya?" one man before them slurred as Remo and Chiun approached.

The army pointed their guns. Some of them managed to point them somewhere that was almost within the vicinity of where Remo and Chiun were standing. The rest aimed at fence posts and car tires and into empty prairie. The barrels weaved along with the men behind them.

"They're pie-eyed," Remo said.

"In Australia it is called being patriotic," Chiun replied blandly.

"I said hoo goes theya," hiccuped the lead Robbot.

"Larry Hagman's liver," Remo said. "Move it, drunky."

"I don't much like your attitude, Sheila. Open slather time, cobbers!" the head Robbot yelled to his companions.

A hundred rifle barrels burst to life. Fence posts and tires exploded in sprays of wood and rubber. "Fair dinkum!" some of the men cried as they began accidentally shooting one another.

"Strewth!" they shouted when they realized how good a job they were doing killing one another. "Cor blimey!" they yelled when they discovered-to their horror-that they'd accidentally shot holes in their tinnies of beer. The survivors threw down their guns and began lapping up damp dirt.

"Give me strength," said Remo Williams.

He and Chiun swiped a drivable Outback from the line of parked cars. As the Robbots slurped dirt, Remo and Chiun sped up the road to Robbie MacGulry's mansion.

ROBBIE MACGuLRY couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Surveillance cameras directed images of the slaughter at the front gate to the Vox chairman's handheld television.

The Robbots were nearly all dead. One had even managed to run himself over. He was wedged under the front wheel of an Outback, a beer can clutched in his dead hand.

"You made them all drunks!" MacGulry roared.

"Yes," Rodney Adler admitted nervously. "In retrospect perhaps it would have been wiser to hide the cryptosubliminal signal that was supposed to rob them of their souls in something other than a Toohey's beer commercial."

Flinging the small TV to the floor of his study, MacGulry wheeled around. He ripped a rifle from where it was mounted on the wall behind his desk. When he spun back around, there was a murderous glint in his eye.

Adler offered an anxious smile, flashing crooked teeth.

"Going hunting?" he asked, his voice a squeak. With a low growl, MacGulry slapped the gun into Adler's hands.

"Stop 'em or I'll stomp you," the Vox CEO commanded.

Adler's face sank in relief. "Yes, sir!" he said. He scurried from the room.

MacGulry grabbed the mini-TV off the floor. The remaining living Robbots had linked arms and were singing an off-key version of "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport." One was using a gun barrel for a microphone. He accidentally stepped on the trigger and blew the top of his head off.

"Wankers," MacGulry muttered to himself. Dropping the handheld television to his desk, he raced from the study.

IT TOOK ANOTHER ten minutes for Remo and Chiun to reach the Vox CEO's mansion. It was a sprawling, whitewashed affair full of columns, clapboards and flowers.

Remo circled the drive, stopping at the front portico.

"Better stay here, Little Father," he suggested.

"You are not leaving me in the car like some nuisance canine," Chiun sniffed as he climbed down next to Remo.

"Not even if I crack a window?" Remo said quietly. "Look, Chiun, this is a cakewalk. Zap MacGulry, pull the plug on Friend."

"Get out of my way, imbecile," Chiun insisted.

Remo sighed. "Suit yourself. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to fillet me again."

"Shut your blabbering mouth and I will consider it," the old Asian replied thinly.

Forcing his way past Remo, he flounced up the front stairs of Robbie MacGulry's mansion like a flapping green butterfly. Remo hurried up behind him. The instant they pushed open the big front door, a voice boomed over hidden loudspeakers.

"Breaking and entering," Robbie MacGulry called. "I'm within my legal rights to defend my home, mates."

"So much for the element of surprise," Remo said.

"Hush," the Master of Sinanju hissed.

He was scanning the walls for surveillance equipment.

"Cameras and microphones everywhere," Remo whispered as they slipped stealthily up the downstairs hallway.

Both men knew that on the other end of the tangle of wires was not only MacGulry, but a far more dangerous foe.

"You could have had a sweet deal if you just went along with this, Remo," MacGulry called. "But Friend says you're not the kind who goes along, are you?"

"Shouldn't you be out taping 'World's Sexiest Car Chases VI'?" Remo asked the walls.

"Bad attitude," MacGulry's disembodied voice replied. "How about you, Chiun? My offer still stands."

"Sinanju works for men, not machines," Chiun announced coldly.

"You know what Friend is?" MacGulry asked, surprised.

"A three-times ass-kicked hunk of silicon that was built to maximize profit," Remo said. "About to be crashed time number four." He peeked around an open door.

The room beyond was empty. Both Masters of Sinanju continued on.

"I worked with him thirty years. I only just found out what he was for sure two days ago," MacGulry said.

"Three cheers for the Aussie Einstein," Remo said.

They passed several more rooms. All were empty. Passing through the door at the end of the hallway, they found themselves in a big, restaurant-style kitchen. MacGulry's voice preceded them into the room.

"You don't like Friend," MacGulry said over the speakers. "I understand that. You fellas have a history. What would you say to my job offer if I told you I could help you get the bastard once and for all?"

"I'd say blow it out your didgeridoo," Remo said. Through the kitchen door they entered a huge dining room.

"Don't be too hasty," MacGulry said. "Vox-BCN is just the start. With the cryptosubliminal signal I can have it all. One hundred percent of the world's media markets. I can hypnotize people into buying no other magazines or newspapers but my own. Every movie Vox puts out will gross over two hundred million. My network will be the world's network. They'll be building thousand-foot statues of me in Sydney Harbour. It's your last chance. You wanna work for a smith or a king?"

"Not interested."

"Did you say two hundred million gross?" the Master of Sinanju asked slyly.

"We're not interested," Remo insisted. "Besides, I can never forgive Australia for foisting Yahoo Serious on the rest of the world."

"Too bad," MacGulry said. "If we can't deal, you die. Adler!"

MacGulry's booming voice rattled glass throughout the mansion. As the vibrations shook the foundation, a very frightened man stepped through a side door into the dining room.

Rodney Adler's bony knees knocked. His face was ashen. The Englishman raised his Lee-Enfield rifle. Gulping, he took aim at Remo and Chiun.

"I am-" Adler began. The gun rattled in his shaking hands. "That is, you should- That is, Mr. MacGulry wants-"