In the back seat, Johnny Fungillo felt his stomach liquify. Even as the car backed up to turn, he was wishing they'd left a simple note.
Reflected on the back window pane of the accelerating car, lethal licking fingers of flame sought the cold second story of Castle Sinanju.
ONE MINUTE BEFORE Mikey Skunks lobbed his fatal soda can, Remo and Chiun were driving up the long road home.
"You're lucky they didn't call the cops," Remo was complaining.
In the passenger seat, Chiun's face was blandly innocent. "Is generosity now a crime?"
"It is when you try to tip the waitress with blue counterfeit bills."
"I fail to see the difference between my currency and the scraps of green you use," Chiun sniffed. "In fact, mine are superior, for as art they are worth much more than their face value. And by killing their creator, you have made them collector's items."
"You would've had a better time bartering with a six-pack of Billy Beer or an Action Comics number one, Little Father," Remo said. "Next time just leave the check to me."
The old Korean's face was a dark scowl of incomprehension. He was thinking unpleasant thoughts about what constituted art in the Western world when the first small rumble reached their car.
An explosion. Amplified to their highly tuned senses through the compressed air of the moving car's tires.
"You think the city's working on the roads this late at night?" Remo asked, puzzled.
Morose on the seat beside him, Chiun shook his bald head. "Do not ask me," he replied. "I am but a visitor to this backward land."
A succession of soft booms. All from a very specific direction. Behind the wheel, Remo began to feel the first soft knot of concern form deep in his belly.
He saw the reflection of orange flame on the snow-lined street before they'd even reached the corner.
"Oh, no," Remo said, his voice soft with shock. Beside him, the Master of Sinanju's weathered face flashed to instant horror.
"Our home!" the old man cried.
The entire first floor of the remodeled church was already ablaze. Flames threatened the second story. Remo squealed to a stop in front of the building. The Master of Sinanju shot from the front seat like a bullet from a chamber. Arms and legs pumping in furious unison, he attacked the main stairs. Remo sprang around the car, flying in his teacher's wake up the staircase.
"My possessions!" the old man cried.
The front door was closed. One sandaled foot sent it crackling into the foyer. A vicious wall of fire and impenetrable black smoke burst out into the chill night.
Remo ducked back from the flames.
The hallway beyond was completely engulfed. Walls, floor and ceiling formed a hellish path to the staircase. The stairs themselves crackled and burned.
Despite the inferno, the Master of Sinanju pulled in a deep breath.
Remo grabbed him by one bony arm.
"Are you nuts?" he yelled. "You can't go in there!"
"Unhand me!" Chiun shrieked in a voice that was not his own. The old man twisted and pulled, slipping from Remo's grip. Before the younger man could stop him, he'd bounded through the door.
Across the wall of flame, Remo could see the wizened Asian leaping from one burning stair to the next. In a heartbeat, he was gone.
Remo was about to go in after him when he heard the sound of a car door slamming out beside the building. It was followed by a squeal of tires.
Twisting from the burning doorway, Remo sprang down the stairs like a demented grasshopper. He was running before his loafers brushed the icy sidewalk.
Legs pumping in perfect, furious rhythm, he ate up the distance between front and side of the building just in time to see the car speeding across the parking lot.
He was shocked to see a familiar face in the back seat.
Johnny Fungillo was slouched in the shadows, a half-dollar-size bruise decorating his forehead. Sinanju had long ago trained Remo away from anger. Yet in that moment it was not even simple anger, but pure unbridled rage that descended like a pouncing primal thing on Remo Williams.
It came fast and furious. Exploding in heart and mind.
Propelled by rage, Remo flew at the car.
It was racing out into the street. He'd intercept it easily. Make Johnny Fungillo pay.
Running. The car twenty feet away. Ten.
A sudden voice behind him. High. Frantic in the crystalline night air.
"Remo!" Stopping, spinning.
Chiun was framed in an upper-story window, small and frail against the burning backdrop. "Help me!" he pleaded. He flapped his kimono sleeves at the smoke that was curling up from the lower story.
Remo hesitated. Behind him, the car bounced over the sidewalk and out into the street, speeding away. Fungillo hadn't even seen him.
He could still catch them. Even with the vehicle driving full out, he could outpace the rapidly accelerating car.
But he couldn't abandon Chiun. Ever.
Remo let the men who'd set fire to his home go. He flew back across the parking lot. Sliding to a stop beneath the open window, he threw out his arms.
"Jump, Little Father!" Remo yelled up through the roar of flames. "I got you!"
A scowl formed on the old man's soot-streaked face. "Don't be stupid!" Chiun snapped down through the choking smoke.
The old Korean's head disappeared back inside the upper-story window. A moment later, Remo saw the sharp contours of a steamer trunk peek like a timid child over the windowsill.
It didn't linger on the window ledge for long. As soon as it had cleared the frame, the trunk rocketed downward at a speed far greater than the simple pull of gravity. When it reached his level, Remo reached out and snagged the trunk from the air as easily as if he were picking a ripe plum from a tree. He set it on the ground.
Chiun hadn't been in trouble. The Master of Sinanju only wanted Remo to stand below the window and catch every one of his fourteen lacquered steamer trunks.
Chiun's worried face appeared once more. Some relief came when he saw the trunk on the asphalt at Remo's feet.
"This is why you stopped me?" Remo snarled. In the distance came the first sound of fire trucks.