Delpha turned over another card. "Their intent is unclear. This may be only a sign of their coming in force. Or perhaps Baphomet merely intends to claim one of his own."
"Baphomet?"
"The Great Horned One. The Lord of Death."
"That anything like the devil?"
"Baphomet is the All-Satan. He is also known as Lucifer, Shaitan, and Beliel. There is no doubt that Randal Rumpp has sold his soul for gold, and Baphomet has come to claim it."
"You can tell all that by playing Go Fish?" Remo asked.
"The Tarot does not lie."
"It doesn't even whisper. And I'm still waiting to hear what happened to the Rumpp Tower."
Delpha Rohmer looked up from her cards. She regarded Remo's strong, skeptical face with its prominent cheekbones.
"People who go in, do not emerge," she whispered. "And those who attempt to flee its enscorcelled confines fall through the earth."
"I heard that. Yeah," Remo said vaguely.
"But if Ishtar is with me, I may be able to undo his black sorcery."
"Sort of fighting fire with fire?"
"I am a white witch!" Delpha Rohmer said indignantly.
"Then why are you tricked out like Morticia Addams' third cousin, Moronica?"
"White lace yellows like crazy," said Delpha Rohmer flatly.
At that, Remo grabbed a passing stewardess in clown face.
"Any empty seats back in coach?"
"Yes. Is something wrong, sir?"
"I have this urge to sit with people who come from the same planet as me," Remo explained, without a hint of humor.
The stewardess looked momentarily blank. Remo jerked a surreptitious thumb in the direction of his spidery seatmate. The stewardess nodded. "I'm sure I can fix you up, sir."
"It's been ooky," Remo told Delpha, as he vacated his seat.
"We are destined to meet again," said Delpha Rohmer in a sepulchral voice.
"Not if I see you first."
"You cannot escape your destiny, mortal man."
"Maybe not. But I can hightail it back into coach. Regards to Margaret Hamilton."
"A pox on you."
Remo settled into a seat over the wing. After the luxury of First Class, it felt like a baby's high chair. But at least the woman seated next to him wasn't wearing cobra-green eyeshadow.
The descent of the 727-it was one of the former Rumpp Shuttle fleet, now taken over by another carrier-brought it over Manhattan.
Curious, Remo tried to see past his seatmate, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Rumpp Tower-and maybe a hint of what all the trouble was about.
The pilot's voice came over the ceiling speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the saw-toothed skyscraper over to our right is the fantastic architectural triumph known as the Rumpp Tower. Most of you have heard the reports of what's going on down there. And if any of you understand it, let us know," he added with a dry chuckle.
A hush fell over the aisle. Then the buzz of conversation rose anew, more animated than before.
Remo attuned his hearing and began separating out snatches that interested him.
"There it is!"
"They say over six hundred people are trapped inside."
"Do you think they'll condemn it?"
"How? They can't even touch it!"
The 727 banked, and the tower suddenly appeared framed in Remo's window. Under the rays of the setting sun, it was a thing of golden panels and monumental ego. Remo thought it resembled a set of high-tech disposable razor heads welded together. It was smaller than he had expected.
"Incredible," the woman seated next to him murmured.
"Excuse me," Remo said politely. "I've been out of touch. What happened to the tower?"
The woman turned, blinked, and said, "Why, it's disappeared."
It was Remo's turn to blink. He pointed out the window at the unmistakable shape of the Rumpp Tower.
"But it's right there. In plain sight."
"Yes," the woman said dreamily. "Incredible, isn't it?"
"Excuse me," Remo said, slipping from his seat. He found another vacancy, thinking that all the loons come out on Halloween night.
There was a serious-faced businessman in the seat next to Remo. He looked normal, so Remo asked, "Hear what happened to the Rumpp Tower?"
"Of course. Chilling."
"Then clue me in. All I hear is rumors."