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.
"Less chat, more catch," Chiun snapped.
Wisps of hair above his ears quivered in the smoke. His head vanished once more.
A second trunk followed the first.
As he was stacking the third trunk atop the first two, Remo glanced angrily down the street. The car was long gone. Red streaks of light sliced the night as the first fire trucks raced into view.
Yet another trunk peeked over the sill.
"Pay attention, imbecile!" Chiun's voice commanded as he launched the latest trunk downward. Remo snapped the luggage from the air.
The fire engines, followed by two ambulances, tore into the parking lot. Lights continued to flash all around the street, stabbing crazed patterns across snow and tar. Running firemen quickly hooked hoses to a nearby hydrant.
By now the ground floor and most of the second story were engulfed in flame. Windows shattered, sending shards of glass out across the sidewalk and parking lot.
A fireman raced through the falling glass, helmet tipped low to keep the shards off his face.
"Get out of here!" he yelled angrily at Remo.
"In a sec," Remo insisted tensely.
"We almost done here?" he yelled up.
Another of Chiun's trunks appeared. It flew at supersonic speed to the ground below. Remo snatched it before it crushed the fireman to jelly.
"My God!" the man gasped, stumbling back. "There's someone in there?"
"Yeah, but don't worry. He'll be through in a minute."
The fireman wasn't listening. "Get the life net!" he screamed out to his companions.
As the firemen scrambled around one of the trucks, Remo took a rapid count of the trunks. Twelve. Only two more left.
"Get the lead out, Little Father!" Remo shouted. Another trunk appeared, flying down at him.
As Remo was piling it with the others, he noticed a hint of yellow silk sticking out of one side. Although some of the trunks remained packed in perpetuity, others had been emptied over the years. Chiun was racing around, collecting his belongings. From this angle, Remo could see that the flames had reached the Master of Sinanju's room. Flickers of orange light played along the visible walls and ceiling. Through it all, Chiun was packing.
Fear and concern formed a tight ball in Remo's stomach.
"Forget it, Chiun!" he yelled up to the open window.
Eight firemen ran through the parking lot from the street. They carried a collapsible aluminum device that they quickly folded open. It snapped into a rigid circle. A fireproof mesh was strung across the interior of the hollow metal tubes.
"Stand back!" a fireman bellowed at Remo.
Remo ignored him. "Hurry, Chiun!"
A hand took his bicep. Glancing over, he found a Quincy police officer at his elbow.
"Move!" the cop ordered, yanking.
Remo didn't. The cop's hand sprang loose and he went into free fall, landing on his rump in a puddle of melting snow.
At last Chiun appeared at the window.
The sill was ablaze. The old man had to battle flames as he wrestled the last of his precious trunks out into the open air. It dropped like a stone.
Remo snatched the trunk before it hit the life net. He put it with the rest.
The roof was going now. A section collapsed inward.
"Now, Chiun!" Remo begged.
Before he'd even finished the shouted plea, the old man sprang into view. He flew through the open window like a genie from a lamp, kimono hems tucked modestly between his ankles. Once he'd cleared the wall of flame, Chiun tightened himself into a ball and allowed gravity to take hold.
A delicate collection of frail bone and flesh, he fell the two stories to the life net, hitting with no more force than a dropped feather. Tipping the net, the firemen rolled him to his feet.
A few men grabbed out for him. The old man slapped their helping hands away.
He hurried to Remo's side. "Remo, our home!" Chiun cried.
Remo's grim face was reflected in the tiny Asian's moist eyes. "I know, Little Father," he nodded, his voice soft.
The life net was dragged to one side. Nearby, men were running a hose to the open kitchen door. Pressurized water and searing flame fought a battle, the outcome of which was known already to all.
The fireman who had gotten the life net was at Chiun's side. "Oxygen!" he called to his men.
"I am fine," Chiun snapped. Sadness laced his anger. His hazel eyes were fixed on the collapsing building. His and Remo's home for a decade.
"We've got to get you to a hospital," the man insisted.
"Dammit, he's fine," Remo growled.
Through the choke of nearby smoke, the fireman inspected the old man for the first time. He was surprised that Remo appeared to be correct. There was hardly a spot of black on his robin's-egg-blue kimono.
No time to argue. He stabbed a finger at Remo. "Is there anyone else in there?" he demanded.
Remo shook his head. "No," he volunteered quietly.
Satisfied, the fireman hurried off.
The Master of Sinanju's trunks were dangerously close to the burning building. Remo grabbed two of them, carting them quickly to the far side of the parking lot. He was stunned on his return trip to find Chiun carrying two toward him. Chiun never, ever carried his own trunks. But they'd never been in immediate peril like this before.
Without exchanging a single word, the two men passed each other, Remo to grab two more trunks, Chiun to place his with the others before hurrying back for more.