Distaste on his own face, Grimm passed the head to his security chief, who looked sick and angry at the same time.
From the open hatch a leakage of blood came. It stained the ties a bright red.
"Enough of this damn pussyfooting. We gas the little cockroach out."
Gas masks were donned. Two grenades of CS gas were thrown in and the hatch hastily shut and locked. Not a tendril leaked out of the missile-launch car. It was airtight.
They gave the gas ten minutes to work, then a nervous airman was ordered into the smoking hatch.
Shortly his gas-masked head tumbled down.
"There' s only one thing left to do," Major Claiborne Grimm said tightly.
"Sir?"
"We gotta initiate a cold-launch sequence."
"We can't do that without authorization," his security chief sputtered.
"Well, then, we're damn well going to have to get authorization, aren't we?"
THE CALL to SAC headquarters in Omaha was booted up the line to the desk of General Shelby "Lightning" Bolton.
"You have a what, Major?" Lightning thundered.
"A ninja."
"In your missile-launch car, you say?"
"That's an affirmative, General. We send men in, and he sickles their heads clean off."
"How many casualties so far?"
"Four so far."
"Try gas."
"We did. Evidently the ninja has his own gas mask."
"Damn. There's gotta be a way to smoke that rascal out."
"There is, sir."
"I'm listening, major."
"A cold-launch sequence would open the roof doors. We can get the drop on him from above, then halt the sequence before the missile flies."
The silence on the line was thick as grease.
"Do it," said Lightning Bolton.
"I'll need the launch codes," Grimm said, throat clogging.
A rustle of papers came over the line. "Got 'em right here. Somewheres."
"General, I thought-"
"Hold on."
When the general came back, Grimm finished his thought. "I thought the President was the only man supposed to have those codes."
"For the silo-based stuff, sure. But the Commander in Chief doesn't know the MX program is still hanging on. And it's critical he doesn't. Savvy?"
"Understood, General."
"Good. Now, fire up your on-board fax."
THE LAUNCH CODES IN HAND, Major Grimm explained the situation to his launch-control officers.
"We're going to start her up. You men know the drill. We take each step one at a time. When I say abort, you both abort."
"Yes, sir," they said in unison, eyes glassy.
Going to the on-board wall safe, Major Grimm spun the dial and got it open. He took out the matched launch-control keys and with quiet ceremony surrendered them.
The launch-control officers resumed their seats and inserted the keys on command.
"Turn," said Grimm, who was standing in a film of his own cold sweat. He used to have nightmares about this very scenario.
The keys turned.
Grimm jumped out of the car.
The roof doors were already lifting. Side-mounted stabilizers began deploying. Like great feet they dropped to the roadbed and dug in, stabilizing the MLC car against blast and launch recoil.
Simultaneously the gleaming white MX missile lifted into view, driven by gas actuators.
When fully erect, it was pointing toward the great brazen dome of the noonday Nebraska sky.
At a signal from Grimm, the security team began climbing the Hy-Cube access ladders.
It was the most nerve-racking moment of Major Claiborne Grimm's entire life.
Then the angry rattle of the approaching helicopter filled the air, and the nightmare went into overdrive.
"Shoot that damn thing down!" he roared.
Chapter 18
Remo watched the helicopter bubble turn to frost under the storm of bullets, heard the overhead turbines clutch up and knew they were about to crashland.
Every instinct said to bail out. They were low enough. He had a fighting chance to jump clear and maybe come out of it alive.
There were only two problems.
Chiun.
And the precious lapis lazuli steamer trunk balanced on his lap.
Remo's eyes went to the Master of Sinanju.
"Let no harm befall my precious trunk if you value your life," Chiun said.
"Look, we're going to crash."
"Protect my trunk with your dead body if necessary," said Chiun.
"I can't believe you said that."
"And I can't believe you two are jawin' while we're droppin' like helpless stones," Melvis Cupper wailed, clutching his seat.
The rotor cut out completely. It still turned, but not under power.
"Hang on!" yelled the pilot.
"To what-the damn chopper?" said Melvis. "I'm holding on to it. What's it gonna hold on to?"
Air, as it turned out.
The spinning rotor blades went into autorotation mode, acting as a parachute and brake at the same time.
The storm of bullets abated when the soldiers on the ground realized they had bagged the helicopter.
The aircraft landed hard on its runners. Everyone bounced in their seats. In a minute the grounded bird was surrounded by hard-faced soldiers in camo fatigues.
"Out! Out of there now!" a red-faced major was shouting.
No one moved at first. They were still getting used to being alive.
"Are these guys on our side or the other?" Melvis undertoned, keeping his hands in plain sight.
"What other?" asked K.C.
"You got me."
Remo spotted the arm patch on the major's shoulder. It showed a freight train superimposed over a vertical missile. Two United Nations-style stalks of wheat framed the image.
Around the circular edge of the patch were the words Rail Garrison Peacekeeper.
"I think they're on our side." said Remo.
"Yeah? Someone should point that useful little fact out to them," muttered Melvis.
The pilot stepped out carefully, hands held high.
Two soldiers fell on him and forced him to his knees at the point of M-16s. Flexible plastic handcuffs pinned his wrists behind him.
The rest stuck their M-16 muzzles in through the cockpit door he had left hanging open.
"What's in that box?" a soldier demanded of Remo.
Remo indicated Chiun with a toss of his head. "Ask him. I'm just minding it."
The soldier looked at Chiun and said, "You Japanese"
"Watch your tongue!" Chiun squeaked.
"What's in the box, sir? I need an answer."
"None of your business," sniffed Chiun.
"Major, we appear to have a Japanese national and a box of unknown origin here."
The major came up to see. He took one look at the steamer trunk with the lapis lazuli phoenixes and two looks at Chiun and stepped back hastily. "These people are obviously accomplices. If they move, shoot them."
"You can't shoot me," said K.C. "I'm a US. citizen and photojournalist." As proof, she snapped their pictures.
A soldier spoke up. "Sir, her camera appears to be of Japanese origin."
K.C. subsided.
"Nobody talk." The major turned, calling back toward the train. "Find him?"
A handful of soldiers balanced on top of a huge boxcar with an open roof signaled back.
"No."
"What the hell is that stickin' up outta that there Hy-Cube?" Melvis asked.
"Nothing," the major said.
"It's a powerful big length of nothin' to be nothin'."
"Avert your eyes."
"I'll have you boys know I'm with the NTSB," Melvis said. "And I don't appreciate your form of hospitality."
"Just stand easy."
"I am getting out," said Chiun in a loud voice.
"Here we go," groaned Remo.
The major snapped. "No. Don't get out. You-in the T-shirt. Hand over that box."
"Remo, if you surrender that box, I will never speak to you again," Chiun promised.
"I'm not handing over the box," said Remo.