Dangerous Games td-40

by Warren Murphy

  "Gorilla. Biggest gorilla in the world. Somebody got him riled and he snapped the cage door. He's going crazy. Lemme go. I gotta call for tranquilizer guns, buddy. Lemme go."

  "Which way to the gorilla cage?" Chiun asked.

  "Straight ahead," the guard said. "C'mon, lemme go."

  Remo released the man's shoulder and the guard fled.

  "We'd better leave," Smith said.

  "Nonsense," said Chiun. "We will go to the gorilla. This will not really show you how fast Remo can run, but it may restore your faith in him, even if he is white, God help him, present company ex-cepted. Come."

  Chiun walked toward the cage. Smith looked at Remo, who shrugged and followed Chiun. And because he could think of no place safer, Smith walked after them.

  When they reached the area of the gorilla cage, the zoo was practically empty, and Brian was calming down. If he could be kept there, away from the main walkways of the zoo, it should not be too difficult for zoo guards with tranquilizer guns to recapture him.

  Chiun had other ideas.

  "There he is," Smith hissed.

  "It's all right," Remo said. "You can talk up. Gorillas don't know you're talking about them."

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  "Listen to Remo, Emperor. He knows about gorillas. And Monkeys."

  Brian was seven feet tall and weighed more than 500 pounds. He was standing near his cage, scratching his head, looking around. When he saw the three men approaching, he jumped up and down, roared, and beat on his chest. Then he started toward them.

  "We'd better leave here," Smith advised again.

  "No need," said Chiun. "Remo will put the beast back in his cage."

  "Why me?" Remo asked. "Why not you?"

  "It is true," Chiun said, "that I have much more experience dealing with an ape, considering what I have had to endure in the last ten years, but I have no need to impress the emperor. You show him what you can do."

  Remo sighed. Arguing with Chiun was a waste of time. It would be easier to put the damn gorilla back where he belonged.

  "He's getting closer," Smith said. "I'd appreciate it if you fellows would agree on who was going to do what, or else let us get out of here."

  "Easy does it, Smitty. Animals sense when you get nervous and it makes them mean," said Remo.

  "I'll take your word for it," Smith said. "Let's go."

  "The demonstration is set," Chiun said imperiously. He folded his arms and looked inscrutable.

  "I'll put hun back," Remo said.

  "And do not hurt him," Chiun said. "He might be a relative."

  The gorilla was almost on them now, so Remo took a large step forward, ducked inside the beast's swinging arms, put a hand on the massive hard chest and pushed.

  Brian staggered back several feet, a look of cartoon surprise on his face. He did not understand what had happened and the noises this creature was making at hun.

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  Smith didn't understand Remo's noises either.

  "I am Everyman," Remo announced to Brian, "and I order you back to your cage."

  "What is he talking about?" Smith asked Chiun.

  "Merely talking to confuse the beast," Chiun answered, but he was frowning. Remo was playing games again. It was getting to be a habit and it could be a dangerous habit. Even gorillas could be dangerous if one's mind were not on one's work.

  "Back," Remo ordered again but Brian lurched forward. Remo again ducked under the groping arms of the beast. He clamped bis hand on the back of the gorilla's left thigh, found the muscle he wanted and squeezed. Brian fell to his knee, his left leg unable to hold his weight.

  Using his left arm in place of a leg, Brian came forward again, grabbing for Remo with his right hand. Remo put up his own right hand and he and the gorilla clasped hands, making one fist of the two. Brian's hand dwarfed Remo's, but as Smith watched in disbelief, Remo began to exert pressure and the gorilla leaned backwards and finally dropped to both his knees.

  "I don't believe this," Smith said. He looked anxiously around to see if anyone else was watching, but he saw no one. He was afraid that any moment now there would be news photographers and television crews and questions and interviews and the end of CURE, because that would be the result of going public.

  "You must believe what you see," Chiun told Smith. But Smith did not hear him. He watched in wonder instead, as Remo picked up the 500-pound ape, tossed him over his shoulder, and carried him back to bis cage. Remo gently lowered Brian to the floor of the cage, patted him on the head like a tame dog, and walked out. He left the door open behind

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  Mm but that did not matter. Brian had no more inclination to play.

