"One of the ones who didn't get away," Remo said, looking down at the stunned figure of Pavel Zarnitsa, whose face was black with soot.
"He— he knew my name," Pavel said dazedly. "How could he know my name?"
Remo, noticing his captive's accent, demanded, "You sound like a Russian."
"I am a Polack," Pavel told him, sitting up.
"Yeah? Well I've been to Russia, and I know what a Russian sounds like. And for my money, buddy, you sound like a Russian to me."
"Have you ever been to Poland?"
"Uh... no," Remo admitted.
"Then I submit you do not know what you are speaking of."
"Hey, Chiun, come listen to this guy. I think he's a Russian," Remo shouted.
"I do not have to listen to him," Chiun called back. "I can smell him. He is a Russian."
"I knew it," Remo said, lifting Pavel to his feet with one hand. "Time to come clean."
Pavel reached for his pistol, but Remo got to it first. He squeezed hard, and the weapon fell in pieces from his hand.
"Pretty neat trick, right?" Remo said.
"No," Pavel said. "Anyone could do it. The weapon is plastic."
"I'm beginning not to like you," Remo told him.
"That is too bad for one of us," Pavel admitted unhappily.
"You got that right," Remo said, dragging the Russian over to where Chiun picked through what was left of the UFO.
There wasn't much left— surprisingly little for such a large object, in fact. Most of it was shiny slag— a bit like a large bob of lead that had been melted down— only whatever the metal had been, it wasn't lead, and it was still too hot to touch. There were other things, too. Pieces of machinery that had been inside the UFO. Some of these stuck out of the smooth slag like jagged teeth, but even these had withered in the intense heat.
"If there's any body inside that mess," Remo ventured, "it must have been burned to the size of a dog. A small dog, at that."
"There is no body," Chiun spat.
"You think this World Master escaped with the rest of them?" Remo asked.
"Of course," Chiun returned, folding his hands within his sleeves. "The others could not have escaped on their own. Someone led them. Someone who was not the blonde woman. "
"Why not her?" asked Remo.
"Because someone who would let a tiny hair grow on the bridge of her nose could not successfully lead others to safety," Chiun told him.
"Right," Remo said, looking around. "Well, it's obvious they got away in the van— all except this guy, here."
"I am not one of those people," Pavel pointed out.
"I'll bet," Remo said.
"He is telling the truth," Chiun said. "I do not recognize him as a follower of the blonde woman. Nor do I recognize the body of the white you so foolishly tried to rescue."
"I didn't know he was dead when I went back in to get him," Remo protested.
"If you had not gone back into the fire, I would not have had to go back also to protect you, and the others would not have escaped."
"I'm sorry, Little Father. I know how much you value making contact with this Hopak Kay."
Chiun spat on the ground violently. "Pah! He is well named. He is a dog and son of dog."
"What's that?" Remo asked quizzically.
"Nothing," Chiun muttered, and stormed off.
Remo turned to the Russian. "And where do you fit into this?"
Pavel Zarnitsa shrugged his shoulders and his bushy eyebrows at the same time. "I am just a Polack passerby."
"No, you're not. We followed you here. How are you connected with these flying-saucer chasers?"
Pavel saw no harm in answering that question, so he did.
"I was chasing them," he said.
"Why?"
"To see to what they were up, just as you were. Where is the harm in that?"
"We're Americans. You aren't," Remo said simply.
"That does not mean I have no interest in keeping America from destroying itself."
"America isn't trying to destroy itself," Remo said.
"But some Americans are," Pavel countered. "We have both witnessed this. There is a nuclear device that has fallen into their hands, and into the spaceman's hands."
"How do you know he's a spaceman?"
Pavel paled slightly in the darkness so that Remo noticed. "He knew my name. He spoke it. How could he know this? No one knows I am here. Not even my superiors." His voice was unsteady. "He can read minds, perhaps?"
Remo didn't know the answer to that. Chiun believed that the alien was genuine, and connected to Sinanju. Chiun wasn't always right, but Remo had never known him to make a mistake where Sinanju was concerned. Maybe he could read minds.
"You said something about your superiors," Remo said suddenly. "Who?"
"I cannot tell you that," Pavel insisted.
"Yes, you can. You just need incentive. Incentive is an American idea, but I'll be glad to show you how it works."
Remo took Pavel Zarnitsa by the left earlobe and squeezed. It looked as if Remo were just being playful, but then the Russian's expression warped like heated wax, and his knees buckled. Remo lifted, and the Russian obligingly stood on tiptoe. He did not fight, even though his hands were free.
Instead, he said, "Oooch! Yow! Oooch!" several times very fast, and finished by admitting, "KGB! I am KGB!"
"What else?"
"I am not in your beautiful country to spy on you. I am here to keep an eye on Russians. I like America. Honestly. My favorite American food is tacos."
Remo squeezed harder.
"I read about your missiles, so I come here to see what trouble you are having. I learn enough to come here, and to know that what is happening is not good. Not good for Russians or Americans. So you see, we are on the same side, no?"
Remo let Pavel loose, knowing he had been telling the truth.
"We are on the same side, definitely no," Remo said. He walked over to the body of Thad Screiber, which lay blackened and singed on the ground. Remo forced his pupils to dilate so he could see the dead man's face in the darkness. Somewhere a bird called twice.
"Know this guy?" Remo asked Pavel.
"No. But they said he was a reporter who learned too much. The spaceman zipped him."
"Did what?"
"Zipped him," Pavel repeated. "Like in your science fiction movies. There was a beam of blue light. Then he fell over dead. Look. There will be a hole."
Remo looked. The hole was there. Not large, but it went clean through. The wound was even cauterized. Some kind of death beam, Remo realized.
"He got zapped, all right," Remo admitted. He found a wallet on the body, which identified him as Thad Screiber, of Northfield, Minnesota. Other than that, Remo could learn nothing about him. There was no indication that he belonged to the Oklahoma City chapter of FOES. Or any other chapter, for that matter. That probably meant he was what he had claimed to be, a reporter.
* * *
Remo found Chiun inside the farmhouse. There was a body there, too. A woman's.
"She was one of them," Chiun said.
"Yeah, I recognize her," Remo said. "She was the one the blonde shot by accident that first time when she tried to shoot me. Looks like they dragged her back here, and she died."
"The body is still warm," Chiun said. "Had they sought medical attention, she might have been saved."
"Anyway, we've got to find what's left of the group before they do more damage. The question is, where do we look?"
"Look at maps," Pavel suggested.
"What maps?" Remo demanded.
"Any maps. They always leave maps around. They are very careless. This is how I know to come here. They left a map in their office. They left names and addresses. Perhaps they do the same here."
"I was in that office twice and didn't find anything," Remo said.
Pavel shrugged his shoulders in time with his eyebrows. "You are not properly trained."