Hopping up, Remo snagged the open mouth of the trapdoor with both hands and slid his thin frame easily through the narrow opening. In a flash, he was on the roof. The grimy dark walls of the elevator shaft were close.
They were already closing in on the eighth floor. "Get the lead out, Little Father," he called down into the car.
"Do not rush me," Chiun complained.
Through the opening, Remo saw the old Korean carefully gathering up the hems of his purple kimono into a tight ball.
They were approaching the sixth floor.
In the elevator car, Chiun's exposed ankles tensed. The instant they did, it seemed as if he were locked in place as the elevator continued to descend. The hole closed down around him. For a moment, as the trapdoor slid down around his shoulders, his flowing robes made him look like a wrinkled jack-in-the-box. A second later, he cleared the door and joined Remo on the roof of the car.
"What now?" the Master of Sinanju asked, releasing his bunched kimono.
"We make like all of Wylander Jugg's highschool blind dates and jump for the nearest available door," Remo replied.
They were passing the second-floor doors. Remo's feet left the roof of the car. Chiun's sandals hopped away a split second after his pupil. They landed simultaneously on the narrow ledge before the closed doors.
Behind them, the empty car continued its descent. Even as it was stopping one floor below them, Remo and Chiun were prying open the second-floor doors. They stepped out into the corridor. As they did so, shouted voices began echoing up from the depths of the elevator shaft.
They quickly found a fire exit. Before the police figured out what had happened, they'd taken the stairs down to the street. As sirens of the first backup police cruisers rose over the snarl of Wall Street traffic, they were walking briskly away from the Lippincott, Forsythe, Butler building.
The two Masters of Sinanju melted in with the foot traffic near Trinity Church.
"I suppose this means we hit a dead end with Larry Fine," Remo commented as they strolled down the street.
Chiun shook his head. "Our trip was not wasted," he replied. "In spite of your best efforts to make it so."
Remo raised a curious eyebrow. "Why? You get a chance to sneak a peek at the body before the fireworks started?"
The Master of Sinanju nodded. "And?" Remo pressed.
As they walked, Chiun stroked his thread of beard thoughtfully. "In days gone by, it was common for emperors to slay the builders of their palaces to keep secret any hidden treasure rooms or escape passages."
"I know that," Remo frowned. "Why, was there a secret passage back there?"
When he craned his neck back to see the LFB building, he found it hopelessly out of sight. Beside him, Chiun's impatience at his pupil's persistent obtuseness manifested itself with a weary drooping of his bald head. With a single delicate nail against Remo's chin, he guided the younger man's gaze away from the vanished LFB building. "Please, Remo, make an attempt to focus your thoughts." The Master of Sinanju sighed. "If not for your sake, for the sake of our village. Smith's dead stooge built a house of finance," the old man explained. "He was removed because his services were no longer required by the Romans."
Remo blinked. "Romans?"
"Or whatever ugly name they go by now," Chiun waved dismissively.
The notch in Remo's brow deepened. "Larry Fine probably wasn't Italian, Little Father," he said slowly.
"That would not prevent him from working for Nero's sons," Chiun said. "If you need further proof, when did the constables begin shooting at you?"
"After I told that ditzy woman my name," Remo said.
"Which is a Roman name," Chiun stressed. "She probably took one look at you and mistook you for one of them." He dropped his voice low. "Given the mongrel soup out of which you flopped, I really cannot blame her for her error, Remo. In the right light, you can pass for nearly everything that walks, crawls or swings by its tail from a banana tree."
"Don't knock my roots," Remo warned thinly. "When I shook my family tree, a Master of Sinanju fell out."
Chiun couldn't argue with that. He therefore ignored it. "The woman feared the Romans because she knew the stooge was in league with them," he said.
"So how do you know?"
Chiun raised himself to his full height. "The smell of death is strong," he intoned. "The smell of boiled tomatoes, even stronger. At least two mashed-tomato eaters were involved in this killing."
"Even if you're right, I don't know that it means anything," Remo said. "I'll give Smitty a call and let him know what happened to Fine."
"Be sure to tell the emperor to direct his oracles to search for those of Roman descent," Chiun instructed.
"I'll tell him your theory," Remo agreed. "But his computers look for criminal stuff, not people's ancestry. Unless they're in the Mob or something, we've hit a dead end. Of course, I'm keeping a good thought that maybe these guys who are following us can tell us."
He'd sensed the two sets of eyes focused on his back almost since they'd left the LFB building. As he spoke, the car that had been slowly following them through the Wall Street traffic screeched to a stop.
Two men were springing from the front seat when Remo and Chiun turned. They wore fatigue pants, camouflage jackets and heavy boots. Black ski masks obscured all but their eyes and mouths.
"We need one of them alive, Little Father," Remo said.
"Do whatever you wish," Chiun sniffed. "They are interested in you, not me."
It was true. All their attention appeared to be focused entirely on Remo.
At the front of their car, both men drew long knives from their jackets. Bringing their hands back expertly to their shoulders, they swept their arms downward. With twin hums, the knives sailed at Remo's chest.
He caught one blade with a broad sidestroke, batting it harmlessly to the sidewalk. The second he smacked sharply by the handle, twisting it in midair. The knife had not fully stopped flying in one direction before a firm nudge from Remo sent it zipping back from whence it had come.
The blade buried itself deep in the nearer man's face. His mask seemed to sprout an extralong snout, and he dropped to the sidewalk, dead.
A frightened shudder rose palpably among the throng of pedestrians. Remo ignored the scattering crowd, moving directly for the second masked man.
When he saw Remo coming at him, the second man's eyes went wide inside his ski mask. He had apparently thought two knives would do the trick, for as he searched his khaki jacket for another weapon he came up empty.
There was only one thing left for him to do. Turning, the man flung himself onto his belly out in the street. He skidded directly under the wheels of a passing New York Transit Authority bus. His body made a sickening crunching sound before being dragged up into the slush-encased wheel well of the big bus.
"So much for getting answers from them," Remo grumbled as the bus rolled to a ponderous, squeaking stop.
He hurried back to where his first attacker had fallen. Chiun stood above the body.
"I do not recognize this symbol," the old man said when Remo stopped beside him. He pointed to the dead man's coat.
There was a simple white button pinned to his chest. On it, what looked like a pair of wavy black parentheses enclosed a plain black oval. Remo pulled it loose.
"Me, either," he said. "But we better let Smitty know we've made some new friends." He pocketed the button.
As a crowd began to form around the two fallen bodies, the two Masters of Sinanju melted back into the crush of onlookers. They were long gone before the fresh sound of sirens rose in the cold city air.