  "Satisfied?" Remo asked.

  "Eminently," Smith said. "Let's go."

  "I am not," said Chiun. "You took too long. You did not have to humiliate the poor beast." Chiun turned to Smith and bowed. "I apologize to you, O Emperor, for the sloppiness of the demonstration. He will improve."

  "It's all right," Smith said.

  "Are you sure?" Remo asked Smith. "You know, we could let a tiger out or something and try again."

  "Let us just leave," Smith said.

  "All right. Our car's just over there in that lot," Remo said.

  "No car for you, meat-eater," Chiun said. "You are in training. You will run behind the vehicle."

  As they strolled away, four guards with tranquhzer rifles ran up and stopped. Among them was the guard Remo had talked to earlier.

  "Well, where's Brian?" one asked.

  "He was here," the guard said. "I swear. Hey, Mac. You see the gorilla?"

  "Sure," Remo said. "He's in his cage. But you better fix that door. He might get out."

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  CHAPTER FIVE

  The seven runners on the luxurious, multimillion-dollar running track at Emerson College in Boston were wearing, among them, a total of $840 in running shoes with special air-lite paper-thin uppers and all-surface, all-weather Tiger-Paw spikes for better traction, and $700 of running clothes, including skintight shorts and tank-top shirts, aerodynamically designed to cut wind resistance in an amount that the manufacturer said might improve performance by as much as one tenth of one percent. In a mile race of 230 seconds, this could mean a faster speed of 23 hundredths of a second, and that might be the difference between so-so and a world's record.

  And then there was Remo Black, the newcomer. Nobody had heard much about him, except that he had won pre-Olympic elimination races in Seattle, Portland, and Denver. He walked onto the track last. He was wearing black chinos and soft hand-made black Italian loafers. He wore a black cotton t-shirt with printing on the front. The shirt's legend read: I AM A VIRGIN.

  Under that in much smaller type, the legend continued: "This is a very old t-shirt."

  He had his wallet in his left rear pocket.

  "He's got his wallet in his back pocket," said Vincent Josephs. "You see that? He's got his wallet in his back pocket. And the sucker's wearing chinos.

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  And loafers. This frigging hoople's wearing loafers. Is that what you brought me up here to see?"

  He turned in his seat in the stands and looked through his Gucci semi-tint glasses with the wraparound frames and the easy-ride earpiece at the man sitting next to him. Wally Mills was a track coach who had had three athletes competing in the preliminary Olympic trials in the 800-meter event. But as he had told his wife, "They couldn't beat me," and they had fallen by the wayside early. But he had seen Remo Black run twice, and so he had gotten hold of Vincent Josephs.

  "That's part of his charm," Mills told Josephs. "I'm telling you this guy is not to be believed. Last week, in Portland, he ran away from the field like they was standing still. A new world's record, he coulda had. He was running like in a daze, and then, I swear to God to you, he slowed down and let them catch up and he just trotted along and finished second."

  "So what? He ran out of gas," Josephs said.

  Mills shook his head. "Like in horse racing, Mr. Jos
ephs, he was full of run at the end. I had the glasses on him and he deliberately let everybody catch up. It was like he suddenly realized he was going to set a record and he didn't want to."

  "All right," Josephs said. "So he's fast. That makes him a fast kook. Look at that t-shirt. That's like wearing a sail. And the guy's old. What's he doing with these kids? He's gonna have a frigging coronary. I'm just glad we ain't got him signed up by now."

  "I swear to you, Mr. Josephs, this guy isn't even out of breath at the end of a race. He doesn't even walk around to catch his breath. These twenty-year-olds are all huffing and puffing and gasping and choking and he goes over and sits down and he looks

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  like he just woke up from a nap. So that's why I called you. I figured with you representing great athletes and all, this Remo Black might be a real dark horse for you."

  Josephs was not convinced. "I'll watch him," he said. "Who's the chink?"

  Mills said, "Korean, I think."

