"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.
"Sit down," he said, flashing a smile.
"No thanks. What do you want?"
"I think I'd like a yacht," Donner said dreamily. "A place on the Riviera. A bathroom made of black marble. Maybe a little pied-à-terre in Paris."
"What do you think this is, a quiz show?"
"Do you want to know where Bauer and Quantril are?" he teased.
Remo looked him up and down. "How would you know that anyway?"
Donner lit a cigarette. "They were in the building you came down. Killed the guy who lived in the apartment just so they could watch you two bum up. I heard them planning it. I was outside the apartment door. That's how I know where they're going. And I'll tell you— for a price."
"I just saved your life!" Remo exploded.
"Yes. And don't think I don't appreciate it. But a guy's got to make a living, you know?" He shrugged expressively.
"Break his elbows," Chiun suggested.
"Then I'll never talk. And they'll come after you again."
Remo sighed. The ingrate would talk, all right. But Remo was hot and dirty, and not at all in the mood to break anybody's elbows, even if it was for a good cause. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. "All right. How much do you want?"
"A million dollars," Donner said.
"Here's eight hundred. Take it or leave it."
Donner hesitated only a moment before snatching the money.
"Perhaps you can build a bathroom of concrete blocks with that," Chiun said.
"There's another thing," Donner said as he counted the money. "A promise. You seem like a man who's good to his word."
"I am," Remo said.
"Then I want your word that you won't kill me."
"You mean to get back the money? You got it."
"You promise?"
"We both do," Remo said magnanimously.
Donner stepped back carefully, edging toward the door. "Okay. They're headed for a place called Bayersville, about three hundred miles south of here. It's a ghost town."
"Have you been there?"
"I read about it once in a movie magazine. They used to shoot a lot of low-budget Westerns there back in the fifties. Quantril owns the town now. He uses it for his Dream Date videos."
Donner opened the door to leave.
"Wait a second," Remo called. "Just to satisfy my curiosity… How do you know Quantril?"
Donner smiled. "I think I used to work for him," he said. "Running illegals across the Mexican border."
Remo felt the blood rush out of his face. "Women?"
"The ones I kept were women, yes." He flashed another dazzling smile, then went out, closing the door behind him.
Remo clenched his teeth. He had just found the man who'd murdered 300 people in the desert. And let him go.
The lights of the rented car passed over a weathered road sign. "Bayersville," it announced in peeling, sun-faded letters. "Just Watch Us Grow." In spite of the optimistic prediction, the only growth that Remo could see were the weeds and wild flowers that overran the rutted dirt road.
As they passed over a bumpy rise, the town came into view, shimmering in the moonlight. There were four blocks of buildings, including a church, a bank, a saloon, a few shops. From a distance, Bayersville looked exactly like a fictional town of the Old West. It was only up close that one noticed that the buildings were really false-fronted, weather-beaten structures with no breath of life in them.
As Remo drove past the sagging buildings, the sight of them stirred something in his memory. Suddenly he knew. It was the movies at St. Theresa's.
In the orphanage where Remo grew up, the biggest treats the nuns had to offer were the once-a-month movies. All of the kids would gather in the basement, impatient and restless while Sister Mary Agnes threaded the ancient projector.
The movies they saw were donated by a local theater owner, so they were rarely Hollywood's newest or best. They also had to pass Sister Bridget's rigid code of inspection that made the Hays Office look like a hotbed of libertines and panderers. So mostly they saw Westerns, the old-fashioned kind with Straight Shooters in white hats and Bad Hombres in black ones. The films never had much in the way of plot. It was good against evil, pure and simple. And in the end, although things looked kind of close for a while, good always carried the day. For a time, when he was very young, Remo had believed that that was the way the world actually was, all black and white, with nothing in between.
Vietnam and the Newark police department had put that idea to rest forever. Still, Remo felt a childish delight as he drove through the silent town. There was the saloon where Red Ryder had shot it out with the counterfeiters and, across the way, the stable where John Wayne had leaped into the saddle from the hayloft above. Bayersville was a ghost town, silent as death, populated only by the shadows of yesterday's heroes.
And two other men who were real. And dangerous.
Remo parked the car in front of the boarded-up Empire Hotel. "We might as well start here," he said.
The moment their feet touched the dusty street, they were engulfed in a powerful, glaring light. There was no explosion, just a fizzing sound, like soda being poured from a bottle, to break the silence. The town and everything else seemed to disappear in the pure white light.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the light vanished. In its place was total darkness.
"Welcome to Bayersville," a voice called out from the rooftop above. Remo recognized it as Deke Bauer's. "I didn't think you'd be out here, but when I saw the car coming, I figured you two might be coming for a short visit. Real short." He laughed.
You surprised me once, Remo said to himself. It's not going to happen again. "Just keep talking, Bauer."
The major's harsh laughter grew louder. "Honest, I'm glad you came. Now I can finish what I started. That is, unless you brought someone along to throw himself in front of you when the shooting starts. That's your style, isn't it, Williams?"
"Don't—" Chiun began, but Remo's anger was stronger than his reason. He leaped blindly toward the voice. But just as he left the ground, his balance was thrown by a thundering blast of music. It was marching music turned up to an unbearably high level, its brass and drums blaring like the shock waves of an explosion.
Remo slammed into the roof, out of control, and toppled over backward, hitting the bumpy road below. The loud music masked all other sounds. He couldn't see Bauer in the sudden darkness, and now he couldn't hear him, either. He strained to pick out the sound of footsteps, but it was impossible. Everything was drowned out by the crash of cymbals and the high, piercing notes of a dozen or more cornets.
