Date with Death td-57

by Warren Murphy

  "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.

  Quantril put his arm around Bauer's shoulders. "Oh, Deke," he whispered, "I'd like to look over the stock, if you know what I mean."

  "I think I know," Bauer said.

  "After all, I can't give away gifts without seeing the merchandise first, can I?"

  "No, sir."

  Quantril's gaze swept over the roof. "How about a little dress parade, Deke? Here on the roof."

  "Right away, sir."

  "Without dress." He winked. "Got me?"

  "Gotcha, sir." The major raced down the stone steps toward the prison.

  They appeared in single file, like a vision in a dream: 180 beautiful young women, stark naked, their bodies ripe and inviting as they were marched past the rows of armed guards.

  Quantril looked them over carefully as he passed down the line, brushing his hands against their soft breasts and bellies.

  "A little soiled, but acceptable," he said approvingly.

  "They've had the best of care, sir," Bauer assured him.

  Quantril stopped in front of Consuela Madera. "This one is especially nice." He fondled the mass of black curls on her head. "Yes, especially. I may keep her for myself."

  Consuela stiffened. "What have you done with Karen?" she demanded.

  "Who?"

  Deke Bauer answered. "Karen Lockwood. The blonde that got out. This is the Mexie bitch that helped her."

  Quantril's eyebrows rose. "And she went unpunished?"

  "Body blows, sir." Bauer chuckled.

  Quantril saw the bruises on Consuela's abdomen and traced them with his finger. "Ah, yes. Good work, Bauer." He felt himself being aroused. "I'm glad you didn't touch her face. I so despise ugly women."

  "What did you do with her?" Consuela shrilled.

  Quantril yanked her hair, snapping her head backward. "You speak when you're spoken to like a good girl, understand? Or should I teach you some manners?" He jerked her head back farther. Her defiant eyes welled with tears of pain. The sight made Quantril's erection throb. He moved close to the woman. "Your friend is dead," he whispered. "And you're mine."

  Consuela spat in his face.

  With a howl of disgust, Quantril pulled back his arm and cannoned it across the woman's mouth. She fell backward, her back scraping against the broken tile of the roof.

  "Slimy foreign bitch." He pulled out his chrome-plated revolver, then yanked her by her hair to her feet. "Let's see what your face looks like after this." He cocked the weapon and held it dead center against her eye.

  She trembled with fear. The smell of her excited him. "On second thought," he said, "I think another way may be even more interesting. Bauer!"

  "Sir?"

  "Escort the lady to the wall."

  Bauer led Consuela to the notched wall that surrounded the roof. With the butt of his Uzi, he forced the naked woman to step into the space between the battlements.

  Below was a sheer drop of 1,500 feet into the valley. The wind whistled forbiddingly through Consuela's hair. She shivered as Quantril approached her from behind. "You're going to jump, muchacha," he teased. "By the time we're through with you, you're going to want to jump."

  He turned back to Bauer. "Have your men bring up some stones."

  "Stones, sir?"

  "About the size of baseballs, maybe smaller. Nice round throwing stones."

  Bauer's face broke into an expectant grin. "Yes, sir." The major sent off a half-dozen men, including Corporal Kains, the women's guard. While the other men scurried to the stairwell, Kains stood rigid, his eyes on the floor.

  "You waiting for a personal invitation, Corporal?" Bauer boomed.

  Kains blinked rapidly. "It
's not right, sir," he said quietly. "He wants to stone her."

  Bauer bristled. "He is Mr. Quantril, and whatever Mr. Quantril wants, Mr. Quantril gets, understand?"

  "Not from me, sir," Kains said, his beast's eyes looking frightened but stubborn.

  Quantril came over.

  "I'll straighten him out, sir," Bauer began.

  Quantril waved him away. "It's all right. Your man just has principles. Isn't that right, soldier?"

  Kains was sweating profusely. "I don't know, sir. I only know I'm not going to help torture Consuela."

  "So it's Consuela, is it? Maybe she's something special to you?"

  Kains flushed.

  "Well, well. I think we've got a real loverboy here, Bauer. What do you think?"

  "He's been trouble from the beginning, sir. It was Kains who let the Lockwood girl escape."

