"Incompetents of a feather," Chiun said carelessly.
"I think you're wrong. This is a headband. That makes him a Dirt Firster, clean fingernails or not." Remo stood up. "Well, whoever he was, he can't help us anymore. Come on, let's see if we can't locate whatever they're transporting the bomb in."
They spent the rest of the afternoon combing the nearby towns and back roads of northeast Missouri. They passed numerous trucks and rambling farm equipment and once even a long white limousine that looked as out-of-place as a Rose Parade float, but no sign of Dirt First!!, the neutron bomb, or Sky Bluel.
The sun had long since set when Remo pulled into a dusty roadside gas station to fill the tank.
While the car was being serviced, Remo found a pay phone.
"Smitty? Remo. I got bad news and worse news."
Smith sighed. "Give me the bad news first."
"We lost Sky Bluel. We can't find Dirt First!! Or the bomb. But we found the truck it was taken away in, not to mention a stray body."
"Body?"
"My words exactly. I hope you're not rubbing off on me, Smitty. You'll find him beside an abandoned pickup outside of Moberly. Don't expect any ID. He's been stripped. Chiun thinks he's Army or possibly National Guard. I had him pegged for a TV reporter who gave Sky a ride, but now I'm not sure. There were dirty handprints all over the truck."
"Dirt First!!" Smith said tightly.
"Everything points to them," Remo said, watching the sun slip behind a line of haystacks. "Listen, it's night here. I don't think we're going to turn up the girl, the bomb, or the bums. I'd suggest you call out the National Guard, but I've seen them in action. Ditto the Army."
"Since we now know that Dirt First is definitely behind this," Smith said, "I suggest you infiltrate them as soon as possible."
Remo groaned. "I was hoping to avoid that."
"Report any progress as soon as you have made it." Smith disconnected. Remo returned to the car and paid the attendant.
Back on the road, he updated the Master of Sinanju.
"If this is what Smith wishes, then we will do this," Chiun said at last.
"You're serious!" Remo said, in surprise. "You're ready to infiltrate Dirt First!!"
"I did not say I. Obviously I cannot."
"Why not?"
"Because no one would ever believe such a ridiculous imposture."
"Okay, I'll bite. What ridiculous imposture?"
"That a Korean would lose his mind so badly as to breathe dirt and wear mud. We are much too civilized."
"So I'm on my own now. Is that it?"
Chiun stroked his wispy beard thoughtfully. "I will accompany you, to rescue you if necessary."
"From what? Succumbing to dirt-induced cancer of the lungs?"
"No, in the event that you find wallowing in filth irresistible. For it was filth that I raised you from, Remo, and I will not lose you to your base white nature."
"The color white," Remo said, watching the road signs, "has absolutely nothing to do with Dirt First!"
Chapter 9
The national headquarters of Dirt First!! was a shabby Victorian house in San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district.
"Explain this to me, Remo," the Master of Sinanju said as Remo tooled the rented car through the winding, undulating streets, searching for the address. "If these dirt persons are, as Smith proclaims, terrorists, why is their address to be found in the telephone encyclopedia?"
"It's hard to explain," Remo said distractedly.
"You will try."
"Dirt First!! don't consider themselves terrorists. They think they're saving the environment."
"From whom?"
Remo frowned in thought. "From people, I guess."
"Are people not part of this environment?" Chiun asked, perplexed.
"Not to Dirt First!! To them, a spotted owl has more rights to the wilderness than the people who live and work there. So they vandalize trees by driving spikes into them."
"Are not trees part of the environment?" Chiun asked.
"They are to me."
"Then why would they crucify a poor defenseless tree?"
"Look," Remo said, exasperated, "all I know is what I read in the papers. The point is, they traipse around practically in mudface, so no one knows who they really are. As a group, they take credit for all this squirrely stuff. Individually, they claim it's the work of renegade members they can't control."
"A transparent lie," Chiun said solemnly.
"It works in the courts. They also have good lawyers."
Chiun's tight expression broke in shock. "Those ragamuffins?"
"Disguised ragamuffins. Only their B.O. is on the money. And don't look now, but I think we found Dirt First!! World Headquarters." Remo pointed up the street.
From his seat in back, Chiun peered out the window. The Victorian house looked as if it needed a bath too. Soot grimed its purple-gray sides. The gingerbread dripped with guano. Pigeons roosted in the eaves, adding to the dripping decoration that gave the house its tie-dyed appearance.
"Is this a pest house?" Chiun asked.
"What was your first clue?" Remo asked, pulling over. From the glove compartment he pulled out an assortment of burnt corks and a T-shirt. Like the one he wore, this T-shirt was white. It was streaked with dirt, the result of Remo studiously stomping it into the dirt.
Remo quickly changed shirts. Using the rearview mirror, he rubbed his face, hands, and bare arms with burnt cork.
When he was done, he turned in his seat.
"Think I'll pass?"
"For white?" Chiun asked. And he laughed.
"Think I'll pass?" he repeated. "For white? Heh heh heh. For white? Heh heh heh."
"Har de har har har," Remo growled, but he repressed a smile. Chiun was in a good mood again. Remo hadn't yet figured out why he was in the doghouse, but he wasn't about to spoil the undeclared truce by asking. The memory of losing the Master of Sinanju in the plastique explosion was very fresh. "Ready?"
"I am never prepared to follow a lunatic into a nest of his fellows," Chiun said loftily, "but I will go where you do, for I am curious about these mud people."
"Let me do the talking, okay?"
"No."
Chiun followed Remo up a long flight of guano-spattered concrete steps. He kept his eyes on the eaves all the way to the outer door, dodging two aerial bombs before he reached it.
"I hope it's cleaner inside," Remo said, once they were in the relative safety of the foyer.
There was only one mailbox and one bell. Both read "DIRT FIRST!!" Remo leaned on the bell.
"Who is it?" a voice crackled from the ancient annunciator.
"Potential recruits," Remo said.
"How many of you?"
"Two," said Remo.
"One," said Chiun.
"Which is it?"
"One recruit. One guardian," Chiun said squeakily.
The inner door buzzed. They stepped in, Remo leading.
The smell hit them first. It was a conglomeration of predominantly organic odors. Like the birdhouse of a particularly slovenly zoo.
"Pee-yew!" Remo spat. Chiun lifted a draperylike sleeve to his delicate nose. He breathed through this.
A man greeted them, extending his hand. He was lean, coarse-pored, but well-scrubbed. His equally surprising short hair seemed to explode in all directions. It made Remo wonder if the microwavable hairpiece had been perfected while he was out of the country.
"Barry Kranish," he said affably. "Chief counsel for the Dirt First!! organization. Come in, come in."
"Who's their zookeeper?" Remo asked, gesturing to the collection of bird cages and fish tanks that dominated the polished-mahogany waiting area.
"Gentlemen," Barry Kranish said proudly, "you are looking at the finest collection of endangered species assembled in one building."
Remo gazed around. At his elbow, neon blue and green fish were struggling in an alga-slimed tank. They poked their pouting little mouths up from the waterline, as if hungry.