"Fat chance. He was so clean it was obscene. Mud is our blood! Our blood is mud!" he chanted.
Remo and Chiun exchanged bemused looks.
"My method is better," Chiun suggested.
"Little Father," Remo said, stepping back, "be my guest."
"It will be a pleasure to wring the truth from such a one as this specimen," said the Master of Sinanju gravely. "But he does not know the answers we seek."
Then, like a spiked dog collar turned inside out, the terrible needles began to close on Fabrique Foirade's scrawny neck.
The Dirt Firster had only begun to empty his lungs in a fearful scream when the scarlet helicopter descended, kicking up dust in whirling, stinging billows.
"Now what?" Remo said, throwing his forearm over his mouth and nose. He squeezed his eyes shut. The light from the helicopter turned the inside of his eyelids reddish-pink.
"Remo," Chiun called over the noise, "catch the dirty one! He is coming toward you!"
"Catch him? I thought you had him."
"I did-until this manmade dust storm was called down upon my poor head," Chiun pointed out in a squeaky voice.
"Wonderful," Remo muttered. Eyes closed, he lashed out, trying to gather up the air around him. But between the sound and the sand, he succeeded only in getting his forearms thoroughly sandblasted.
The rotor whine died. When the sand stopped peppering his squinched-up face, Remo finally opened his eyes. They glared with dark anger. He looked around.
The helicopter had settled. The Master of Sinanju was lowering his full kimono sleeves. Unconcernedly he brushed the loose sand that had collected in the folds of his robe.
There was no sign of the escaped Dirt Firster.
"Great, you lost him," Remo said, looking around in vain.
"Blame that one," Chiun said, pointing to the thick-bodied man stepping from the scarlet helicopter.
"Thank you, I will," Remo said, starting for the helicopter. He recognized the man's toothy grin and pinkie-ring diamond.
"What's going on here?" Connors Swindell demanded hotly.
"I just broke up the west-coast chapter of Dirt First!!" Remo told him flatly.
"Nice breaking," Swindell said appreciatively, stepping over a moaning body. Then, catching a good glimpse of Remo's lean face in the helicopter floodlight, he squinted. "Don't I know you?"
"You handed me a condom back at La Plomo."
Swindell brightened. "You use it yet?"
"No."
"Have another. Nothing short of an airbag beats 'em for accident prevention, and between you and me, I ain't airbag size myself."
Folding his arms angrily, Remo ignored the offered packet. The Master of Sinanju drifted up behind Swindell. His dark kimono was all but invisible in the backglow, giving him the appearance of a disembodied head floating in the night.
"Mind explaining what you're doing out here?" Remo asked tightly.
"Doin'?" Swindell said huffily. "I come to protect my baby from harm." Swindell's beefy bediamonded hand swept out to encompass the moon-burnished Condome and its trapped construction crew, huddling like shadowy specimens in some futuristic zoo.
"This!" Remo asked in surprise. "This is yours?"
"You ain't heard that?" Swindell returned, equally shocked. "Where you been lately-Outer Mongolia?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah," Remo returned.
His words were drowned out by the rising whine of the helicopter turbine.
"What the hell?" Swindell barked, turning. "Shut that down! You shut that down, hear?"
Instead of replying, the white-faced helicopter pilot sent the Sikorsky lifting clear of the sand. Through narrowed eyes Remo could see why. The escaped Dirt Firster crouched behind him, pressing a railroad spike into his gulping Adam's apple.
"Don't look now," Remo said glumly, "but Dirt First just hijacked your helicopter."
"What!" Swindell's voice was a scream. It tore through Remo's ear. "Not my baby. He can't! I ain't got another!"
He turned to Remo, frantic, grabbing his shirt front. "You gotta stop it!" he pleaded. "You just gotta!"
"How?" Remo asked, gazing skyward at the rising chopper. "Lasso it with a handy jungle vine?"
The pilot was evidently too nervous to manage the delicate controls correctly. Hanging low in the night, the chopper wobbled, as if about to fall.
"I'll pay!" Swindell shrieked. "Anything! To anyone! It's my last chopper!"
The Master of Sinanju piped up loudly, "What is your offer?"
Swindell swing on Chiun, face twisting. In an imploring voice he shouted, "You got a free condo! How's that grab you?"
"Sold!" said the Master of Sinanju, bending down to pick up a flat sheet of scrap metal. Straightening, he hefted it, as if testing its weight. Then, one arm snapping back, he let fly.
Like a square Frisbee, the metal scrap scaled up for the rear rotor. It bounced off the spinning disk with a snarling clang, dropping back mangled. Shards of rotor came down with it.