  "Well, well," Quantril repeated. He walked over to the parapet where Consuela was standing and looked over. "It's a long way down there," he said. "Maybe Corporal Kains would like to show his lady love what the trip's going to be like."

  Kains's face turned white.

  "Let's have an escort for the corporal, Bauer," Quantril said.

  Bauer barked an order. Four men with the expressionless faces of born thugs stepped forward to grasp Kains's arms. The soldier's feet skidded as he tried to stop the momentum of the men leading him to the wall. When they reached the parapet, Kains looked up at the horrified woman standing on the brink, and his eyes filled with sudden tears.

  "Don't be afraid, Consuela," he shouted hoarsely, scrabbling at the wall with bleeding fingers. Then the soldiers forced him through and he fell, his arms windmilling, his hair blowing wildly in the wind.

  He never screamed.

  Consuela turned away, sobbing. There was a scramble of footsteps on the stairs. Five soldiers appeared, holding helmets filled with stones.

  "That was just the opening act," Quantril said with a ringmaster's flourish. He picked up one of the stones and hefted it. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the feature attraction."

  He took aim and threw the rock. It struck Consuela on the back of one knee, causing her legs to buckle. The other women hushed as she teetered on the edge of the parapet trying to regain her balance. As soon as she did, Quantril threw another rock that hit her square in the middle of her back.

  "Be my guest, fellows," he invited. The four soldiers and Bauer helped themselves to stones from their helmets. Bauer yelped in triumph as one of his stones rapped the girl on the back of her head, producing a spurt of blood.

  Consuela bent over pitifully, her limbs shaking as the blows dug into her flesh.

  None of the other women dared speak. The only sounds were the raucous shouts of the six men hurling rocks as if at some inanimate target, and the dull thumps as they hit the woman's battered body.

  "Aren't you ever going to jump, bitch?" Bauer shouted gleefully. "Maybe we should've washed her up first. Them Mexies are so dirty, their feet stick to anything."

  The men howled with laughter. Bauer drew back, taking aim again, when he saw a sentry rushing over to him.

  "You want some action, too?" the major said, his eyes feverish with excitement. "Here, see what you can do."

  "Sentry report, sir," the young soldier said. "There are three men approaching the mission. Civilians, sir."

  Bauer felt something tighten inside him. "What'd they look like?" he asked warily.

  The soldier thought. "One of 'em's white, tall, skinny. One's an Indian or something. Long black hair. The third one's an old gook, maybe a hundred years old. Looks like he'd keel over if you breathed on him too hard."

  Quantril dropped the stone he was holding. "Weren't they the men you blew up the mountain for?"

  Bauer's face twisted. "It can't be them, sir. They've got to be dead." He looked into the valley. "They've got to be."

  ?CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "You're really something," Sam Wolfshy said for the hundredth time as they neared the peak of the mountain.

  Since their escape from being buried alive, Chiun had become even more of a hero to the Indian than he had been before. "I can't get over it," Wolfshy said. "That Sinanju stuff is the greatest. You got to teach it to me, Chiun, okay?"

  "Do not insult the sun source of the martial arts by associating yourself with it," the old man said crankily.

  The Indian was undaunted. "If you'll give me lessons, I'll pay you for them later," he said. "It'll be sort of like borrowing a little information."

  "The art of Sinanju requires more than a little information, O lard brain," Chiun said. He cocked his head. "Although you are correct. I was quite remarkable. To hold up the boulder as I did is a feat of extraordinary discipline, both mental and physical. Without my perfect breathing and impeccable timing, we would never have escaped from the bowels of the earth alive." He polished his fingernails on the sleeve of his robe.

  "Hey, wait a minute. I'm the one that got you out," Remo groused.

  "Oh, yes," Chiun conceded. "You performed quite adequately— for a white thing."

  "For a—"

  "Look at my robe. It is in tatters. Remo, remind me to get some others on our next trip to Sinanju."

  "You mean there really is such a place?" Wolfshy asked. "Can I go?"

  "Certainly not," Chiun said. "I would be laughed out of my village if I were to take you. Besides, you would manage to get us lost on the way."

