"I'm unarmed," he called out, which was true. He noticed that most of his assailants were women, and at least two of them were on the chunky side. What the hell's going on? he thought, as he touched a floor button with his toe, causing a light to go on in the back of the truck, where it would alert a radiation-suited guard.
"Out of the truck," Amanda ordered.
The driver got out, and as he turned his back on her, Amanda clubbed him unconscious with a rifle butt.
"See? No killing," Amanda said to all concerned, as they dragged the driver off to the roadside, where he would later be run over by a drunken motorist.
That done, they tried to open the back of the truck. It was padlocked. Standing off to one side, Amanda fired three shots at the lock, two of which caused it to snap open.
When they opened up the back, they found a scarred and blackened nuclear warhead. They also found a guard whose white plastic radiation garments were streaked with his own blood. He gurgled once, dropped his rifle, and then dropped dead.
"Gee, Amanda," Ethel said, small-voiced. "You must have got him by accident."
"I couldn't help it," Amanda complained. "They should buy them bullet-proof vests or something. Anyway, we've got the warhead. Let's get out of here."
They shut up the truck. Amanda took the wheel. Ethel and the others returned to the van, and the two vehicles rapidly left the area.
* * *
At first, Thad Screiber was going to give his story to one of the wire services because they paid more than a newspaper would. But years of writing articles for Destiny magazine and Flying Saucer Factual had earned him plenty of money and little glory. So Thad decided to go for the glory and called the editor of the New York Times from the first pay phone he came across. After haggling for a minute, they struck an agreement, and Thad began dictating his eyewitness account of the salvage of a destroyed American nuclear missile, which would carry his actual byline— something that had not happened since his first reporting job on a hometown weekly.
It was a good feeling, Thad reflected, as he returned to his car. Perhaps this was what writing was really all about. You write what you believe in and are proud enough to sign your right name to it. Maybe it was time to retire all those phony pen names and go back to real reporting.
Then, just as he started his car, a brown van with a bubble roof and emblazoned with scenes right out of Thad's own articles sped past. It was followed by a stepvan plainly— but disturbingly— marked with the nuclear symbol.
Some long-dormant reporter's sixth sense told him that he should follow them both. It was only a hunch, but something about what he'd seen made him wonder if there might not be a connection between UFO activity in Oklahoma and the mysterious nuclear accident that had incapacitated a Titan missile.
Thad fell in behind the two trucks.
?Chapter Twelve
It has been the worst two days of Remo Williams's life.
Chiun had been mad at him before. Someone who didn't know the old Korean well could easily get the impression that Chiun was always mad at Remo, but that wasn't so. Chiun scolded Remo because that was Chiun's responsibility as Remo's teacher. To err might be human, but to err in Sinanju was to die. Chiun knew this and Remo knew this. And there had been a time or two when Remo had seriously offended Chiun. At those times, Chiun became a stranger, and Remo knew that his relationship with the man who was both father and teacher to him was in jeopardy. Usually, Remo's serious offenses were offenses against Sinanju and its traditions and not against Chiun himself. Not even Remo's close relationship with Chiun protected him there. But Remo, who respected Chiun and now belonged to Sinanju, never knowingly insulted Sinanju traditions and was always forgiven for what Chiun called his "unfortunate ignorance."
But this time it was different. Seriously different.
From the time the UFO had taken everyone except Chiun away, the Master of Sinanju had refused to speak to Remo. Remo had tried to convince Chiun to return to their hotel with him. Chiun had not refused. He had simply walked off. No abuse and no arguments. He just started walking in the general direction of Oklahoma City.
Remo had followed him.
"Don't tell me you intend to walk all the way back, Chiun," he said. "It's gotta be at least thirty miles. C'mon back to the car."
Chiun walked along in stiff silence.
"Look, if you want to be mad for some reason, you can be just as mad riding in the back seat as walking."
A breeze stirred Chiun's sparse hair as he walked.
"Then at least you can tell me what you're mad about."
No answer.
"Look, Chiun. I think you owe me an explanation at least," Remo said, touching Chiun's arm.
No swirl of robes betrayed Chiun's intent, but the Master of Sinanju spun fully around without breaking stride, his right arm slashed once, and he continued on.
"Begone, vile one," Chiun called back.
Remo looked down at his chest where Chiun's deadly fingernail had laid open his T-shirt and created a thin pressure mark across his chest. A quarter-inch more and Remo would be leaking blood.
In shocked silence, Remo returned to his car alone.
It had been no better when, hours later, Chiun found his way back. Remo looked up as Chiun entered the hotel room, but the old man ignored him and walked to the telephone.
"I wish to speak to someone in charge. Good. I have a complaint. There is someone in my room who does not belong. You will send someone to remove him? Thank you."
"This has gone far enough, Little Father," Remo had said.
"I am no one's father," Chiun retorted. He opened the door to the hall and waited.
When the manager arrived, looking harried, Chiun leveled a trembling arm at Remo and cried, "I found this stranger in my room, and now he refuses to leave. I demand his removal."
"Little Father..." Remo began, angrily.
"See? He is claiming that I am his father. Anyone can see this is not so," Chiun shouted loudly enough to carry into the hall. A crowd collected at the door.
"Well?" the manager asked Remo.
"Aw, he's just ticked at me for some reason."
"Are you this man's son?" the manager asked levelly. The crowd muttered their skepticism.
"I'm registered in this room," Remo said. "You can check it out. Remo Williams."
"He lies!" Chiun crowed. "He told me his name was Remo Greeley. This is proof of his deception."
"This room is registered to a Remo Greeley," the manager pointed out.
"Okay, okay," Remo said, throwing up his hands. "I'm leaving. This old coot is right. He's not my father. I don't have a father. And what's more, I never had a father."
Remo pushed past the crowd, who roundly jeered at him. He registered in another hotel, angrier with Chiun than he'd ever been before. He didn't sleep that night, but by morning his anger had drained. He called Chiun's number, but when he said, "It's me," Chiun hung up without a word. It was not Chiun's way to be so brittle, and Remo felt a growing fear. Perhaps this time he had done something so unforgivable that Chiun really had disowned him. But what? And what did UFOs have to do with it?
Remo wondered if Smith might know, and called him. But Smith was frantic.
"Remo, my God! What have you done? Chiun told me he is resigning as your trainer. I couldn't talk him out of it."
"Yeah, yeah, I know all that. But did he tell you what's pissed him off?"
"No, he refused to discuss it." Pause. "You mean you don't know yourself?" Smith asked incredulously. "How could you be so irresponsible? How could—"
Remo had hung up on Smith, angry again. For two days he had felt angry and scared and even lost by turns. He felt like an orphan again. He didn't know what to do. He had never been without Chiun for any length of time and was surprised at how much he had grown to depend upon the old Korean in small ways. What would happen to him now? Would he continue to develop along the path of Sinanju, or would he be frozen at this stage of development? And what about Chiun? Would he return to Korea?