"Ever hear of Shield?" he asked.
"No. I've heard of the ozone shield, though."
"How about Shchit?" asked Chiun.
"Who hasn't? Although I personally shun language like that."
"He never heard of Shield," said Remo.
"If that's all you two want, I want to see that orbital device for myself. It's due to fly by pretty soon."
"Be our guest. We have better things to do."
"Up Uranus," muttered Dr. Pagan, climbing atop his stool and planting his right eye to the telescope eyepiece. By the time Remo and Chiun reached the door, he was all but oblivious to his surroundings.
"By the way," Remo called from the open door, "your wife asked us to give you a message."
"What's that?" Pagan asked absently.
"The QNM people keep calling. They doubled your fee again."
"Tell them I'm not interested."
"You tell them. We're FBI, not messengers," said Remo, shutting the door.
They walked back to the car in silence and got into it.
On the way back to the highway, Remo said to Chiun, "Everywhere we go, we hit a dead end."
"We should be looking for Martians."
"If this keeps up, I might start agreeing with you. But I still think we're dealing with something solar."
"When are you ever correct?"
"Some of the time," Remo said as they pulled onto the highway and raced back toward Tucson and a flight he wasn't looking forward to.
Chapter 40
At SPACETRACK headquarters in Cheyenne Mountain, they watched Object 617 skim over the Eastern Seaboard in silence. And then gave a collective sigh of relief.
No one's sigh was greater than the U.S. President's slow, hot exhalation of released tension.
He had been about to have the thing shot down when CURE Director Smith had called to reveal that he now suspected Dr. Cosmo Pagan of being the mind behind the device.
"Pagan? I can't believe it!" the President had said.
"It is unproven. But my people are on the way to deal with him."
"They won't kill him, will they?"
"His survival depends upon his complicity."
"He's a very popular guy. I read all his books."
"I will keep you informed, Mr. President."
Leaving the Lincoln Bedroom, the President had returned to the Oval Office and his defense secretary. "We stand down. For now."
"I can't disagree with that decision," the defense secretary said, visibly relieved.
Object 617 passed harmlessly overhead, and World War III was placed on temporary hold. Even if the planet never suspected it.
When it came back on its next orbital sweep, it had shifted again. Farther west this time. It was overflying the American West now.
All who were privy to this intelligence relaxed even more. The area it was passing over was relatively unpopulated. Montana to Arizona. There were missile silos there, all in sparsely settled areas. Most were slated for dismantling anyway.
"We may get a break," the secretary of defense reported to the President. And they waited.
BARTHOLOMEW MEECH WATCHED his monitors, his face the exact color of sun-bleached oatmeal, as he moved the small joysticks controlling nitrogen thrusters far, far above his ground station.
Behind him, his computer screen displayed a message.
To: R From: RM@ qnm.com Subject: No call back The SOB can't be bought and won't shut up. It's up to you.
AT GEODSS, THEY WERE getting real-time optical feeds on the object. It showed as a dark ball, half in eclipse, the other half illuminated by the stark, high-contrast moonlight of space.
But as it swooped low over Salt Lake City, abruptly it flowered.
The dark struts that embraced the black ball of unknown material extended like a spider awakening. Hardly visible in its stealth mode, when it was partially open the inner core shone bright as a new-minted quarter.
"What in God's name is that?"
No one could venture a guess.
Then the stealth sphere unfurled into a great disk.
And in the center of the disk, three sharp-edged black letters showed clearly: "MNp."
Then the overhead screen filled with such intolerable white light that the technicians were forced to pinch their eyes shut and look away.
Chapter 41
It was Chiun who spotted the letters in the sky first.
"Remo! Behold!"
Remo braked and got out.
He saw the three letters that meant 'peace' in the Russian language, and then he was dropping to the ground covering his head and eyes because he knew what was coming next. Chiun followed suit.
They heard the boom as the world turned bright through their pinched-shut eyes, and they remained on the ground as a sizzling pressure wave rolled over them, scorching and wilting nearby foliage as if touched by a demonic exhalation.
"Stay low, Little Father," Remo warned.
"It has passed," said Chiun.
"There may be a second hit."
There wasn't. Remo and Chiun jumped up at the same time. They looked back down the road and saw the up-curling smoke from the hill on which Cosmo Pagan had been. The hill was still there, but not the trees and observatory. It looked like a smoking compost heap.
"It got Pagan," said Remo.
"Why?"
"That," said Remo, "is the question of the hour."
They drove back as far as they could. A circumference of about a sixteenth of a mile had been turned into black burned sand and earth. Glass had formed in smoking lumps. A few surviving old-growth tree stumps smoked like cauldrons. It was very hot. They couldn't get as close as they wanted.
But they got close enough to know that Dr. Cosmo Pagan, his house, his observatory and his wife had all been turned to mingled smoke and fumes that was now rushing up to meet the stars.
Overhead, a tiny dot of light hurtled past. The three ironic Cyrillic letters seemed to dwindle and shrink. Then they were gone, and so was the fleeting dot of light.
In the hot silence of the Arizona night, Remo Williams mumbled words he never expected himself to speak. "Maybe Martians are behind this after all," he muttered.
"You have just taken the first path to wisdom," intoned Chiun.
"Which is?"
"Agreeing with me," said the Master of Sinanju.
Chapter 42
Dr. Harold W Smith took the news well, given the extraordinary circumstances.
"Pagan is dead?" he blurted.
"Zapped," said Remo.
Smith's mouth turned to metal as he absorbed the import of Remo's telephone report. He had a paper cup brimming with water at his elbow. He swallowed it in one gulp. Then, as an afterthought, took two generic-brand painkillers with one extrastrength AlkaSeltzer.
His stomach bubbled and fizzed as he groped for a response. "Pagan must be connected to Object 617."
"He swore he wasn't, and believe me, if he was, Chiun and I would have wrung it out of him."
"Why would the power behind the device seek to kill him?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Smitty. But we're at another dead end."
"We cannot accept defeat. We are dealing with a man-made phenomenon. It must have a solution."
"Unless it's Martian-made," said Remo.
"There are no Martians."
"We know it's not the Russians or Pagan or the Pentagon. And I'll bet the ranch it's not the Paraguayans-or whatever they're called."
"Perhaps Pagan was silenced because he was getting too close to the truth," Smith said slowly.
"Earlier you were saying he was behind it because his theories were all over the sky."
"Hmm," said Smith.
"It is not the Russians," declared Chiun.
"We already know that, Little Father," Remo said.
"Russians would know how to spell 'peace' correctly," added Chiun.
"What is that?" asked Smith.
"Nothing. Just Chiun putting in his two cents."
"The word in the sky is not Russian," said Chiun. "Tell Smith this."