Remo made himself relax, and in a few moments his eyes adjusted to the darkness. But all he could see around him were the car and the deserted buildings. Chiun was gone.
He started to look for the old man, but a sharp jolt of pain stabbed into his shoulder. A fraction of a second later, he heard the crack of the bullet.
"Bauer," he hissed. All of the hate he had felt for the man welled up inside him again.
Don't, he told himself. Don't let him get to you again. The past is gone, as dead as the ghosts in this place. Remember who you are now. Now is what matters. Nothing else.
He felt the sticky flow of blood as it seeped through his fingers. Another shot ricocheted off the car with a metallic whine. As best as Remo could judge, it had landed a few inches right of his head. He rolled, trying frantically to find Bauer's form on one of the darkened rooftops.
It occurred to him then that he might well die in this place. What a stupid way to go, he thought— listening to an army marching song. He winced as air began to work its way into the wound. Why didn't Bauer just finish him off? The arrogant bastard was playing with Remo, gloating over his handiwork. But, then, Remo should have expected that Bauer would play this out for all it was worth. He remembered the bodies on the wire.
"Forget it," Remo said out loud, as if the words would calm his fears. "Now. Only now."
Lurching to his feet, he skittered down the street, keeping close to the buildings. If Bauer was going to kill him, he'd have to work for it.
Suddenly the music stopped. Remo shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. In the distance he could hear a board creak under the pressure of a heavy foot.
Remo flattened himself against the side of a building. It was marked "General Store," and Bauer was inside. The footsteps moved in one direction and then another, exploring. At last they headed toward the street.
And Remo was ready. Now. Only now.
At the first quiver of the swinging doors, Remo burst through, kicking Bauer's weapon clear.
Bauer hit without hesitation. He dug his fist directly into Remo's shoulder wound. Remo screamed and reeled backward. Bauer came after him, delivering a powerful kick between Remo's legs. As Remo doubled over in pain, Bauer picked the Colt off the ground and sauntered calmly over to where Remo lay.
"You know what I'm going to do?" he asked softly. His lips were curved in a malicious smile. "First, I'm going to shoot you— not kill you, Williams, just air-condition you a little." His eyes shone. "And then I'm going to put up a wire." He stretched the word out until it seemed to pull with it a thousand nightmare memories. "Remember the wire, Williams?" He stepped back a pace and cocked the safety.
Now… only now… nothing else….
"I remember," Remo said, too quietly to hear. And the gun fired, but Remo was not there, and the next moment Bauer's face twisted in surprise as a foot came out of nowhere and sent him crashing against a post that splintered and broke under his weight.
Then Remo was on him, dragging him back into the street, shoving him to the ground, his fingers wound around Bauer's thick, corded neck.
"Don't," Bauer gurgled. "It isn't—"
"Where's Quantril?"
Spittle oozed out of the comers of Bauer's mouth. "The saloon." His bulging eyes looked at Remo expectantly, but the pressure around his neck did not lessen. "Be fair," he pleaded. "Remember…"
"I do," Remo said softly. "That's the trouble." His fingertips met.
"Chiun?" Remo whispered. There was no answer.
Leaving Bauer's body on the street, he walked the block to the Bayersville saloon. As he neared it, he heard tinkling music from the player piano and the sound of voices.
The saloon was lit with colored gaslights. Remo stopped short in the doorway for a moment, because the place seemed to be filled with people. Voluptuous girls, their hair piled on their heads, their long dresses lifted to the ankle to reveal high-button shoes, danced with bearded, burly men in antique suits. But he saw quickly that the people were only images projected on the saloon's walls. The place was empty except for one man seated alone at a table near the stairway in the back.
"Quantril?" Remo said, approaching him.
The man nodded elegantly. "I really never thought you'd get this far," he said. "You're quite a remarkable man."
"Where's Chiun?"
"Who? Oh, your Oriental friend. He's fine."
"I didn't ask how he is. I want to know where."
Quantril ignored him. He spread his arms in a gesture encompassing the room. "How do you like my town, Mr. Williams?"
"I can think of places I'd rather be."
"The saloon is one of Dream Date's most popular fantasy settings."
"Dream Date's history, Quantril."
"Nonsense."
"There's a matter of a couple of hundred women you kept as prisoners against their will."
Quantril shook his head like an indulgent father addressing a child. "That can't be linked to me. It was Deke Bauer's operation. He's dead, I presume."
"That's right."
"Excellent. You spared me the bother."
"You booby-trapped your own building."
"That's what you say. But from the evidence, it looks like you and your ancient friend broke in, killed three security guards, and then set the penthouse on fire, destroying all my records. They were in the computer." He burst into laughter. "If the police want anyone, it'll be you."
Remo exhaled noisily. Quantril was exactly the kind of criminal CURE had been devised to stop. The law couldn't touch him. Remo could. But not until he had found Chiun.
"What about the guy who led us here? You left him for dead. Do you think he won't talk?"
"Wally Donner? Don't make me laugh. He's got a criminal record a mile long. A psychopathic killer. The minute he shows his face, he'll be escorted to a psychiatric ward."
"Wally Donner, is it?" Remo brightened. At least he had a name now. But he'd have to try a bluff.
He shrugged. "Well, it looks like you've got the rap beaten, Quantril. Nobody'll arrest you."
"Thank you."
"Because I'm going to kill you first."
"Not so fast," Quantril said, smiling. "There's one small matter. You see, through the years I've made a sort of hobby of explosives. Keeps my fingers busy. This is one of the places I practiced on."
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