"You walk safely down the steps, the broad steps," said Chiun. Charlese's body went down, a brick's height at a time. Remo joined Chiun at the edge of the roof. Charlese went down the side of the building slowly, supported by his heels which lodged in the thin mortar cracks between bricks. The top of his body was visible. Then his shoulders. Then only his head.

"You can turn around on this wide step," said Chiun, and Charlese slowly turned his body so he was facing the wall. His smile looked to Remo like a crease in a fat melon. His eyes were closed.

"Open your eyes," said Chiun.

"It's working. It's working. I'll be rich," said Charlese, looking up at Remo and Chiun.

"Now," said Chiun, holding forth a finger, "I give you a most important piece of advice. Like you gave the child in the pool."

"I know, I know," said Charlese. "I won't muck it up."

"The advice is this: Do not think of what your body will look like when it falls that great distance to the ground," said Chiun.

The face went. Thwit. First it was smiling at them, and then it was gone. The hands, clutching desperately for a hold on something, anything, followed like two half-ounce bobbers yanked by a whale on the dive. Gone.

"I told him not to think what his body would look like when it reached the ground. I hope he listened to me," said Chiun.

Down below, a long way away, there was a distant clap, like a blob of fresh pizza dough smacking a cold tile. It was Charlese.

"I think the kitchen is closed by now. I'd like some fish, if you can get it without butter on it," Remo said.

"It is always a risk when someone else prepares your food," said Chiun. "You put their hands in your stomach. That is the risk."

"Smitty sent word earlier. There's some trouble. He'll be here in a couple of hours."

Remo opened the roof door for the Master of Sinanju. They descended the fifteen flights to their suite.