Warren Murphy: Date with Death

Remo shrugged. "I don't understand any of this. Not a file, not a phone book. It just doesn't make sense."

Suddenly the computer hummed to life, tiny lights flashing all over the console. Steel panels slid into place, covering the doors, the windows, all possible means of exit from the room. At the same time the carpet began to smolder. Spirals of dancing flame sprang to life in a dozen different locations.

"Now it makes sense," Remo said.

?CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A sheet of flame enveloped the carpet with the suddenness of a windswept prairie fire. Noxious blue smoke filled the room, closing around them in swirling clouds.

"Chiun?" Remo called.

"Save the air in your lungs. You will need it."

Remo slowed his breathing. But the smoke still burned and blinded his eyes. He turned around futilely, hoping to spot the steel doors leading to the foyer and the stairs. But the smoke was so thick that he only managed to disorient himself.

"Wait to hear my voice, Little Father. I'm going to break through one of the steel plates into the next room. I think the fire's contained here."

Before Chiun could object, Remo hurled himself feet first toward what he hoped were the doors. He knew as soon as his feet touched a slick surface that shattered under him that he had found the huge picture window instead.

The glass exploded outward with a whoosh of flame. For a moment, Remo was suspended in midair, like all objects before a fall. Through the billowing smoke he caught a glimpse of the street sixty stories below.

Quickly he contracted himself into a tight ball and moved his left shoulder slightly toward the building. The movement gave him just enough impetus to thrust out an arm and catch hold of one of the comers of the blown-out window. The broken glass in the corner cut deep into his hand, but he forced himself to hang on until he could swing his legs back into the room.

It was less smoky now, but the flames were blazing higher. Waves of heat distorted his vision. It was so hot that he could feel his hair singe. A small bony hand touched his and deposited a ball of silk cloth into it to stem the bleeding.

"We go up," Chiun said. Raising his arm, the old man crouched and turned slightly. There was almost no breath coming from him, so complete was his concentration. Then he spiraled upward, crashing through the ceiling in a burst of pure power. After the rain of debris from his exit settled, Remo spun on his right foot and glided up to follow Chiun through the narrow opening.

The two men stood on a gravel rooftop. It felt good to breathe again. Above them was the night sky, silent and dotted with stars. Too silent.

"Do you know what's funny?" Remo asked.

"This is not an appropriate time for humor."

"What's funny is that no fire alarm went off. Quantril must want to burn his own building down."

"Take another time to ponder the eccentricities of strangers," Chiun said. "Let us climb down from this uncomfortable place." He threw his legs over the side, but a column of flame shot up beside him, and he retracted quickly back to the center of the roof. More flames from below surged up, encircling the top of the building as the wind whipped the fire up to astonishing heights.

"There is only one solution," Chiun said grimly.

"The Flying Wall?"

"Never. There are automobiles on the street. We would be killed. What is required is four separate movements. First, a simple arching dive."

"Toward what?"

"The building across the street."

"I can't even see it," Remo said.

"It is there. Next, a half-turn. This is done quickly, to halt your speed. Then you move slowly into the Falcon's Glide. Remember when I made you practice cliff-diving? That is it. The last part is delicate. You must flatten yourself against the building on the inhaled breath."

"What happens if I'm exhaling?"

Chiun clucked. "Do not find out," he said, shaking his head. "Follow me." The old man stretched out his arms and leaped off the side, into the flames.

Remo followed. He could feel the heat against his face and chest. His eyes were closed, and the inside of his eyelids were colored a bright orange.

At the peak of the dive, when he felt he was losing speed, Remo did a fast half-turn, halting himself in the middle of empty space. Then he drew a breath and soared downward in a perfect Falcon's Glide, his back rigid, his head raised.

He relaxed his body as he felt the space in front of him being filled with the form of another building. Chiun was right. It had been there. He sucked in his breath on impact. He could feel his body shake like a willow in the wind. His cut hand sent a shriek of pain through him as it slapped against the sandstone wall, but his grasp held.

He felt around with his feet, and found the top of a window ledge. It was an old-fashioned apartment building, with real sills. It would be an easy climb down. Remo felt his breath come easier.

He had not failed again.

Below, a crowd of onlookers gathered on the street. Fire engines began to wail in the distance. Chiun's white tousled head bobbed at the level of the sixth or seventh floor. But there was something else between him and Chiun, something that made him shake his head as he descended and wonder if he were seeing things.

At the twelfth story, there appeared to be a man hanging from a flagpole. As he neared, he could hear the man's hoarse screams. "Help me," he called wildly to Remo. He tried to wave, as if the man climbing inexplicably down the side of the building could miss seeing him.

"Hold still," Remo said. "I'll get you."

"They tried to kill me," the man babbled. "I don't know what they wanted the girls for. All I wanted was some money."

"Tell me later. Now, when I come close, just grab hold of my shoulder with your free hand."

"I can't," the man wailed. "My hand's broken."

"That's great," Remo mumbled. "Well, just sit tight. I'll get you."

He descended carefully, veering toward the man on the flagpole. The blood from his hand left a long red streak behind him. When at last he reached the man, he felt tentatively with his arm, and located a spot on the middle of the man's back. Then, in a smooth, strong motion, Remo pulled the man off the pole and flung him behind himself so that the man landed on Remo's back.

The man was screaming for all he was worth.

"Relax, will you?" Remo said. "We're almost there."

"Wha… wha…" Slowly, the man opened his squeezed-shut eyes. "I didn't fall," he marveled. Then he gasped as he realized he had somehow landed on Remo's back. "How did… It was so fast."

"I don't give out trade secrets, so don't ask," Remo said.

He deposited the man on the ground. The crowd burst into spontaneous applause. Chiun bowed to them, smiling serenely. A van with the call letters of a TV station was hurtling down the street toward them.

"Let's go, Little Father," Remo prompted.

"Hey, wait a minute." It was the man Remo had rescued, his legs wobbling like lengths of rubber hose. "I've got to talk to you."

"Save your thanks," Remo said.

"It's not about thanks. It's about Quantril and Bauer. I think you were the guys they were trying to get rid of."

"Quantril and Bauer? Do you know where they went?"

The man's face transformed suddenly. Instead of the frightened, disheveled person who was certain he was going to die a horrible death, there now stood before Remo a smirking, oily-looking creature ready to deal. "Maybe," he said slyly.

"What do you mean, maybe?" Remo yelled so loud his voice cracked.

"Let's talk," the man said, smiling now.

His legs were not wobbling any longer.

Wally Donner led them through a series of winding alleyways to an inconspicuous-looking building. Inside, he opened the door to a small but impeccably furnished apartment.