Warren Murphy: White Water

Without slowing, Remo hit the niche with raised fists. Brick shattered and tumbled.

Remo dived through the rubble and into the water as the reverberant thunder of collapsing stone and mortar filled the building. Only then did he remember the Master of Sinanju's warning of a keystone. By then it was too late.

"Hang on, Little Father!"

Striking the water cleanly, Remo came up with two fistfuls of squirming fish. He squeezed. The fish extruded their innards from both ends. Dropping them, he grabbed two more.

Immediately, living fish attacked the helpless dead.

Chiun switched tactics and followed suit.

Together they squeezed, impaled, kicked and stunned any fish that dared approach with bared needle teeth.

Hungry as they were, the fish got the message. The survivors concentrated on the bodies of Canadian Minister of Fisheries Gilbert Houghton and UN Secretary-General Anwar Anwar-Sadat, which fast became floating lengths of raw, red bone that continued to be pecked at even as the voracious fish nipped and stripped them of cartilage.

"Piranha," said Remo.

"I would not eat a fish that eats me," Chiun said dismissively.

Then, still treading water, they looked at the niche. It was a tumble of broken stones. Settling dust made a film on the agitated water.

"Freya..." Remo whispered. "Don't tell me I've killed you ...."

IT TOOK TWO HOURS but they carefully heaved stone and brick until they uncovered the brick chamber in which Freya, daughter of Remo, had reached out to work the will of Kali, goddess of death.

A motionless fall of golden hair spilled out from under a tumble of rock.

Remo froze.

Beside him Chiun said, "Kali's final trap, my son. Even in victory, she has handed you bitter defeat."

Remo reached down and heaved up a stone. It went tumbling away. He threw off another. The air was choked with disturbed mortar dust.

When he exposed the body of his daughter, he gently turned it over. Placing one ear to her heart, he listened, his eyes squeezed almost shut. The tears starting. The pain only beginning.

Yet he heard a beat.

Parting her mouth, he wiped off the ghastly yellow lipstick and blew in an urgent breath. The chest inflated, then fell. Remo blew another breath. He got the same result.

"You can't die on me," Remo said, his voice twisting and churning. "You can't. I won't let you."

"The spirit of Kali has abandoned her," Chiun intoned. "Accept that blessing and mourn."

"Like hell," Remo snarled. "I'm not giving up. I'm not giving up. Come on, baby. Breathe. I can hear your heart beating. Breathe for Daddy. Breathe and I'll take you away from all this. Open your eyes and I'll take you to a safe place where no one will ever harm you. I swear. I swear I will."

And in his arms, his daughter gave a sharp little gasp. Dusty air was drawn into her open mouth and nostrils.

"Remo!" Chiun squeaked. "Look! She struggles. Her brave lungs crave air!"

"I see, I see," Remo said, bringing her pale face up to his.

Silently, grimly, he performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until he had breathed life back into the body of his only daughter. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, showing butterfly glimpses of the most beautiful eyes Remo had ever seen.

She murmured a soft "Daddy..."

"I'm here, baby."

Then she drifted off into recuperative sleep.

Without a word Remo Williams carried his Freya out of the building, over a path of broken stone where red bone floated and piranha darted for the last scraps of food.

He said nothing. Trailing after the Master of Sinanju was a silent ghost.

The RCMP car still waited for them. Remo dragged the Mountie from the trunk and placed Freya in the back seat.

Then he went back in for the body of Jilda of Lakluun while the Master of Sinanju stood guard, removing it from its protecting shelf.

No word passed between them all the way to the airport. None needed to. Both knew their destination.

There was a little trouble getting the sleeping Freya onto the Air Canada flight. Eventually airport security ran out of functioning Mounties, and the plane was cleared to depart.

IN THE SONORAN DESERT near Yuma, Arizona, Sunny Joe Roam, Chief of the Sun On Jo tribe, raced to meet the flight carrying his son, Remo. He got a flat and was in the middle of changing it when a Jeep Cherokee came roaring up the dusty trail and screeched to a halt.

He wasn't surprised to see his son, Remo, and the Master of Sinanju in the front seat. He stood up, all seven feet of lanky, sunburned rawhide.

"Howdy," he said in his taciturn way.

"Hail, cousin of my blood," said Chiun.

"Sorry I couldn't meet you at the airport. You can see the reason why."

"Got a favor to ask," said Remo, stepping out.

"Last time you asked me to do you a favor, you dumped off your no-account son."

"How's he doing?" Remo asked.

"He can ride, rope and chase white girls, but so far he isn't fit for much else. Still hurting in his soul, I reckon."

Remo got out and opened the back door. Out came a girl with the sunniest hair Sunny Joe Roam had ever seen.

"Well, this is his little sister," said Remo.

Sunny Joe took off his Stetson and wiped his rugged brow of sweat and surprise.

"You're a regular Johnny Appleseed in your way, aren't you, Remo?"

"I need to hide her," Remo said anxiously.

"For how long?"

"Don't know."

Sunny Joe hesitated.

Chiun spoke up, his voice grave. "She has endured things best left unsaid."

Sunny Joe looked at the girl with the deep brown eyes and at Remo. "Tell you what," he said at last, "I'm getting along in my years. You fix that flat for me and it's a deal."

They shook hands on it.

And while Remo changed the flat, Sunny Joe bent over his granddaughter. "What's your name, golden hair?"

She looked up at him with growing wonder. "Freya."

"What the heck kind of name is that?"

"Her mother named her," said Remo.

"Where is she?"

"Wrapped in a sheet in the trunk."

"Well, I guess we're about to have us a family reunion and a funeral all in one."

Turning to Chiun, Sunny Joe asked, "Should I be asking what all this is about?"

His eye going to Remo, busy at the tire, Chiun said quietly, "No. Do not ask. Do not ask ever."

THE BURIAL WAS SIMPLE. Words were spoken over a sandy grave in the shadow of Red Ghost Butte, and it was done. No marker was erected. No tears shed. There was too much shock for tears. Tears would come later. The sun went down on a profound silence of their souls, making the candelabra cactus cast long, streaky shadows of surrender.

After it was over, Remo went out into the red sandstone desert alone, and everyone understood they were not to follow.

THREE DAYS LATER, Remo returned, his face burned redder than Chiun had ever seen it.

Freya was letting her older brother, Winner, show her how to Indian-wrestle. Winner was burned red, and his hair was a paler, sun-faded version of Freya's golden locks. Otherwise they looked nothing alike.

"He's only half trying," Remo said to Chiun.

Chiun nodded.

A moment later Freya had Winner on his back and cursing the open sky.

Remo cracked a grin that was half amusement and half satisfaction. "I knew they'd get along."

"Only you, Remo Williams, would sire a son even a slip of a girl can best," Chiun sniffed.

"Maybe I had a daughter that just can't be beat. Looks to me like there's more Sun On Jo blood in her than him."

Chiun made a disapproving face, but his hazel eyes shone with veiled pride.

"Any sign of Kali while I was away?"

"No. The demon's spirit has found another vessel, from there to torment us another hour in a distant day."

"Been in touch with Smith?"

Chiun nodded. "The godless Canadians have sued for peace."