Last Rites td-100

by Warren Murphy

  It had come to a stop with its front end against two oaks. The headlight shone between them, cutting a funnel of light in the murk that was already busy with moths.

  "Hey!" Remo called. "Anybody in there?"

  There was no answer from the silent engine, so Remo found the engineer's ladder and climbed it.

  He found the engineer at his controls with his neck like a raw tree stump. There was no sign of his head. It wasn't visible in the cabin. In fact, while the windshield had spiderwebbed, no loose glass littered the cabin.

  How the engineer had lost his head was a mystery. The mystery was compounded as Remo walked the twisted tracks back and spotted the engineer's head squatting in the bough of a tree like some otherworldy beehive.

  Remo left it where it hung. Someone would discover it soon enough. The horses were struggling from their strewn cars, and since there were no people to save, Remo decided he would do what he could to help the poor dumb brutes reach safety.

  By that time others had come onto the scene.

  A man in a blue police uniform was the first Remo met.

  "My lord, what a mess. Look at all these poor critters." He drew his pistol. "Guess I'll have to shoot those that won't make it. Hate to do it, though."

  "Why don't you give me a chance to pull the uninjured ones loose?" Remo asked.

  "You got a crane in your back pocket?"

  "Tell you what. Shoot the dying. Anything I haven't got loose is yours."

  "Suit yourself," said the cop, and he walked back to where the beastly moans were most pitiful.

  Remo moved to the nearest cattle car. It leaned drunkenly against a rows of scarred pine trees. He got to the door and wrenched it open.

  The horses-there were mustangs mixed with black-and-white Appaloosas-were jammed up against the far side. Eyes wide, frightened and not at all friendly. Some kicked and screamed.

  With one exception, their legs were whole. They could walk. All they needed was a ramp.

  Looking around to make sure no one saw him, Remo attacked the sliding door. He broke the rails on which it slid and let it drop. It took only a little jockeying to make it a ramp.

  Remo went among the horses and began spanking flanks. The horses responded. After they rattled off the ramp, they kept going, which suited Remo perfectly fine. He had a lot of horses to round up.

  The one with raw bone sticking down from his severed leg managed to clump out, too. Its eyes were glassy. At the next car palominos were trying to squeeze out through a ragged hole at one end, oblivious to the hoofbreaking drop to the ground.

  Remo got in front of a struggling horse. Confusion was mirrored in its sad eyes. It was stuck, one leg tangled in ripped galvanized slatwork. Other horses were pushing against it from behind and whinnying in fear.

  Remo grabbed the side ladder and took hold of the twisted slats. He began yanking out pieces of metal and throwing them away. Once the hole was big enough, the first palomino jumped. He broke his front legs landing and fell over with a defeated moan. But the others landed in soft soil gouged by the derailment and they made it okay.

  It took two hours, but Remo managed to save fully sixty horses from police guns.

  The breaking of dawn found him watching mounted riders herding the horses into a circle where they would be loaded onto transport trucks once they had completely calmed down. Back at the wreck, they were field dressing the dead carcasses. The air reeked of bowels and blood.

  "Nice work," the cop told him. "Don't know how you done it, but it was a right nice job of running horses."

  "Thanks."

  "Man who owns that herd's gonna want to reward you, I'd wager."

  "Tell him it's on the house."

  "That's your right, I reckon. Anyway, you done us a good turn."

  "How's that?" Remo asked.

  The cop grinned. "Why, we'd have plumb exhausted our bullet budget for the month if it weren't for you." Remo laughed. It stopped suddenly when he saw the Master of Sinanju standing off where the trees were thickest. "Excuse me," said Remo, starting off.

  The visage of the Master of Sinanju was stern as Remo approached, thinking he might as well get this over with.

  But when he stepped into the trees, Chiun's wrinkled face broke out into a beaming grin. "Very good, Remo. I am pleased to see you take the initiative."

  "What are you talking about? And how the hell did you find me?"

  "I found you here the same way you found yourself here. Emperor Smith."

  "Oh."

  "Did you find what you sought?"

