Warren Murphy: The Eleventh Hour

Like a gale, a torrent of water came through the window where Remo stood. Remo was pushed back by the sheer force of thousands of gallons of water forced through a high-pressure hose.

Chiun did not hesitate. He scooped up Remo in his arms, and Remo did not resist. He was stunned. Chiun silently thanked his ancestors.

Chiun carried Remo to a rear wall, where the fire damage was less. At the end of the corridor, there was a blank wall. Holding Remo in his arms, he kicked at the wall, in the corners, where he sensed they were most vulnerable.

The wall bulged outward. Chiun gave a square kick to the center of the wall. The wall fell out like a soggy graham cracker.

Chiun vaulted to the soft grass of the backyard, his kimono belling like a gentle parachute, but it was the old man's spindly legs which cushioned the impact for them both.

Gently Chiun laid Remo on the clipped grass.

He stepped back respectfully and folded his arms within the sleeves of his kimono. He did not know which he expected, gratitude or wrath, but he was prepared to face either. He was the Master of Sinanju.

Remo's eyes fluttered open. They did not focus at first. But when they did, they focused on Chiun. "You saved me," Remo said slowly.

"I did, Supreme Lord."

"Supreme what?" Remo demanded, sitting up. "Is that some kind of Sinanju insult? Like 'pale piece of pig's ear'?"

Chiun stepped back as if struck a blow. "Remo? Is that you?"

"No, it's Lon Chaney, Jr. I just look like Remo because I'm going to play him in a movie. What's with you?"

"Oh, Remo. My ancestors smile upon us. You have no ill effects?"

"My throat feels sore."

"Smoke," Chiun said, touching his own throat. "It will pass. I inhaled some too."

And then Chlun groaned and clutched at his heart and fell over like a sapling bending to an insistent wind.

"Little Father? Are you okay?" Remo demanded. Chiun lay in the grass unmoving. His breathing was shallow. Remo started applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He was still doing it when a pair of firefighters came around the corner with hoses.

"How is he?" one of the firemen asked.

"I don't know," Remo said distractedly. "He's breathing. But he's not responding. Get some oxygen. Hurry!"

They yelled for oxygen and the paramedics in their orange vests came with a portable tank. Remo knocked them aside and placed the clear plastic mask against Chiun's face.

"Nobody touches him except me," Remo said savagely.

"Take it easy, Mac. We're here to help."

The family Remo had saved came up too.

"That's the man who rescued us," the father said. "The one who was inside when the house fell. Are you all right, mister?"

"Yeah," Remo said. "But Chiun isn't. I don't know what's wrong with him. He got me out okay. He can't be hurt. Chiun! Please wake up."

The paramedic offered an opinion. "He doesn't seem to be burned, or in shock. Must be smoke inhalation. We'd better get him to the hospital."

"Hospital?" Remo said dazedly.

"Yeah," said the paramedic. "Please step aside while we load him on the gurney."

"Load him, my ass," Remo snapped. "He's not a sack of potatoes. I'll do it."

"That's our job. You're not qualified."

When Remo turned, the look in his eyes made the paramedic reconsider. Suddenly.

"On second thought, how qualified do you have to be to lift an old guy onto a gurney? Let me hold it straight for you, buddy."

Gently Remo lifted Chiun onto the wheeled gurney, arranging the hem of his kimono so that it modestly covered his pipestem legs. Chiun was always modest about his body, Remo thought to himself, and if he woke up suddenly, with legs bared to the world, there would be hell to pay.

They wheeled Chiun into the ambulance and Remo climbed in.

Just before the doors shut, the little girl with the pigtails came up, with her cat in hand.

"Thank you for saving Dudley, mister," she said.

"Don't mention it, kid," Remo said hoarsely. His mind was numb. All through the ride to the hospital he held the oxygen mask to Chum's expressionless face and tried to remember which gods Masters of Sinanju prayed to, and what the correct words were.

In the emergency room, there was a minor delay when the admissions-desk clerk wanted Remo to fill out insurance forms for Chiun.

"He doesn't have insurance," Remo told the attendant. "He's never been sick in his entire life."

"I'm sorry. We can't admit this man. But the Deaconess Hospital has a charity ward. It's only twenty minutes away."

"He's sick!" Remo said. "He may be dying."

"Please lower your voice, sir. And be reasonable. This is a very prestigious institution. We have only the finest doctors from the finest medical schools. You can't expect them to treat just any patient. Especially those who can't pay their bills. The doctors have a right to earn a living."

And then Remo showed the admitting attendant that there were other rights. Like the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

He drove the point home when he drove the man's retractable pen through the palm of his hand. "Sign him in," Remo growled.

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"That's my only pen."

"Where do you fill in the name?"

The attendant pointed with the finger of his undamaged hand.

In that space Remo wrote Chiun's name, guiding the man's wrist so that the pen embedded in his palm scrawled the name in the proper space, in a mixture of ink and blood.

"Thank you," moaned the attendant, as Remo pushed the gurney onto an elevator.

Dr. Henrietta Gale was adamant.

"I'm sorry. Not even relatives are allowed in the examination room. And it's obvious that you couldn't possibly be related to this Oriental gentleman."

"I'm coming in." And to make his point, Remo adjusted Dr. Gale's dangling stethoscope. He adjusted it so that it clutched at her throat like a too-tight choker.

"Those are hospital rules," she said in a Donald Duck voice.

"I can make it tighter," Remo warned.

"Loosen it just a smidge," Dr. Gale gasped, "and you can come in."

Remo wrenched the twisted metal free.

"Thank you," Dr. Gale said formally. "Now, if you'll follow me."

They had Chiun in a hospital bed. An I.V. ran from one exposed arm. He was hooked up to a battery of machines, most of which Remo didn't recognize. An electrocardiogram registered his heartbeat as a blue blip on a screen. Oxygen was being administered through breathing tubes inserted in his nose.

An orderly cut Chiun's kimono free of his chest, making Remo wince. It was a good thing Chiun wasn't awake to see that.

Dr. Gale examined Chiun's eyes with a penlight. "No contraction of the pupils," she mused. "Wait a minute. There they go."

"What's that mean?" Remo asked.

"Please stay out of our way, sir. We are working. It means that his eyes were not registering the light, but suddenly they are now."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I've never seen such delayed reflexes."

"Oh."

"Nurse?" Dr. Gale called to a blond in white.

"Heartbeat down, B.P. one-twenty over forty. Breathing shallow but regular."

"He's very old," Dr. Gale said to no one in particular.

"Can you help him?" Remo said anxiously.

"He's not responding to the oxygen. This could be more than just smoke inhalation. I'm not sure what. We're going to run some tests."

"Anything," Remo pleaded. "Just help him."

"All right, whoever you are. But I suggest you sit down and stop pacing the floor like an expectant father. We're going to be quite busy for the next few hours."

"You got it. I'm going to make a phone call."

"Just as long as you do it out in the corridor."

"Smitty?" Remo asked when he got Folcroft on the line.

"Give me the code for successful completion," Smith said dryly.