"Oh, shoot," said Claiborne Grimm, jumping from the cab. "We got a ninja on board! We got a ninja on board!" he called out.
The security officer looked blank as a blackboard. "Sir?"
"A ninja! You know what a ninja is?"
"No, sir, I do not."
"Japanese spy. Dressed all in black. They say they can get close enough to spit in your eye before you notice 'em. Masters of stealth, camouflage, infiltration-the whole nine yards."
"Oh, shoot."
"That's what I said. We gotta do a car-to-car search. I want security teams stationed at each end of the train. The minute he shows his ninja face, blow his head clean off. We can't take any chances."
The security teams were deployed.
Grimm led the search team. The security officer took another contingent to the rear-end car.
They worked from car to car, going over every square inch.
The rail-garrison consist was set up to be self-sufficient. There were bunks, a shower and even a kitchenette. In theory, they could remain mobile for weeks at a time. The downside was the consist was as cramped as a nuclear submarine.
Grimm's team checked the engine cab, the crapper and the security car, even though the security team had been stationed there all during the contact.
He skipped the second Hy-Cube car, which housed the missile. The only way in and out was through a locked access hatch or if the roof doors split open on command. Even though it made no sense to do so, he returned to the launch-control car.
"Hotbox," he said. The door fell open.
Back inside, he asked the second-in-command, "Everything okay here?"
"Yes, sir. Did-did we hit him?"
"I wish we had. We may have a ninja aboard."
"Oh, God."
There was an immediate search of all available hiding places. They even emptied the wall waste receptacle.
"No ninja in here, Major."
"Let's keep it that way. Don't open the door for anyone except me."
Grimm passed through to the next car just as the rear-end security team was entering from the other end.
"Any sign of that fool ninja?"
"No sir, Major sir."
"Damn. Could we have messed up?"
"Not possible, sir. All hiding places checked out clean."
Grimm went to the intercom and got the security car. "Security cameras. Anything?"
"No, Major. Nothing visible on the outside of the car. Sensors indicate nothing crouching along the right-of-way."
"Damn. He must be on the train. He's not on board. So where the hell is he?"
"Did you check the missile-launch car?"
"Now, how would he get in there? It's locked up tighter than my mother-in-law's constipated ass."
"Well, he is a ninja, Major. You know how they are."
"I'm beginning to get a nasty inkling," Grimm said bitterly.
Exiting the car, they locked it up and surrounded the Hy-Cube car.
Grimm faced his security team. "I need a volunteer to enter the MLC car."
Several airmen raised their hands. One stepped forward. Grimm decided he liked the man's initiative. "You game for this, Airman?"
"Yes, sir. I've seen a lot of ninja movies. I know what the little buggers are likely to do."
"Okay. Just don't get yourself strangled."
Two airmen ducked under the Hy-Cube car and undogged the underside hatch with a special tool. The volunteer airman crawled under next and, flashlight in one hand and side arm in the other, started to squeeze in.
"See anything?" Grimm hissed.
The airman's "No" was hollow.
His belt disappeared, and then his legs pulled up and out of sight.
They waited for word. Five minutes by Major Grimm's watch. When it was ten, Grimm hissed, "What's keeping that airman?"
The security officer shrugged helplessly.
Taking a flashlight, Grimm crawled under and used the light. He washed light all over the access tunnel and saw nothing.
"Airman. Call out."
Silence came back.
"Airman!"
"Maybe he can't hear way in there," someone suggested.
"Damn. Somebody rap on the side of the car."
Flashlights banged the side of the modern Hy-Cube boxcar.
"Airman!" Grimm shouted.
The airman failed to respond or reappear.
Ducking out from under the car, Major Grimm said, "I need another volunteer. One with ninja movie-watching experience preferably."
This time Grimm got sheepish expressions instead of waving hands.
"The national security of the U.S. of A. may be at stake here. If I don't get a volunteer, I'm going to have to pick one."
Two men stepped forward, faces stiff.
"Fine. You both go in. One first and the other right behind him. Make a human chain. That way, we don't lose voice contact."
It was an excellent plan. It fell apart when the first airman thrust his upper torso into the access hatch and fell back down on his butt-minus his head.
The head tumbled down to fall into his lap. It looked very surprised. The mouth opened and it seemed to be trying to say something when the eyes rolled up to show whites, and a tiny sigh escaped from both ends of the severed windpipe.
"Get that body out of the way!" Grimm snapped.
The security team started dragging and vomiting.
"Okay. We have the ninja cornered. All we got to do is flush him out. Suggestions?"
"Can we open the roof doors?"
"Not without activating the launch sequence."
No one seemed to cotton to that idea.
"Where's that other volunteer?" wondered Grimm, looking around.
The second volunteer was standing in the back of a knot of airman like a shy gym student trying to escape the coach's gaze.
"You! Yes, you. Your turn."
"Yes, sir," the airman said in a thick voice.
"Here is what you do. We're going to hoist you in feetfirst."
"Yes, sir."
"You go in that way so he can't get at your neck."
"Yes, sir," said the airman, blood draining from his face.
"You know he's in there. He knows you know he's in there. Maybe he's crawled back a ways. You go in with your combat knife and you hunt him down. Blade to blade. You stick him good. A dead ninja's just as good as a live one, if not better. Got that?"
The airmen felt his side arm being pried from his stubborn fingers.
"Can't have you shooting in there," Grimm said. "Not with all that propellant."
"Yes, sir," gulped the airman.
They got him into position and, on the count of three, they hoisted him feetfirst.
The lower body went in fine, but the heavier upper body was where they got stuck.
"Push harder," Grimm hissed. "Get him the hell up in there."
The poor airman was standing on his hands, and his hands were being supported by the strong blue backs of several security airman. They were arching and grunting in their effort to get him all the way up there.
For his part, the airman looked as though he wanted to cry. Then he did. "Help!"
"What is it?" Grimm hissed.
The airman's eyes were frightened china saucers. "I'm going in!"
"That's what we want."
"No! Something's got my legs. Pull me back! Pull me back!"
And the airman's voice was filled so full of horror that Major Grimm hastily countermanded his order. "Out! Pull him back! Now!"
But it was too late. The airman went up slicker than a fox into a rabbit hole, torn right out of the hands of the security team.
A single drop of clear liquid fell back. They never figured out if it was drool or a tear.
They heard the swish, a meaty thunk, and then the airman's loose head dropped down.
It didn't die all at once. The mouth was distinctly working.
Reaching in, Major Grimm grabbed it. "Speak to me, Airman. What did you see?"
A puff of foul air came from the mouth. Then it dropped slack.
The light in the eyes looking into Grimm's went out.