  "Sister Mary Margaret died last night, Little Father. I was there."

  Chiun nodded gravely. "It was good that she did not die alone and forgotten but with one who truly cared for her."

  Remo said nothing.

  "Did she reveal to you any of the truths you sought?"

  "No. But she did say she saw the guy who left me on the orphanage doorstep, but she didn't know him."

  "Then you have not discovered your roots?"

  "No. Sister Mary did tell me something strange, though."

  Chiun cocked his head to one side curiously. "And what is that, Remo?"

  "She saw him again. In a movie theatre."

  "The strange thing is that it was here in Oklahoma City."

  "That is strange?"

  "Why would the guy who left me at a Newark orphanage where Sister Mary worked show up years later here, where she'd come to live?"

  "I do not know."

  Remo looked around. "I think I'll stick around here for a while."

  "And if you do not know who this man is or what face he wears, how do you expect to recognize him, my son?"

  "I don't know. But I will."

  "I do not think so."

  "How would you know?"

  Chiun shrugged carelessly. "You would be surprised at the things I know and do not know."

  "Right. Well, you can forget about the Rite of Attainment and going to Hesperia. Because I'm staying here till I figure this out."

  "But you have already gone to Hesperia."

  "What do you mean by that?" Remo asked suspiciously.

  "To the Greeks, Hesperia was the western lands." Chiun lifted his arms to encompass his surroundings. "This is as far west as one can go from Greece and not go east. Thus, you have come on your own to Hesperia."

  "Yeah, well, I'm doing no more labors."

  "Labors?"

  "Don't play coy with me. Smith told me what athloi means. The jig's up."

  "But you have already accomplished your next labor."

  Chiun gestured toward the derailed train and to the horses beyond. "You have succored the steeds of Diomedes successfully."

  Remo planted his hands on his hips angrily. "You can't tell me you were going to drag me to Oklahoma City to round up horses?"

  "Not here. I was considering Argentina. But this will do. Congratulations, Remo. You are the first Master of Sinanju to perform a labor without his Master's guidance."

  "So?"

  Chiun frowned. "So it is a good omen."

  "Yeah, well, it's also the end of the Rite of Attainment. I want to sniff around here for a while."

  "If that is your wish, I will not stop you."

  "Seems I've heard that before."

  "But if you would know a hidden thing, I would advise you to consult the Oracle of Delphi."

  "Delphi? That's back in Greece."

  "All Masters consult the oracle in the course of the Rite of Attainment."

  "Not me. I've seen enough of Greece. I'm staying here."

  Chiun bowed formally and, to Remo's surprise, said, "I will not stop you."

  "I don't trust you when you're so agreeable."

  "Would you rather I be disagreeable?"

  "I dunno. By the way, I met Nuihc in the Void."

  Chiun asked suddenly, "And defeated him?"

  "Yeah."

  "Very good."

  "By the way, I figured out the riddle of the Sphinx. It was the Great Wang."


  The Master of Sinanju eyes his pupil doubtfully. "Did you meet Wang, as well?" he asked thinly.

  "What does that matter?" Remo said evasively.

  "That tattletale! What else did he tell you?"

  "He said these dreams are part of the rite. And that Nonja had information about my father. But when I met him, he told me to ask Kojing. Haven't met him yet."

  "I see. . . ."

  And from one voluminous sleeve, Chiun extracted an object of wood and steely metal.

  "What's that?" Remo asked. "It is a gong."

  "Doesn't look like a gong. Gongs are round."

  "It is very special gong."

  Remo looked closely. The object was a length of varnished teak about as long a human hand. Suspended over it by stiff wire loops was a round bar of steel. From one end of the teak base, Chiun drew a wooden mallet whose handle fit into a long groove under the floating bar.

  As Remo watched, Chiun tapped the bar of steel sharply. It rang. Perfect C. The vibration made Remo's sensitive ears ache. The note hung in the air for a full minute. Just as it was about to die, Chiun struck the bar again. The perfect C filled the air.

  "What the heck are you doing?" Remo demanded.

  "Calling for your long-lost father."