  For the first time, the Indian showed dismay. "I found the path, didn't I?" His head hung low.

  "Cheer up, Sam," Remo said. "Sinanju isn't exactly the garden spot of the world."

  "But I want to see it. I want to learn what you guys do. I know—"

  "Hold it. Look over that rise."

  Over a grass-covered knoll rose the bell tower of the monastery. In the center of the crumbling outer wall were twin gates of rough-hewn timber bound together by thick bands of iron. Even though the place had housed an order of holy men, it looked like a fort. The analogy became even more pronounced as the three men watched a dozen black-clad soldiers spread along the top of the wall. Their gun barrels caught and reflected the late-morning sunlight.

  And there was something else up there, too. Remo squinted to look into the light. "I think there's a woman standing on the wall."

  The small nude figure crouched, holding onto her elbows.

  "Huh? Where?" Wolfshy asked, straining unsuccessfully to see.

  "She has been beaten," Chiun observed. "This must be the place you seek."

  From the deep grass on the valley floor came a low groan.

  "Try to get into the monastery," Remo told Chiun. "Sam, you take cover. I think we've been spotted."

  He waded into the deep grass, searching for the source of the sound. He almost gasped when he saw Kains, or what was left of him. His arms and legs lay immobile in unnatural positions. Bones in his chest and arms jutted brokenly through his black uniform. Kains coughed, and a fountain of blood spurted from his lips.

  "Jesus," Remo whispered.

  "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." The words came out in a feeble whisper.

  Remo tried to dredge in the faraway corners of his memory for some words of comfort. He had been raised as a Catholic in the orphanage, but he could remember nothing that would make death easier for this or any other man.

  "He forgives you," Remo said. He was not a religious man, but he couldn't believe that God could look at a man as mangled as Kains and turn His back on him.

  "Thank you," Kains mumbled. Blood oozed out of the corner of his mouth. "I did it for Consuela."

  "Sure, kid," Remo said. He arranged the young soldier's limbs into a more normal appearance.

  "But Quantril's going to kill her all the same."

  Remo's ears prickled at the name. It was too uncommon and too famous. "Who's Quantril?"

  Kains's lips quivered in an effort to speak. "Quantril's the boss. Rich man."

  "Miles Quantril? The big business type?"

 
"He's a killer, mister. You got to stop him. Oh, Consuela…."

  "Take it easy," Remo said.

  "She was so pretty."

  "Yeah. Try not to talk."

  "It was all I could do."

  Remo looked over the dying man. "It was enough," he said. "You kept her alive."

  Kains smiled once, as if he were watching something far away. Then a low, gurgling sound bubbled up out of his throat. The soldier tensed in one weak spasm and then died. Remo closed the man's eyes.

  Before he could rise, a grenade exploding at his feet knocked him over in a violent somersault.

  He dived for cover in a grove of piñon trees. A bullet cracked the air and kicked up a cloud of dust near his face. Five more shots were fired in rapid sequence, splintering a large tree nearby. On the monastery wall, the lone naked woman was replaced by a swarm of men in black moving like spiders along the fortification's outer edge.

  Ducking the gunfire, Remo peered out to spot Chiun. The old Oriental was near the front gates of the monastery, walking forward with great dignity and ceremony. Behind him Wolfshy slinked, crouching in the shadow of Chiun's tiny frame.

  He's drawing the fire away from me, Remo thought. It was the right thing to do. Remo needed a clear path.

  Like dying crows, a rain of black hand grenades fell from the monastery wall onto Chiun and the Indian. Effortlessly, Chiun snapped them out of the air as quickly as they fell and lobbed them back to the other side with a flick of his finger.

  It was Remo's cue. He aimed himself for the wall and barreled for it at full speed. As he neared the fortress, he felt the force of gravity pulling at his cheeks and lips.

  Above him on the roof of the building could be heard the sound of women screaming. But they were screams of fear, not of pain, and the voices came from the opposite side of the roof from where Chiun had returned the grenades.

  The old man had taken it all into consideration, Remo thought. By the time Remo reached the wall, he was almost flying. His legs kept moving at exactly the same pace as he ran out of ground and into a vertical stone wall, but because of his momentum, there was no difference in his stride.