"He locked you in a cell?" the pilot demanded.
"That cell had cable TV and a door that locked from the inside. He could have escaped a hundred times."
"My hands were too feeble to work the door handles," Chiun said weakly. "He even forced me to eat carp when I wanted trout."
"You poor, poor dear," the woman said. She patted Chiun's hand. The Master of Sinanju nodded morose appreciation at the small kindness.
"Quit it, will you, Chiun?" Remo snapped.
"Leave him alone, you tyrant," the woman barked.
"I've seen enough," the pilot said. "The authorities are going to want to question you when we land, sir."
"Oh, come on," Remo said. "I didn't do anything."
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
"Look what you did," Remo groused at Chiun.
"Can't you lock him away somewhere for the rest of the flight?" the plump woman whispered loudly to the pilot. "He seems unbalanced."
"I'll give you unbalanced, Aunt Bee," Remo snapped.
Quick as a flash, two hard fingers shot into the woman's doughy wattle, pressing into her throat. False eyelashes flickered, and the woman suddenly could not refuse the urge to sleep. Her head slumped forward.
"Peace and quiet. All I ever want," Remo complained.
As the woman began snoring, the pilot tried to flee. Remo grabbed him by his dangling tie and reeled him in.
"They need you to land this thing?" The pilot shook his head.
"In that case, nighty-night."
Remo sent the pilot to slumberland. He dumped the pilot's face in the lap of the sleeping woman, then called over a flight attendant.
"Oh, my God!" the woman exclaimed. "What happened?"
"Beats me," Remo said.
"He did it," Chiun said.
"Put a sock in it, will you?" Remo said. "When's the in-flight movie start?" he asked the stewardess. The bodies were quickly cleared away. While the cleanup was going on, there was a lot of whispering Remo didn't like the sound of.
When the plane reached La Guardia twenty minutes later and was immediately cleared for landing, Remo knew he was in trouble. There were police on the ground. Remo saw them out the window.
"This is all your fault," he groused, unbuckling his seat belt.
"Of course," Chiun said. "Blame the innocent, defend the guilty. The very underpinnings of white culture."
"Shake a leg, Johnnie Cochran," Remo insisted. He hurried up the aisle. The Master of Sinanju followed.
They found the flight crew hiding out in the galley. The crew was dismayed at Remo's appearance through the curtain.
"Please return to your seats," a flight attendant commanded.
"Believe me, I'd like to. No rest for the weary." Remo stuffed the man in the rest room. When others protested, he stuffed them in, too.
"You missed one," Chiun pointed out blandly as the navigator tried to flee.
"Thanks a heap," Remo said, collaring the man. There was no room left in the bathroom. He jammed the man in a cupboard.
By the time the plane rolled to a stop, Remo had locked away pretty much everyone but the copilot. "Great thinking for you to start this stuff up again now," Remo complained as he shoved a few loose arms and legs into a particularly cramped closet. "Calling attention to us on a plane flying in to New York. Smitty's gonna love this."
"I did nothing but make a friend," Chiun sniffed. "You introduced violence. That is your way. Violent and hostile. You should enroll in one of those classes that teaches people like you how to manage your anger."
"Take my word for it, I'm managing it."
All potential witnesses were now safely locked away. The passengers were still oblivious.
The plane had reached a dead stop by now. The police would rush inside the instant the door was opened.
In the middle of the galley, Remo banged the floor with the heel of his shoe. When he found the sweet spot, he hopped into the air, landing hard on both heels. The welded steel plate beneath the carpet broke loose, rising like a teeter-totter and tearing up a long strip of rug.
"You coming?" Remo asked as he slipped down into the newly made trapdoor.
Chiun frowned. "Will the indignities never cease?"
The two Masters of Sinanju disappeared through the narrow opening. Through the belly of the plane, they made their way to the aft cargo hold.
As SWAT teams stormed the plane above, Remo was standing on an American Tourister suitcase and kicking open the big cargo door. The two men jumped to the ground.
"Welcome to New York," Remo muttered.
A moment later they had vanished amid the growing confusion.
Chapter 6
By midmorning word of the bizarre murders had spread like prairie fire through lower Manhattan. In a city now conditioned for particular types of attack, this was something new.
New York was a target of terror and the home of murder, rape, drive-by shootings, gang wars, pimps, whores, drug dealers and all of the seven deadly sins, plus a million more unknown to theologians. But the one fear New Yorkers had never been prepared for was wholesale cannibalism in Manhattan's steel-and-glass canyons.
So far, more than two hundred people had been affected. As many as that and more were dead. Since the killers seemed to not be in control of their own actions, police had been ordered to use guns as a last resort. The NYPD was armed with Tasers and animal tranquilizers.
Bronx Zoo officials had been brought in as advisers on the capture of the most dangerous of prey: animals with the capacity of human thought.
Although civilian authorities were doing their best to deal with the situation, there was no clue yet as to the cause. By late morning the number of attacks continued to increase with no explanation in sight.