  "With a gong?"

  "This esteemed gong has been in my family since the days of Master Kojing. Have I ever told you of Kojing, Remo?"

  "The name rings a bell. But they all do. Every third Master might have been named after a gong. If it wasn't Wang, it was Ung or Hung or Ting and Tang or Kang. No wonder I can't ever keep them straight."

  Chiun started off. He struck the gong again. Its extended shimmering note filled the air.

  "Where are you going?" asked Remo.

  "I told you. I am in search of your father."

  "What makes you think he's going to respond to that thing?"

  Chiun struck the gong again. "Who can fail to hear it?"

  They walked the early-morning streets, Chiun leading, striking the gong whenever the shimmering note was about to die out. And Remo following, wearing a puzzled expression.

  Everywhere they went, faces came to windows and doors opened.

  They were stared at, honked at and questioned by the police several times, but nothing more interesting befell them.

  By noon the Master of Sinanju returned the wood mallet to its groove and, with a firm thumb, silenced the gong-which by now had begun to drive Remo crazy.

  "Your father does not answer. Therefore, he does not dwell here," he announced loftily.

  "Says you."

  "You have the word of the Reigning Master of Sinanju that he does not."

  "And how would you know?"

  "You must consult the Oracle of Delphi."

  "Not a chance. I'm staying."

  "You may call Smith if you prefer."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Very well. Be stubborn."

  Remo folded his arms. "From now on, 'stubborn' is my middle name."

  "You look tired, my son."

  "Thanks to you."

  "Perhaps you would like to nap."

  "Not till I've turned this town upside down."

  "If this is your wish," said Chiun. "But I am tired. I may nap."

  And the Master of Sinanju yawned sleepily.

  Remo regarded him dubiously. In twenty years he had never known the Master of Sinanju to need a nap. Chiun yawned again.

  Remo caught himself starting to yawn, too. He shut his mouth with a click of stubborn teeth.

  Eyes narrowing, Chiun yawned so wide his head almost disappeared behind his mouth.

  This time Remo couldn't help himself. He yawned, too. And yawned again.

  Chiun said, "You see, you are sleepy, too."

  "You're up to something, you old fake."

  "Yes, I am up to assuring that my House and my line continue past this century. And you are not cooperating."

  "Well, you have a hell of a way of doing it. In all the years I've worked with you, I've never been so kicked around as lately. And that includes that time you made me eat rancid kimchi for three solid months."

  "It was not rancid. It was the best kimchi you ever tasted."

  "It tasted like pickled socks. Just thinking about it, I can still taste the stuff."

  "It was necessary. The beef poisons had to be purged from your fat body."

  "I almost died."

  "If you could not survive kimchi, you cannot survive being a Master in training."

  "And what about the time you threw me out of an airplane after sabotaging my parachute?"

  "If you cannot survive a minor fall, how could you survive doing the difficult work of the House?"

  "And now this Rite of Attainment crap."

  "If you cannot survive the rite, you can never be Reigning Master."

  "I don't want to be Reigning Master. I never did. I never wanted any of this. I just wanted to lead a normal freaking life. Can't you freaking understand that? I wish the hell I had never met you."

  Chiun opened his tiny mouth in shock. He seemed about to speak several times. Each time he checked himself.

  "I'm sorry, but that's the way it is," Remo said in a subdued tone. "Now you know."

  "I will make you a bargain, Remo Williams," Chiun said in a flinty tone. "Complete the rite, and I will help you find your lost father."

  "What about the cave I saw in my vision?"

  "It is tradition that when a Master achieves the rite, the Master who trained him retires and goes into seclusion. I will help you as long as the search involves no caves."

  Remo hesitated.

  "I am required by tradition to guide my pupil through the rite," Chiun added. "If it is your choice not to assume the title of Reigning Master, I cannot compel you to do otherwise."

  "You couldn't anyway."

  "It has never before happened that a pupil declined so sublime an honor, but if you insist upon being an ungrateful white, I will accept the shame and emptiness that follows."

  "What's the catch?"