  "What I said, a chink. Who's he?"

  "He's this Remo's trainer or something. He's always around."

  "A chink." Josephs shook his head in exasperation. "Mills, why are you wasting my frigging time on these people?"

  "Watch him run," Mills said.

  "I guess I got no choice," Josephs said, folding his arms and turning away. "But I think you ought to know that I got seven basketball contracts to negotiate and I'm working on a big deal for that dippy little gymnastic kid that everybody goes la-de-da about."

  "But you ain't got a world champion," Mills said. "This guy could be one."

  "Yeah, sure," Josephs said, but he decided to pay attention because Wally Mills was a good track coach and the truth was that the seven basketball players he represented, working together for a week, couldn't drop a basketball into an open manhole, and his deal for the little girl gymnast required him to figure out a way to make a pre-menstrual twelve-year-old look believable endorsing a special line of super-safe sanitary napkins, and the little broad was so dumb, it'd be another twelve years before she figured out what sanitary napkins were for.

  Mills was right. He needed a world champion. A Mark Spitz. A Bruce Tenner. Somebody worth something, so he could package Mm right into that great golden tomorrow of cornflakes and mustache wax and men's clothes and you-name-it, all at a mere ten percent, sign here, kid, you'll never regret it.

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  He needed a world champion and hadn't been offered anything better than some middle-aged guy with chinos and an I-am-a-virgin t-shirt.

  He would watch and see. They were all pieces of meat and maybe this piece of meat could run. If he finished in the top three and made the Olympic team, well, maybe, just maybe America was ready for a flake. What was the name of that guy who did the high jumping in the Donald Duck shirt? Everybody seemed to like him. Maybe this could be the same kind of find. Of course, he'd have to figure out a way to cut out Wally Mills and the chink, but if he waved enough promises under this Remo's nose, he shouldn't have any trouble getting him to come along.

  To hell with it. The thing to do was to sit back and watch the race and see what happened.

  Down on the field, Chiun was giving Remo his usual pre-race instructions.

  "Remember, do not run too fast."

  "I know, Chiun."

  "Yes, I know you know, but it doesn't hurt to remind you. Last week, you almost set a world's record. That was dangerous. If I hadn't thrown that pebble at you to get your attention, who knows what foolishness you might have committed? Now, just run well enough to make the team. The Olympics. That is where world's records shall fall before us like grass before the honed blade."

  "Yes, Little Father," Remo said. The truth was, and he didn't want to tell it to Chiun, that he was beginning to enjoy running fast. That was why he had gotten carried away the week before and almost run at high speed. It took a pebble thrown by Chiun, hitting Mm right behind the ear, to wake him up. But he had decided against telling Chiun that he was beginning to enjoy the competition because Chiun was suspicious of anything that Remo enjoyed doing.

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  Better to let him think that Remo was still doing this only from a sense of duty.

  "Hey. Old man."

  Remo did not turn around. He looked down at his loafers to make sure the soles didn't have holes in them because no matter how much money he paid for his hand-made Italian shoes, they weren't designed for running. Maybe when he went to the Olympics, he would buy a pair of sneakers. Maybe he would buy them before he went to Moscow. In Moscow, he had heard the shoe factories spent one year making size eights and the next year size nines and so on. This might be their year for making a size that wasn't Remo's and he might not be able to get sneakers. He would buy them before going to Moscow.

  "Hey, old man," the voice came again. "You with the loafers."

  Remo turned around to see a tall twenty-year-old with muscular legs, blond hair, and a mocking smile staring at him.

  "What are you dressed up for, Pops? A masquerade party?"

  "Are you talking to me?" Remo asked.

  "Who else?"

  "I thought you were talking to him," Remo said, nodding toward Chiun.

  "He said 'old man'," Chiun said. "What does that have to do with me?"

  "Never mind," Remo said. He turned back to the blond. "Just what is it you want?"

  "What I want is to know what you think you're doing here running with us? You looking for a coronary? And who is this guy?" He looked at Chiun. "Hey, Fu Manchu. What is it you do?"

