"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?"