  "There is none," Chiun said stiffly. "If at the end of the rite you prefer to go your own way and abandon the Master who lifted you up from whiteness and go off with the ingrate who abandoned you at birth, I will accept your selfish and inconsiderate decision."

  "Done," said Remo.

  "Then it is done," Chiun said, thin voiced.

  "All right," Remo said grudgingly. "What's next?"

  "You must capture the Girdle of the Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons."

  "They don't have amazons anymore."

  "We will consult the Oracle at Delphi for the location of the last surviving amazon, then."

  "Greece is out. I'm not going back to Greece."

  "Then we will consult Emperor Smith and his wise oracles."

  HAROLD W SMITH was surfing the Internet when the call came in on the blue contact telephone.

  "Smitty, Remo. Need your help."

  "What is it?"

  "Find us an amazon."

  "What do you mean, an amazon?"

  "Chiun caught up with me. Thanks to you. Says I gotta capture the girdle of the amazon queen. He says he'll accept any substitute your computers come up with."

  Smith frowned with his entire body. "One moment, please."

  Keying in the word amazon, Smith tapped the Search key on his keyboard. The search executed in a twinkling, and Smith read the words: Prime Time's Reigning Amazon: The Inside Story.

  "I do have a reasonable facsimile," he reported.

  "Good."

  "But I imagine you'd prefer a second choice," Smith continued.

  "No time. I have things to do and I'm in a hurry to get my labors behind me."

  "Very well."

  "One second, Smitty. Chiun wants to know where you got this name."

  "I am currently logged on to Delphi." Remo's voice got strange. "Delphi?"

  "Yes. It is an information service."

  Remo grunted and said, "I'm handing the
phone over to Chiun. He doesn't want me to know the amazon's name until it's time to grab her girdle."

  And when the Master of Sinanju came on the line, Harold Smith whispered the name. Chiun said, "It is an excellent choice. Your oracles are exceedingly farseeing."

  "It was entirely random."

  "It is wonderfully random," proclaimed the Master of Sinanju, hanging up.

  And with that, Harold Smith returned to trolling the net. There was no point in trying to intercede. Remo and Chiun would work things out between them. They always had. Why should this time be any different?

  Chapter 21

  Roxanne Roeg-Elephante was suffering. Oh, how she suffered. All her life, she had suffered.

  She suffered through a childhood filled with unspeakable abuse, which, once her ratings began to sag, she told America about on talk shows ranging from "Copra Inisfree" to "Vicki Loch."

  She suffered the affliction of multiple personalities, which America first heard about on "Nancy Jessica Rapunzel."

  She endured a double life as a stand-up comedienne and back seat hooker, which a shocked world first learned about on "Rotunda."

  She accused her own sister of attempting to lure her into a satanic cult on "Bil Tuckahoe."

  Every time she went on TV to reveal another slice of her sordid and painful past, ratings on her hit TV sitcom "Roxanne" shot up. And America reembraced her.

  What no one seemed to notice was that she only went on talk shows to reveal these intimate details during May and November. Both sweeps months.

  But now Roxanne Roeg-Elephante was really, truly, pitifully suffering.

  "Ooww!" she moaned, bellowing like a wounded cow as the six-inch needle penetrated her broad, naked backside. "That friggin' hurts."

  "You asked for it, Roxanne," a cool professional voice said.

  "I didn't ask for it to friggin' hurt, you quack!"

  "I'm your doctor. I would appreciate a little respect for my profession."

  "And I would appreciate a little respect for my problems."

  "Just a minute. I need to recharge this needle."

  "Make sure you dip it in alcohol. I don't wanna catch AIDS from one of my alters. I got enough problems trying to get myself knocked up."

  As the doctor returned to his black bag, Roxanne grabbed a gold-inlaid hand mirror and lifted it to her face. She examined herself critically. The bags under her eyes were still gone. She didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed. If the bags never came back, she got her money's worth. On the other hand, if just the tiniest puff showed, she could turn about and sue the bastard plastic surgeon who performed the operation. He had cost her a bundle, and although he'd done a good job, her latest husband had still run off with another woman.