  The blond began to laugh uproariously at his own rhymed wit. He trotted up and down in place, to keep his muscles warm. Chiun stepped over to him

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  and placed one of his slippered feet on the young man's right foot.

  He stopped trotting. It felt as if his foot had been instantly and totally nailed to the ground.

  "Hey," he yelled. "Cut that out."

  "Young bassoon," Chiun said, "your spirit is about to be broken. Remember this. No matter how fast you run, Remo here will always be one step ahead of you. One step. You will never to be able to pass him, no matter how hard you try, no matter how fast you run. This is a promise the Master of Sinanju makes to you for your insolence."

  Chiun stepped off the blond's foot and the man stared at him, confused, wondering how somebody so small could weigh so much when he stepped on a foot.

  "Don't worry," the blond said. "Your guy's going to eat my dust."

  "Always one step behind, loudmouth," Chiun reminded him, holding up one finger topped with a long curved nail.

  When he stepped back to Remo, he was asked, "Why didn't you just smack him in the mouth, Chiun?"

  "I would have," Chiun said, "but I don't know the stupid rules for this stupid race. Maybe if this clod doesn't run, there are not enough people or something and we would have to do this all over. I thought it better to do what I did."

  "Well, I don't mind you making promises that I have to keep, Chiun, but I think you'd better hope for one thing."

  "Which is?"

  "That this blond lump runs at least fourth. 'Cause if you want me to stay just one step in front of him and he's at the back of the pack, I'm out of the Olympics. There goes all your endorsement money, not to mention Smitty getting sore."

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  Chiun waved his hand airily. "You just make sure he doesn't run worse than fourth place. It will give you something to do. Now, get over there with the others because I don't think they will let you start the race from a sitting position here on the bench."

  The seven other runners took their places in the starting block. Remo just stood up in lane five, his hands in his pockets, waiting for the gun. The blond was in lane three and Remo decided that as soon as the gun sounded, he would hook up with the guy and keep one step ahead of him all the way. He'd worry about the end of the race when he got to it.

  The gun crackled in the thin Boston air and the runners sprinted off. Remo moved up alongside the blond, then moved on
e step ahead of him. They were running fifth and sixth, while one of the runners cut a blistering pace in first place. The race was two laps around the track and a little extra, and halfway through the first lap, the blond grunted to Remo, "Let's see how good you are, Gramps." He increased his speed, intending to zip by Remo, but Remo kept one step ahead of him, running easily. He felt cinders off the track kick up against his chinoed legs and the breeze in his face was cool and sweet. He liked running, he decided.

  As they finished the first lap, the pacesetter began to tire. Remo and his blond shadow moved up and were now running third and fourth. They held that position until they were halfway around the track in the final lap. The blond grunted again, "Time to let it all hang out. See you, Pops."

  He went into a kick, lengthened his stride and stepped up the speed of his step. Remo responded by finally taking his hands out of his pockets, and the blond saw Remo, still there, still one step ahead of him. He pushed harder but he could not make up that one step. Two runners passed them. Remo could

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  hear the blond's breath begin to come in short, sharp little bursts.

  Now what would he do if this bumpkin quit cold on him? They were coming around the final turn now for the backstretch. Remo closed the few inches that separated them and clamped his right hand on the blond man's left wrist, then began to run faster, pulling the other man with him. They had faded to fifth and sixth and Remo, with the blond now hi tow, stepped up his speed. As they neared the finish line, he kicked in the afterburners, moving up into third place and towing the collapsing blond along into fourth. As they crossed the line, Remo let go of the younger man's wrist and the blond, who had not controlled his own forward motions for the last 100 yards, went sprawling forward on his face, tumbling forward, rolling over until he came to a stop. He lay there, unable to move, trying to catch his breath. His legs felt leaden; his lungs sucked acid and exhaled fire.

  He saw Remo standing over him, no expression on his sharply angled face, not breathing hard, not even sweating.

  He closed his eyes to blot out the sight of Remo's face, but he heard Remo's voice say: "Nice race, junior. I guess I'm just one step better than you."

  Remo strolled back to the bench on the infield where he found Chiun frowning at him.