Warren Murphy: Sweet Dreams

"Suppose someone's in there," a fire captain asked.

"Nobody's alive in there," the battalion chief said and went over to buy a copy of the Edgewood Quill to look at until the photographers arrived at which time he would run back to the equipment and help his men haul hose.

Remo felt the heat blast at his body and the heavy hot air singe his lungs when he breathed.

He rolled onto his stomach to be closer to the floor and slowed his breathing to reject any smoke that might find its way into his lungs. He raised his body temperature so that he would not feel the heat so intensely.

He looked around. He was in the center of the room, surrounded by flames. The walls and ceiling were burning, and the carpeted floor and the wood underneath had caught fire and the flames were now marching inexorably across Norman Belliveau's tweed pile carpet, $7.95 a square yard including installation, toward him.

He looked for a break in the flames but there was none. He moved himself into a crouch and then did what he thought he would never do. He ran.

He ran into his own mind. He could feel the flames lapping at his legs, and then in his mind, he moved into a room and he closed the door behind him.

The heat that singed his legs no longer hurt. He could breathe.

He thought he heard Chiun's voice and he yelled, "Get me out of here."

"Who are you?" Chiun said.

"Get me out of here. Save your silly games for later."

"If you were a baby I would carry you out," Chiun's voice said in that secret room in Remo's mind. "But you are not a baby. Who are you?"

"I am Remo Williams," Remo said.

"Not good enough," Chiun said.

Remo didn't want this to be hard. He wanted to be human and simple.

Now he could see Chiun. The ancient Oriental stood in a ceremonial white robe across the room from Remo. "Who are you?" he repeated. His voice seemed to be filtered through a tunnel because it resounded with echoes.

"I'm Remo Williams. I'm a Master of Sinanju;" Remo yelled. He felt tears coming from his eyes. They sizzled and disappeared before dropping halfway down his cheeks.

Chiun's face grew cold, almost angry. Remo opened his eyes and Chiun's face vanished. All Remo could see was flames. He closed his eyes again and Chiun's face demanded, "Yes, but who are you?"

And, in his mind, Remo stood and said, "I am created Shiva, the Destroyer, death, the shatterer of worlds. The dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju."

"Then walk out," Chiun said.

Remo stood and was back in the burning house. The flames engulfed him. The building shuddered, the flames seemed to roar in triumph.

But it could not match the roar in Remo's mind, the roar of realization and rebirth.

He ran forward through the flames, strongly breathing out, willing the flames away from his face and his eyes. It took only a split second to pass through the flames to a window and then roll through the window out onto the grass. He gulped clean fresh air, barely tainted by the smoke from the inferno behind him.

A fireman saw him come through the window and dropped his hose.

Remo smiled and waved.

The fireman said dumbly, "Your back's on fire."

"Thanks, pal," Remo said, and he spun around, a dervish motion so fast that it created a partial vacuum of thin air around him and the flames on his clothing sucked out and died.

"Take your time," Remo told the fireman. "Everyone else in there is dead."

Before the fireman could speak, Remo was running off from the house, across the greensward toward Professor Wooley's home.

He saw Chiun sitting on the grass in front of Wooley's house, his feet and legs crossed in the lotus position, his eyes closed, his long-nailed fingers bridged in front of him.

He came up close to the old Korean and said softly, "Chiun."

Chiun's eyes opened as if the lids had been pulled apart by springs. When he saw Remo there was just a flicker of approval.

"Thank you," Remo said.

"You look like something the cat dragged in," Chiun said.

"Thank you," Remo said.

"And you smell bad," Chiun said.

"Thank you," Remo said.

"If I hadn't met a nice man, I would have missed The Gathering Clouds. But do you care?

"Thank you," Remo said.

"What is this silly prattling?" Chiun asked.

"Thank you," Remo said.

"Aaaaah," said Chiun in disgust. He rose smoothly to his feet and walked a few steps away. He stopped, his back still to Remo and said:

"You're welcome. But the next time you get out of fires by yourself."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Big Vince Marino and Edward Leung had found no trace of either Leen Forth Wooley or the Dreamocizer in Professor Wooley's house, Arthur Grassione had wanted to leave immediately for Don Salvatore Massello's boat.

But he couldn't.

The ancient Oriental who had taken over most of the back seat of Grassione's limousine had made that very clear.

"Just a little longer," he had said.

"And then it'll be over?" Grassione asked.

"Yes. And then there is Search for Yesterday and Private Sanitarium and The Young and the Foolish and Hours of Our Sorrow and finally Rad Rex starring as Dr. Whitlow Wyatt, noted surgeon, in As the Planet Revolves."

"That'll take all day. I can't wait for all that crap," Grassione said. He looked to the front of the car and Big Vince Marino turned around on the seat, ready to help Grassione if he needed it.

"What?" Chiun said. "You would leave before seeing As the Planet Revolves"? Starring Rad Rex?"

"You're damned right," Grassione said, but the old man did not answer because the commercials had ended and The Gathering Clouds had started again.

Grassione was ready to tell Marino to chase the old man from the car when there was a loud thump, as if there had been an explosion nearby.

The old Oriental sat bolt upright on the car seat. He closed his eyes as if concentrating, then pushed open the door.

"I would like to stay with you to watch our daytime dramas," he said, "but my child needs me."

"Yeah, right," Grassione said. "We always gotta take care of our kids."

"Isn't it true?" Chiun said, and then he was gone from the car, and Grassione, without looking back, motioned Marino to drive off. If it had been an explosion, he didn't want to be on campus when the police arrived to investigate.

On the way to the boatyard, Grassione explained his plans to Leung and Marion. They would kill Massello, kill Leen Forth, and take Wooley's Dreamocizer back to Uncle Pietro in New York.

He rubbed his hands in anticipation. "It'll be a good day's work."

"Sure will, boss," Marino chuckled. "Sure will."

Edward Leung said nothing.

A guard stood at the gate to the boatyard when the black limousine pulled up. He looked into the back seat where Grassione was watching a rerun of Death Valley Days.

"Hello, Mr. Grassione," he said.

"Hi, kid," Grassione said.

"Don Salvatore's expecting you. Go right on in."

Grassione winked and waved. Throughout the entire conversation, he had not taken his eyes off the television set.

Leung drove slowly forward over the bumpy rutted road and Grassione told the two men what to do.

"I'll take care of Don Salvatore," he said. "You be hanging around and when you hear the shot, then you take care of his men. Do it quick and do it right. You understand?"

"Right, boss," Marino said.

"What about you, Charlie Chan?" Grassione asked.

"Whatever you say," Leung said sullenly.

Grassione left Leung and Marino on the deck talking to Massello's two bodyguards as he went down the steps into the body of the ship.

Don Salvatore was sitting in a lounge big enough to be a restaurant's dining room when Grassione entered. Seated on a chair across from Massello was Leen Forth. She was crying.