"You're a lot of help," King snarled, crumpling up his paper cup and throwing into a basket. He stormed over to the elevators. Maybe there would be more information on the next floor. If not, at least he still had his key to the executive washroom. Maybe he would set up an impromptu office there.
The elevator doors slid open and King started in. He noticed the lift was occupied. Then he noticed by whom.
King started to retreat but a hand connected to an extraordinarily thick wrist grabbed his power red tie and used it to yank him back. The doors closed on his yelp of surprise.
"Going up?" Remo asked casually.
"Actually, I was going down," King said glumly.
"Looks like you ride with us. Funny, we were looking for you, too. Let's have a private talk in your office."
"I don't have an office. They gave it to Nancy."
"Okay, let's have a talk in Nancy's office."
"I don't have the key."
"You won't need one."
The elevators settled at the top floor and Skip King stepped off, with Remo and Chiun a pace behind him. He knew better than to run.
At the office door, King said sheepishly, "Here it is."
The little Korean stepped up to the pebbled glass and used one long fingernail to score the glass. The sound hurt King's ears. Remo gave the circle a tap. The glass popped in, and he reached inside to turn the doorknob.
"In you go," said Remo.
King stepped in. "You know I'm not impressed."
"No?"
"Anyone can slip a glass cutter under their fingernail."
"Maybe. But not us. Where's Nancy?" Remo asked, without wasting any more time.
"I don't know. I heard she was riding shotgun when the brontohauler was hit."
"Hit by who?"
"Search me."
"He is lying, Remo," said Chiun in a cold voice. "His sweat reeks of falsehoods."
"That's ridiculous," King snapped.
And suddenly Skip King felt a viselike pressure around his ankles. The rest was a blur of sound and noise and motion-and once the blood rushing to his head cleared his vision, he realized he was being dangled out his former office window by his ankles.
"Let me go!"
"You don't want that. You want to be pulled back in safely. Right?"
"Pull me back in to safety-fast," King screamed, his tie slapping his face.
"First some truth. Who hijacked the hauler?"
"It must have been those Africans."
"Try again. We know the Africans were shooting blanks. So were the Berets. What's the story?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"He is lying, Remo," came the squeaky voice of Chiun. "His voice shrieks his perfidy."
"I don't like being lied to," Remo said, an edge in his voice now.
"I don't blame you!"
"Ever heard of the melon drop?"
"No."
"It's an old Korean custom. Someone lies to you and so you dangle him by both ankles and play melon drop. Guess whose head substitutes for the melon?"
King guessed. "No! Please!"
"Ready for the one, two, three, splat part of the ritual?"
"Okay! Okay! I'll talk."
"You're already talking. Talk truth."
"The board must be behind this! It's gotta be them."
"Why?" Remo asked.
King let the words come out of him in a spray. "This whole Bronto thing is part of a marketing plan. We're putting Old Jack on tour. When it's done, we're going to euthanize him."
Chiun's wrinkled features grew perplexed. "Euthanize?"
"Dino dumping," said Remo grimly.
"The fiends."
"That's right," King agreed. "They're fiends. The idea is to sell Bronto Burgers at rare-art prices. The board expects to clean up. They must have moved the timetable up without telling me."
"What do you think, Chiun?"
"I think there is no limit to the barbarism of this land, where Vietnamese are allowed to live in the finer provinces and people would eat dragons."
"As opposed to skinning them for the magic bones?"
"One buries a dragon after it has breathed its last. It is the only proper thing to do."
"Why?"
"So a new dragon will grow from the organs, of course."
"I give up," said Remo, hauling King back into the room. King staggered over to the wastepaper basket and, getting down on hands and knees, began heaving into it.
"Let us hie to this board of evil, Remo, and remove their scheming heads."
"Not without checking in first."
The Master of Sinanju indicated Skip King, his head in the steel basket.
"That one has ears."
"I'll fix that," said Remo as he reached into the basket and squeezed a place near King's spine. He went limp and the bubbling sound of him exhaling into his own vomit came.
Remo got Smith on the phone.
"Smith, forget everything you heard about African environmentalists. This is a Burger Triumph scam all the way."
"What?"
"They have it all worked out. A promo tour, an accidental death. Guess what happens next?"
"I cannot imagine."
"Every yuppie in the universe getting in line for a once-in-a-lifetime taste sensation."
Smith's gasp was a dry, shocked sound. "You don't mean-"
"It'll be bigger than cabbage patch dolls, except you can eat Bronto Burgers."
"Have you traced the animal?"
"No. But we scared the truth out of King. He says the board has moved up the timetable."
"Interrogate the board."
"Just wanted you to know before we did it."
"Try to do this delicately. Burger Triumph represents a significant slice of the American economy."
"They don't lie, they don't die. How's that?"
"Satisfactory," said Smith.
Skip King was still bubbling away when Remo hung up. On the way out the door, the Master of Sinanju kicked the basket over. King fell with it and began breathing normally.
The board of directors of the Burger Triumph corporation wasn't sure what to make of the thick-wristed man and his colorful companion.
They tried to bluff their way through the intrusion on their emergency board meeting.
"Are you employed here?" asked the CEO.
"No. We're dissatisfied customers."
"Dissatisfied?"
"We like our Brontosaurs on the hoof and not between slices of stale bun."
"I do not follow."
"They are temporizing, Remo," the old one warned the other.
"Must be expecting help," said the one called Remo.
He walked around the table, running his fingers along the polished cherrywood top. He stopped when he came to the right-hand corner at the CEO's elbow, reached under, and yanked a push button out by its wiring.
He dangled it in the CEO's face. "Who'd you call?"
"Security. And I suggest you two plan to leave quietly or charges will be filed. Federal charges."
"Lordy me," said Remo.
The Burger Berets burst in a moment later. There were four of them and they toted AR-15 assault rifles. Captain Mustard led them. He paled at the sight of Remo and Chiun. He started to back out of the room, but his team was in the way.
"Nice guns," said Remo.
"Please put your hands up," Mustard ordered in a quaking voice.
Remo's confident smile didn't involve his eyes. "Remember to load them this time around?"
Captain Mustard and his Berets hesitated, looked momentarily blank, and various uncomfortable expressions crawled over their faces.
Remo looked to the CEO and said, "You know, I think they forgot their bullets again."
The CEO stood up and shook an angry fist. "Shoot them! They've threatened the board and by implication all your jobs!"
The Burger Berets made a valiant attempt. Their lack of ammunition was a serious handicap, but it probably saved their lives. As the weapons filled the boardroom with noise and flame and gunsmoke and not much else, Remo and Chiun moved among them, using their jaunty purple berets to gag them-after first relieving them of the weapons and all limb volition with hard fingerstrokes to shoulder and hip joints.