"No doubt he is the perpetrator of this madness."
"The big cheese, without a doubt."
Chiun looked to his pupil. "Are you not going to seize this big cheese as planned?"
"Not now. I'm on strike again." Remo looked down. "How about you?"
"I feel a strike coming on, as well."
Remo nodded. "That's a nice shade of pink."
"A most excellent shade," Chiun agreed.
"Peaceful," said Remo. "I'm not big on pink, but the guy who came up with that shade knew what he was doing. I haven't felt this relaxed in years."
The Master of Sinanju lifted his bearded chin. "He may be a vassal of wicked overseers, but Mongo Mouse is a great mouse."
"The greatest," said Remo.
As they watched, the cartoon figures upended a wicker basket for Mickey Weisinger to climb atop.
He was greeted with a polite ripple of applause, which he acknowledged with a Richard Nixon-like raising of arms.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," he began, "I have come in peace."
More applause. Smiles.
"On this glorious Memorial Day weekend, I offer a truce to the people of Virginia. I know we've had our past differences, but I think they can be worked out."
The smiles grew broad in faces washed with a warm pink glow.
"I have come not to exploit history, but to enhance it. The Sam Beasley Corporation is willing to work not only with the gentle people of Virginia, but with its noble reenactors. Those who desire them will have jobs."
Sustained applause.
"You hear that? He's offering us jobs!"
"He's been offering you'uns jobs for months," Colonel Dixie barked. "I thought you folks said never."
"He didn't offer it to us face-to-face like that."
"Yeah. He comes across right sincere in person."
"Sincere and in the pink."
"Pink?" said Colonel Dixie.
"Can't you see the honest pinkness of his words?"
"Search me. I got me a spell of color confusion."
"What say?"
"I don't see my colors right. Get my reds and greens kinda mixed up. Pink might as well be purple to me."
"You're missing out on one of the great pleasures of life if you can't see the color pink."
"You don't say?" said Narvel Boggs, wondering what had gotten into folks.
"And because we respect the sentiments of Virginians and other Southerners," Mickey Weisinger went on, "when we build Beasley U.S.A. we will have an If the South Had Triumphed Pavilion."
A rebel cheer went up.
"And virtual-reality games in which the South always wins."
A greater cheer. Even the Union reenactors cheered.
"You will know what it was like to have been a slave!"
An even greater cheer.
"Of course," Mickey added, "we will also serve history by reflecting the true denouement of the events of the-"
Mickey Weisinger replaced the earphone that had popped out of his ear.
"War Between the States, you jackass," came the crusty voice of Uncle Sam from the earphone.
"War Between the States," said Mickey Weisinger to the cheering of the Union reenactors. The Southerners also cheered. They cheered as if the outcome of the Civil War was a cause for great jubilation and always had been.
"Before all these cameras," Mickey went on, "I would like to close ranks with you men, bury the hatchet and ask for your support in this great project."
Reenactors surged forward with such suddenness that Mickey Weisinger hastily jumped off the wicker basket and would have sought the safety of the Crater except that Gumpy Dog and Mucky Moose grabbed him and pushed him back atop his wicker-basket soapbox.
Outstretched hands reached eagerly for his. Mickey shook them as fast as they came.
Then, with a crack and flutter, like canvas in the wind, a gray-and-scarlet figure surged through the crowd to lay a choke hold on Mickey Weisinger's thick neck.
"Urrk!" said Mickey.
"Maybe all the rest of you have turned milk-liver," thundered Colonel Dixie, "but Ah ain't! Ah aim to break this Jew Yankee's neck."
"No, no, don't."
"Please don't, Colonel Dixie."
"He's Mongo's pal. He don't mean no harm."
"Urrk!" said Mickey Weisinger as the world and Virginia turned dark all around him and a roar like a distant ocean began in his ear canals.
Over the roar a harsh voice said, "I can see everything that's happening. Promise him--"
"I can make you rich," Mickey Weisinger said in a squeezed voice, repeating the words in his ear.
"Colonel Dixie don't need wealth. His heart is pure as Georgia rain."
"I can offer something better than wealth. I can make you an official Beasley licensee."
"Huh? How's that again?"
"You'll join the honored family of Beasley characters."
The hands slackened their strong, choking grip.
"You mean pal around with Mongo?"
"Tell him, Mongo."
"Sure," Mongo squeaked from off to the right, gesturing with his yellow-gauntleted hands. "We'll have tons of neat adventures together."
"Will I get my own comic book?" Narvel asked his captive.
"Comics, cartoon shows, video games and all the personal appearances you want. We'll make you Beasley U S.A.'s official mascot."
"It's a damn deal," said Narvel Boggs, who had shingled his last home and because of the events this day would ultimately be worth a quarter-billion dollars by the turn of the century.
Mickey Weisinger hacked and coughed as the red went out of his face and his lungs resumed normal functions.
"MAYBE THIS WAS ALL a misunderstanding," Remo was remarking to the Master of Sinanju as Mickey Weisinger and Colonel Dixie were lifted on the shoulders of the cheering throng.
"Wars are always fought over treasure. This land is the treasure, and now those who contested it have reached a truce. The war is over."
"Guess we can go home now," said Remo. His head suddenly turned as he tracked a moving figure.
"What is it, Remo?"
"There's that French reporter."
The woman in the beret and blue slip dress was creeping around the periphery of the Crater, which was jammed with fighting men turned peaceful. She had a satellite phone up to her face and was talking into it with obvious vehemence.
"What's she saying?" Remo asked. "I don't understand French."
"She is saying that the battle is over."
"It sure is," agreed Remo.
"But she cannot discover why."
Remo shrugged. "She'll figure it out."
But she didn't. She hung well back of the mob, moving back and forth like a wary tiger. Eventually she backed toward Remo and Chiun, unawares.
"J'essaie de constater cela, " she was muttering. "I am trying to ascertain this."
"Boo!" said Remo.
She whirled, face a stark white. "You again!"
"Yep. Me."
She straightened and the spooked light went out of her eyes. She smoothed her skirt with a nervous gesture. "Perhaps you can 'elp me."
"If we can," Remo said agreeably.
"I did not see what 'as 'appen' here. Ze fighting 'as ended. Can you not tell me why?"
"They saw the balloons."
"Oui. I saw ze ugly balloons descended, as well. But why would zey stop fighting? Were zey not against ze Beasley people?"
"I wouldn't call them ugly."
"Zey 'ave giant uncouth cartoon faces on zem."
"Watch what you say about an American original," said Remo. "Besides, you have to admit the light show was spectacular."
"I saw only zat it was very bright."
"Struck me as more soothing than bright."
"What is soothing about bright white light?"
"White? It's pink."
"Oh. I am, how you say, daltonienne?"
"Say what?"
"Color-blind."
"Must be nice," said Remo.
She looked at him questioningly. "Was ze bright object zat fell from ze black 'elicopter also pink?"
"How do you know it was black if you're colorblind?"