Remo Williams finished hiding his bear suit under the passenger seat of his car and got out. He walked toward the Nostrum Building, a mass of computer printouts clutched in his hand.
The lobby was calm when he entered. But when an elevator opened, it spilled terrified Nostrum workers, who fought and clawed at one another to escape the cage.
Remo grabbed one by the suspenders and demanded, "What the hell is going on?"
"We're getting murdered!" he said, tearing free.
Remo dropped the suspenders and called after him, "Maybe it's only a correction."
He shrugged, and took the elevator. He was anxious to show Chiun what he had found at Looncraft's office.
Two floors below the Nostrum office suite, the tang of gunsmoke infiltrated the elevator. Remo dropped to one knee and got ready, in case the doors opened on an ambush.
He was unprepared for being knocked off his feet by a torrent of stampeding Nostrum workers.
"What's going on?" he shouted as the doors closed and the cage sank.
"Massacre!" several voices wailed at once. One of them he recognized. Pushing his way toward it, he took Faith Davenport by the arm.
"What's happened?" Then Remo noticed the blood on his clutching hand. It was coming from Faith's torn sleeve.
"Machine guns," Faith gulped between breaths. "It was horrible. They're killing traders for no reason."
"What about Chiun?" Remo asked urgently as the car opened on the lobby.
"He's fighting them. Oh, poor chief!"
Just then a shattering of glass came from outside the building.
A scarlet figure struck the sidewalk with bone-pulverizing force. For a heartbeat of fear, Remo thought it was Chiun dressed in a scarlet kimono. But then he remembered that Chiun had worn emerald this morning.
Remo rushed out to the sidewalk, stopped, and turned the body over so he could see its face. There was no face to speak of-just a red ruin. It almost matched the long red coat with its regimental facings and large silver buttons.
Then a white-powdered wig plopped on the face, covering it.
"That's one of them," Faith said, cupping her mouth in her hands.
"One of what? He looks like an extra in a historical movie. "
"One of the killers. They kept calling us 'traders' like it was a dirty word."
Remo reacted to the first concussion before the sound of the exploding window glass warned that another costumed killer was on his way down. He hustled Faith back into the lobby. The second body landed beside the first, but Remo didn't wait to see it hit. He flashed inside an elevator, stabbing the eighth-floor button impatiently and saying, "Come on! Come on!"
This time he heard gunfire on the way up. It was sporadic.
Remo charged out of the elevator without regard for his own safety. His eyes were wide, taking in everything. Time seemed to slow down, but he was moving like a flash of light up the corridor, every sense attuned to his surroundings.
Two red-coated gunmen suddenly came in his direction. They were marching backward, shoulder to shoulder, their pistols making short spiteful sounds at whatever they were in retreat from.
Remo skidded to a stop and let them come to him.
"Curse you, ye heathen wog!" one of them spat. He wore gold epaulets on his shoulders.
Remo waited until he was almost on him before he tapped him on the epaulet. The man whirled as if electrified, his lips peeled back to expose snarling teeth.
Remo broke every tooth in his mouth with a quick upward stroke of his hand. The officer dropped his machine pistol and grabbed his throat. He began vomiting teeth. Remo left him to that and shattered the other man's kneecaps with two rapid-fire kicks.
He swept past them and into the trading room.
There the Master of Sinanju had another gunman by the throat. The man was on his knees, so he and Chiun were eye-to-eye. Chiun was leaning into his stranglehold and the man's face was purpling like an animated bruise.
"I got two," Remo called, looking around the room. He saw bodies. More red coats. But several bloody Nostrum employees too.
Chiun looked up from his work. "Do any of them live?"
"Who?"
"The vicious ones."
"Yeah, I didn't waste them."
"Then we do not need this dog," Chiun said, snapping the struggling man's neck with a quick sideways motion. Chiun kicked the twitching corpse away.
Remo went among the wounded, feeling for pulses. He found few. From outside came the whine of approaching sirens.
"That's probably the police," Remo said quickly. " I can't stick around. My face would end up on every newscast from here to Alaska."
"There is time yet," Chiun returned. "We must learn who these savages are."
Remo followed Chiun out to the corridor, where the officer had finished emptying the contents of his stomach onto the rug. He whimpered as he tried to pick his teeth out from a sour puddle of cream-of-asparagus soup.
The other man was moaning as he clutched his shattered knees. Chiun stepped on his throat on his way to the other one. His windpipe collapsed without a sound. So did he.
Remo pulled the red-coated officer to his knees.
"Unless you want your brains to join your lunch," Remo said fiercely, "you're going to tell us who sent you and why. "
"Damn you, you traitor," the man said mushily through bleeding gums.
"I'm not a trader," Remo said. "And what have you got against traders?"
"He not say 'trader,' " Chiun intoned. "He is calling you a traitor." "How can you tell? Without teeth, he sounds like Grandma Moses."
"Because he also shouted 'traitor' when he had his teeth," Chiun added. "Your name, dog."
"Bragg, William. Colonel."
"And who is your master?"
" I am pleased to serve on Her Majesty's Cornwallis Guard, wog."
Chiun slapped the bloody sneer from Bragg's face.
"Call me not a wog, murderer."
Bragg fell silent. His eyes were sullen.
" I asked you to name your master," Chiun repeated sternly.
" I owe my allegiance to the queen," Bragg said sullenly.
Remo looked to Chiun. " I just came from Looncraft's office. He wasn't there. So I left a message. I think this is his answer."
"There is one way to find out," Chiun said, girding his emerald skirts.
He made a pass at Bragg's face with one long-nailed hand, his hazel eyes hard and glittering.
"Know, murderer," he intoned, "that any one of these nails can inflict exquisite pain. But for you, I shall employ them all."
"Do your worst," Bragg spat.
And Chiun's hand clutched the man's face. His nails dug in at brow, cheeks, and jaw. Bragg threw his head back in anguish. His howl actually caused hanging glass in the next room to fall to the floor.
"Speak!" Chiun demanded. "Who sent you?"
"I . . . don't know . . . name," Bragg screeched. "I am a soldier!"
Chiun's nails dug in more deeply. Bragg threshed and fought, but the old Oriental's grasp was unshakable.
"Damn you!" he cried. "Curse your black heathen soul!"
" I don't think he knows," Remo said unfeelingly.
"Then he will suffer," spat Chiun.
But Bragg did not suffer. He suddenly clutched up and his bloodshot eyes began to jerk about in his head. His arms flapped like a wounded bird trying to fly. His kneeling legs went slack.
Then all movement ceased, and the Master of Sinanju realized he was holding up inert flesh.
"Dead?" Remo asked.
Chiun nodded. "His wicked heart could not stand the strain, he has dropped his body."
Chiun released Colonel William Bragg's head. It swayed forward with sickening slowness. Bragg hit the rug with his face. His body curled like a hunched red question mark.
Down the corridor, the humming elevator doors released a cacophony of shouting voices.