"I'm getting a flash of deja vu here," Remo said. He went to the telephone, scooping it up.
"Hello?" he said.
He got a rush of static, indicating an open line.
"Anybody there?"
"Try moshi moshi, " hissed Chiun.
"Moshi moshi," said Remo into the receiver.
The static hissed on. Remo hung up.
"I'll be switched," said Melvis, hefting the steel box on the bed. "If this ain't one of them newfangled RC units. See? It's got that little silver ball on the transmit-power switch just like that fickle little filly said."
Chiun floated up, took one look and said, "Behold, Remo. It says Nishitsu."
"Damn Japs will be making our engines before you know it," muttered Melvis.
Going to the telephone, Chiun picked up the receiver and hit Redial.
The phone started ringing.
When the other end lifted, a thin voice said, "Nishitsu."
Remo's and Chiun's eyes met.
Chiun hissed a question in Japanese, and the voice challenged him in the same language. An argument ensued, at the end of which the Master of Sinanju hung up, ripped the telephone from its wall socket and flung it through the glass balcony door and into the pool, where it caused a fat man to roll off his inflatable sea horse.
"Nice going, Little Father," Remo complained. "Now they know we're on to them."
"The better to strike fear into their craven hearts," spit Chiun.
"Let's find out where our ronin ended up."
BACK IN THE LOBBY the desk clerk wasn't as cooperative as before.
"We need the phone charges for 3-C," he said.
"Can't you see I have my hands full?" said the distraught clerk, who was explaining to the unhappy hotel guests that the commotion was only a false alarm.
Remo placed one hand on his shoulder and took his tie in the other. "Show you a trick."
The tie became a blur, and when Remo stepped back, the clerk's hands were dangling just beneath his Adam's apple, held together by a tight paisley knot that had been his tie.
The clerk tried to extricate himself. The harder he pulled, the redder his face became. When it shaded toward purple, he realized he was strangling himself and stopped. The purple went away, replaced by a helpless expression.
"Room charges," Remo repeated. "Three-C."
"Uggg," the clerk said, pointing with both hands to an open office door where a freckled redhead chewed gum at a switchboard.
"Much obliged," said Melvis, tipping his hat.
The hotel operator provided the last number dialed and told them Mr. Batsuka had checked in only a few hours before.
"Got a first name?"
"Furio."
"Thanks," said Remo.
From a lobby pay phone Remo called Harold Smith.
"Smitty. Pull up a number for me."
"Go ahead, Remo."
Remo read off the number.
A moment later Smith said, "It is the number of a Nishitsu car dealership in Eerie, Pennsylvania."
"Damn. Our phantom ronin was here. Looks like he used a radio-controlled transmitter to run the Conrail engine onto the Amtrak track. The same transmitter he used to wreck the California Zephyr, from the looks of things. All he had to do was find the right frequency and he was in business."
Smith said nothing to that.
"He left the transmitter behind, though. It says Nishitsu on it. We had him cornered in a hotel room, but when we broke in, all we found was an off-the-hook phone. But we got a name. Furio Batsuka."
"That is very interesting, Remo. The strands are coming together to form a pattern."
"Not one I recognize. None of this makes sense."
"I have just completed a deep background check. Nishitsu is the parent corporation of the Gomi and Hideo brands."
Remo whistled. "What do you know?"
"Nishitsu technology explains everything we have encountered thus far. We know that the Krahseevah, in his dematerialized atomic state, had the power to transmit himself through telephone lines. That is how he eluded you and Chiun."
"That much I figured out. But what's the point? Why are they attacking our rail system?"
"I know," squeaked Chiun.
Remo looked at him.
"To destroy a nation's roads is the same as sucking the blood from its veins. It was so with Rome. It is so here in the new Rome. We must save our gracious trains from the foreign brigands."
"Railroads aren't that important anymore, Little Father."
"Philistine. Antirailer. "
Into the phone Remo said, "You catch that?"
"Never mind. Remo, I have been analyzing my files over the last hour. Recall that there has been a lull in rail accidents over the last three months."
"If you say so."
"Suddenly events have been happening at an accelerated rate, beginning with the Texarkana disaster."
"I'm with you so far," Remo said.
"In almost every recent incident, the engines involved have been new, state-of-the-art vehicles." Smith paused. "Someone is attempting to discredit U.S. motive-power units."
"Couldn't it be just coincidence? I mean, this guy is hitting everything that runs on rails. He's bound to topple a few new engines."
"A pause, and then an accelerated program. The pause was to regroup and restrategize. Recall that these derailments have been commonplace for three years now."
"Yeah."
"Obviously the initial plan was not working. The mind behind this has shifted tactics. The plot is approaching a crescendo."
"So what's the point?"
"I wish I knew," Smith said helplessly. "But we cannot stand by and chase derailments. We must take the initiative."
"None of this would have happened had the foolish white race not abandoned steam," said Chiun loud enough for all to hear.
"I'll drink to that," said Melvis from the other side of the lobby.
"Remo, book a room in that hotel and await instructions," said Smith.
"If you say so," Remo said reluctantly.
Hanging up, Remo faced the Master of Sinanju. "It's a new ball game. We're dealing with a second-generation Krahseevah. Smitty says so."
"He is still a ronin, " Chiun returned. "And he is very dangerous."
"No argument there. But we're dealing with a guy in an electronic samurai suit. The House isn't haunted."
Chiun raised his nailless index finger. "If you fail to avenge this Japanese insult, I will haunt the House forever."
Chapter 22
Harold Smith was sorting files when his system beeped.
Hitting a key, he got a pop-up window and an AP news-wire report.
There was a derailment in Eerie, Pennsylvania, the town where the enemy ronin had presumably teleported himself. A Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey circus train had gone off the tracks approaching Eerie.
Smith's file beeped again as he read the report. A flashing message in one corner of the screen said, "Match found."
Smith hadn't asked for a match, so he was frowning as he instructed the computer to pull it up.
What he read made him gasp.
The wreck in Eerie was identical in every particular to the one that had cost a half-dozen lives in Lakeland, Florida, two years before. It, too, had involved a circus train.
"The pattern is changing again," Smith muttered under his breath.
It was clear that it was. The demolished engine was an ordinary GE Dash-8. Not new. Not new at all.
Thirty minutes later another AP report popped up, and Smith knew without being told by the system that it would be a match.
It was.
The Lakeshore Limited had jumped the track near Batavia, New York. Casualty reports were yet to filter out. But his system matched it to an identical event two summers previously, where 125 people had been injured.
"He is re-creating some of the most catastrophic disasters in recent rail history," Smith blurted. "But why?"
A moment later Smith forgot all about the why. He had a new angle to pursue.
Frantically inputting commands, he commanded his system to list all of the significant rail disasters of the past three years, in order of loss of life and property damage.