Warren Murphy - Date with Death

"Sorry," Wolfshy mumbled. "Just curious."

Chiun felt the awesome weight of his burden shift again slightly. Remo, he sensed, must be somewhere above. If the rocks were moved properly, then all would go well. On the other hand, if they were displaced incorrectly, there would be nothing that Chiun could do to save himself or the Indian. Black earth and rock would take the place of the air they breathed, gradually pushing their way into their mouths and nostrils. Even under those conditions Chiun would be able to stave off death for a few hours, but the Indian would be sent into the Void in a matter of seconds. All because the rocks had been moved one way instead of another.

Chiun felt himself at one with the boulder in his hand. Would Remo be equal to the task? he wondered. He had taught the boy well. In spite of his pale skin, there had never been another, even a Korean, who had so quickly learned and mastered the ways of Sinanju. But as Chiun knew all too well, this learning was a process that would never be complete. Remo would go on learning all the years of his life, with perfection, the unattainable goal, always just out of reach. It was meant to be so. Otherwise, Sinanju would not be Sinanju.

The old Oriental heard Remo's voice above him. "Chiun!" it called. "Can you hear me?" It sounded like little more than a whisper in the breeze.

"Of course I can hear you," Chiun said softly. "Stop that caterwauling and get us out of this place."

Above him, he felt rocks shifting purposefully. Remo was working well.

The boulder in the old man's hand began to tremble. A thin trickle of dust swirled in the air. He could feel the gritty particles against his parchmentlike cheek.

"Fast but slow," Chiun murmured to himself. Every breath and heartbeat must be properly executed. A handful of earth misplaced and the darkness would close in on them. But Remo would not fail. Chiun knew that, and the knowledge made the weight of the boulder lighter.

"How'd Remo find us?" Wolfshy asked softly.

"Because he is Remo," Chiun said.

The Indian sat silently for a long time. Finally he said, "It must be a good feeling to know there's someone you can always count on."

"That is what a son is, young man." Chiun's voice was gentle.

Son. That was the way it would always be.

"Son," the old man whispered to himself. Some words, he knew, were destined to be felt and yet never uttered.

?CHAPTER TEN

Miles Quantril sat in the passenger seat of the helicopter as it passed over the southern slope of the mountain. "Turn around," he ordered the pilot. "And get down closer."

Beside him, the pilot nodded as he eased the chopper around in a low, swooping circle around the desolate wreckage of the slope. His hands trembled slightly as he maneuvered the controls. Flying Mr. Quantril always made him nervous.

"What the hell happened down there?" Quantril's face was pressed against the Plexiglas bubble as if he intended to gnaw his way through it.

"Looks like a landslide, sir," the pilot said.

"I can see that, you ass. How did it happen? Why?"

The pilot chewed on his lower lip. "I don't know, sir."

Quantril felt a rage building inside him as he took in the gigantic spill of rock and earth, with its twisted and broken trees and huge boulders jutting out unnaturally. It was a surprise, and Quantril hated surprises. Anything that he didn't plan himself, he believed, ought not to happen. When it did happen, the feeling of his own helplessness infuriated him. "Take me to the monastery."

"Yes, sir," the pilot answered quickly. Once they landed, Mr. Quantril would let out his anger on someone else.

The chopper landed on the monastery roof. The pilot cut the engine, but Quantril made no move to disembark. He was staring straight ahead, his manicured hands idly toying with a slender gold fountain pen.

"We're here, sir," the pilot reminded him.

Miles Quantril turned toward the pilot. "That fact has not escaped me," he said testily. He tapped the pen against his knee. "Do you know how I feel when I'm faced with a flagrant deviation from a carefully laid plan?"

The pilot swallowed. "No, sir," he said, suddenly feeling trapped.

"I feel like killing someone. It doesn't particularly matter who. It's the act itself that ventilates my anger. I believe in ventilating. Don't you?"

The pilot wiped a line of perspiration off his forehead. "Mr. Quantril, I'm a family man," he said. "I've got a wife and four kids."

"Why should I care about your family?"

The pilot was silent.

Quantril spoke softly. "Frankly, I can't think of one reason not to kill you in thirty seconds. Can you?" He smiled.

He was kidding. He had to be kidding, the pilot told himself. Still, he could not control the fluttering of his hands. The vinyl seat beneath him was damp and sticky with sweat. His throat seemed to be made of ash. "That's— that's very funny, sir," he said, forcing a wan smile.

Quantril reached into his white linen jacket and produced a revolver made of chrome and mother-of-pearl. "Twenty seconds," he said, smiling back at the man.

"But I'm a pilot. That's it, I'm a pilot. If you kill me, there won't be anyone else to fly you back to Santa Fe."

The next few seconds were the longest in the pilot's life.

"Very good," Quantril said finally. "You came up with a reason. You didn't buckle under pressure. You're a good soldier."

The pilot closed his eyes with relief.

"Unfortunately for you, however," Quantril said, cocking the gun, "I'm a licensed pilot myself. Helicopters and light planes. Your time is up." He fired.

The door opened and the pilot's body spilled out onto the roof. A moment later, Quantril stepped jauntily over the body toward the waiting line of men standing at attention.

Deke Bauer saluted him, ignoring the pilot's bloody body.

"What's the meaning of the landslide down there?"

"It was an avalanche, sir," Bauer said. "A planned avalanche."

"Really." Quantril was interested. "I dabble in explosives myself. Let's hear about it."

Bauer explained about the three men who were sighted coming up the mountain after the girl escaped. He told Quantril about sending out the raiding party and how he himself had discovered their remains. He described the white man, the Indian, and the Oriental in detail. Then he began to smile as he related how he had planted the explosives that triggered the landslide. He was actually grinning when he got to the explosion itself and the rain of destruction it unleashed on the civilians who had dared to trespass on the mountain.

"All that for just three people?" Quantril demanded.

"Yes, sir," Bauer said. "If you'd seen what my men looked like, you would have done the same thing, sir. There was a massacre down there."

Quantril's eyes narrowed. "What kind of weapons did they use?"

"That's the weird part," Bauer said. "There wasn't any shooting."

Quantril sucked in his breath. "Who were they?"

"Unknown, sir. But I've dispatched a team to recover the bodies of the intruders." His lips twitched at the thought.

"What about the girl? Was she with them?"

"No. She probably didn't reach them at the time of the avalanche. She was traveling on foot. But she's dead now."

"Good," Quantril said. "How'd she get out in the first place? I thought the security in this place was tight."

"It is, sir. She was just lucky. For a while. Some Mexie here helped her escape. I'm taking care of her now."

Quantril looked up in alarm. "You're not—"

"I'm not hitting their faces."

Quantril's mouth formed a slow smile. "But you'd like to, wouldn't you, Deke?"

Bauer grinned. The boss was okay. Quantril was a little slick, maybe, but underneath they were two of a kind. "Maybe a little," he confessed, and the two men laughed.