"Bring me the Cosmic Secret file. At once."
Then he downed another stiff belt. He intended to drink all the vodka possible in the few short hours he and the world had left to enjoy.
Chapter 37
LaGuardia wouldn't take the Yak-90. Nor would Kennedy International Airport.
"Divert to Boston," Remo told the nervous Russian pilot.
"We have barely the fuel to make it to Boston," he protested.
"Perfect."
"Why is that perfect, crazy one?"
"Once you tell them we're out of fuel, they've gotta let us land," explained Remo.
"They could force us to circle until we crash."
"You're thinking of the Russian response. This is America."
Over Logan International Airport, they orbited for what seemed to be an eternity.
"Look Remo, there is our home!" Chiun squeaked.
Remo looked out the window. Below, Quincy Bay sat gray and flat under overcast skies.
"I don't see it," said Remo, not really wanting to.
"See the very blue house?"
"How could I miss it? It's Superman blue."
"Follow the winding road north."
Remo did. And there was the fieldstone monster Chuin had dubbed Castle Sinanju.
"Too bad we can't parachute out," he said.
"We will be out of fuel soon," Chiun remarked.
The number-two engine stalled out at exactly that point.
Remo rushed to the cabin. "What's going on?"
"We are out of fuel," the pilot reported.
"You were supposed to tell the tower before we ran out, not after."
"I am dizzy from all this circling. I forgot."
"Can you put us down okay?"
"If the other engine does not conk."
In the next moment it did.
"What do I do now?" the pilot moaned.
"Can this lame duck glide in?"
"It is a jet. It glides exactly like a brick. Not at all."
"Then ditch," said Remo, flinging himself back into the cabin.
They came down in Quincy Bay with flaps down and the Russian pilot praying as the choppy water skimmed under their settling wings.
Remo had moved to the cabin's rear, knowing that a nose-in landing would demolish the front of the plane but not necessarily the rear. Chiun stood with him, expectant.
It was a good theory. In practice, the Yak pulled up at the last minute and pancaked, breaking the fuselage exactly in the middle like a loaf of Italian bread.
Cold seawater rushed in. Remo and Chiun let it slosh over them. Not that they had much choice. G-forces kept them from moving.
The Yak's tail sank first. They let the water take them in its cold, unforgiving grasp. The shock to their systems was like being seized by a clamping vise of ice.
The tail struck the seafloor, creating a cloud of dark sediment. They swam out, finding the Russian pilot kicking and flailing aimlessly.
Remo pulled him to the surface, where all three men treaded water for as long as it took them to recharge their lungs with cold oxygen.
The Russian looked around with stunned eyes. "I am in America?"
"Congratulations," said Remo.
"Does this mean I am not to die?"
"No," said Chiun. "We have to kill you."
"Yes," said Remo. "You got us here alive. You get to live. Just keep your nose clean."
"Right now I am only concerned with keeping it warm. The rest of me, too."
Chiun struck out for the shore. Remo tugged the Russian along and, once on the ice-crusted beach, sent him on his way with a shove.
"Remember, you never saw us," Remo warned.
"I care only about filling my belly with chizburgers and registering for warfare."
"It's called welfare," Remo said wearily.
TEN MINUTES LATER, Remo and Chiun were entering Castle Sinanju.
"Good thing I talked you out of taking your steamer trunks, huh, Little Father?" Remo said to Chiun as he stripped off his icy T-shirt.
"I was very wise to make the correct decision. Your counsel had nothing to do with it," returned Chiun before he disappeared into another room to change.
Remo had the kitchen telephone and was putting in a call to Folcroft.
Harold Smith answered breathlessly. "Where are you?"
"Home," Remo said casually.
"Home?"
"You'll read about it in the morning paper. We had to ditch in Quincy Bay."
Smith made a strangled sound. "I have made progress," he said after regaining his composure.
"Good."
"But not on the Paraguay angle. On ParaSol, a shell company, which shut down only two days ago. I have a search spider tracing its parent company through international data links. In the meantime, I have discovered who was funding the BioBubble."
"Yeah?"
"Dr. Cosmo Pagan."
Remo kicked ice off his toes. "How does he figure into this?"
"That is your assignment, Remo. I have correlated Pagan's theories. No matter what he predicts, he always returns to the Martian hypothesis. It is clear to me he is generating a media smoke screen for reasons of his own."
"Think Pagan's controlling it?"
"Until I have a firm lead on the Parasol connection, it is the only avenue open to us. Remo, go to Tucson and interrogate Pagan. The BioBubble has been in financial difficulty since he took control. He may have had it destroyed for insurance reasons."
"Doesn't explain the Reliant," Remo challenged.
"Pagan is antishuttle."
"Okay," Remo said slowly. "That doesn't explain Baikonur."
"The Russian space-shuttle fleet was hangared there."
"How antishuttle can a guy be?"
"Pagan believes in a Mars mission, Remo. My information is that he suffers from a rare form of bone cancer. His days are numbered. It may be he wanted to accelerate a Mars mission. In some warped way, Pagan could see a Mars landing as his final professional achievement and his cosmic legacy."
"Sounds wacky."
"Move quickly. Moscow has placed its nuclear forces on the highest state of alert. And Washington is responding in kind."
"You know, this reminds me a lot of that trouble a few years back when the ozone layer was getting holes knocked in it and the Russians thought it was us trying to fry their missiles."
"I had that same thought. It is another example of how dangerous technological breakthroughs can be in the nuclear age."
"We're on our way to Tucson," said Remo, then hung up.
The Master of Sinanju came down from upstairs, wearing a splendid bone white kimono with black piping.
"Nice traveling outfit," Remo complimented.
"It is not for travel," said Chiun.
"Then you'd better change. It's back to Arizona for us."
"Smith has work?"
"Cosmo Pagan is Ruber Mavors. Smith wants us to shake him until something falls out."
"At least it will be warm in Arizona," said Chiun.
"Let's hope it doesn't get too warm," Remo responded.
Chapter 38
Dr. Cosmo Pagan had friends in high places. And not only the stars and the comets of the galaxy.
He had friends in NASA, despite his critical opinions. As well as in the Air Force and other organizations where the heavens and what went on in them was of professional interest.
Someone at Cheyenne Mountain called to whisper, "There's a mystery object in low Earth orbit."
"Is it cometary?"
"No. Man-made."
"Oh," said Dr. Pagan, who only cared about manmade space objects if they were going some place interesting. Earth orbit was like taking a cruise to nowhere. Literally.
"It'll pass over the continental US. tonight. If it stays on its current path, it will overfly your area."
"Why should I care?" asked Dr. Pagan in a bored voice.
"Because SPACETRACK thinks this is the thing that hit the Reliant. "
The bored quality dropped from Pagan's manner like clothes falling off a hooker.
"Can you slip me coordinates?"