Without the stabilizing effect of the tail rotor pushing against the main rotor's torque, the helicopter began spinning counterclockwise, like a top on a string.
"Get back!" Remo shouted. "It's going to crash!"
Everyone on the ground jumped clear.
The helicopter pilot instantly realized what the problem was. Reaching up, he cut the main rotor. Disengaged, the auto-rotating blades acted like a parachute, allowing the ship to settle with only a jar.
Unfortunately, it landed on a dune at an angle. Rotors still turning, it teetered, then fell over. The rotor dashed itself out of shape against the sand, throwing up stinging grit.
A section of rotor broke off and shattered the Plexiglas bubble, which instantly turned red, inside and out.
Then there was only silence.
Remo was the first to reach the stricken helicopter. He plunged in through the open door.
The cockpit was a mess of tangled instrumentation and human remains. The Dirt Firster had gotten the worst of it. The rotor shard had bisected his torso from neck to hip at an oblique angle. He lay in two main pieces. A few fingers were scattered here and there, and one whole hand, clutching a spike, lay wedged under one of the directional control pedals.
"Looks like he tried to fend it off," Remo muttered, noting that the violence of the rotor strike had blown dirt and sand dust off the Dirt Firster. Even his blood was dirty.
Chiun, standing outside, nodded in satisfaction. "He is as dead as Mic Vorrow."
"Who?"
"The famous dead helicopter actor," said Chiun.
"Oh, that Mic Vorrow," Remo said, checking the pilot.
"How bad is it?" Connors Swindell called from a distance.
"You're gonna need another helicopter pilot," Remo called back, noting the pilot's glassy stare.
"Damn! That's two employees I lost just today. This is sure gonna be one miserable decade."
Remo stepped from the wreckage. "How's that?" he asked, trotting back to Connors Swindell.
"Lost my chauffeur. Been with me years." Swindell gave the mangled aircraft a frightened squint. "Won't the helicopter blow up?"
"I doubt it," Remo said, looking back. Chiun remained with the helicopter, examining it intently. After a brief glance at the dead, he concentrated on the shattered exterior, sniffing like a curious kitten.
"What's your friend doing?" Swindell asked curiously.
"Probably screwing things up worse than they already are," Remo grumbled. "Look, I have some questions for you." Remo handed him a card that said he was Remo Goolsby of the CIA.
"CIA agents carry cards?" Swindell asked, returning the card.
"This one does," Remo told him. "I'm investigating the La Plomo disaster."
"Crying shame," Swindell said piously. "All them fine homeowners. Snuffed out in their sleep like that."
"So what were you doing there?"
"Checking out property. Anytime you gotta disaster like that, lots of property changes hands. I'm in real
estate. Did you get one of my cards?" He flashed one of his condom-packet business cards.
"Keep it," Remo said. "We think Dirt First!! was responsible for the poison-gas attack at La Plomo."
"You know," Swindell said slowly, "I was thinking the same thing myself." He smiled broadly. "So if two right smart individuals like you and me come to that independent conclusion, well, now, it must be so, don't it?"
"We also think they hijacked the neutron bomb that girl brought to La Plomo. Since they're here, it stands to reason the neutron bomb is somewhere here too."
Swindell started. "Damn! Should we evacuate?"
"That's a good first step. Can you get me inside that thing?"
Swindell winced. "Thing? That, my friend, is a Condome. And you and your little Chinese friend are the proud owners of one of our top residential units. Since you done me a good turn, and all."
Remo frowned. "But the helicopter was destroyed."
"I give a man credit for trying, I surely do." Swindell laid a heavy arm across Remo's shoulders. He nudged Remo away from the helicopter. "Tell you what, to show there's no hard feelings, I'm gonna give you your choice of ground-floor units."
Remo regarded the Condome blankly. "Does that mean the top or the bottom?"
"Bottom. I keep forgettin' to adjust the terminology." Swindell's eyes shifted back to Chiun's searching figure. "Why don't I let you and your friend do a thorough search of the Condome? And if you don't find that little lost neutron bomb of yours inside, we can do an open house. Maybe you can tell your friends about this fine opportunity to live like folks will in the twenty-first century."
Remo turned to Chiun, "Hey, Little Father. Come on. If the bomb is anywhere, it's probably in the dome."
The Master of Sinanju was sniffing at a hatch in the helicopter's thick boom.
"Chiun, you hear me?" he shouted in exasperation.
"I have found it," Chiun called distantly.
Swindell grabbed Remo's arm. "Come on, let's not waste any more time. That bad old bomb could go off any second now."
"Found what?" Remo said, his arm slipping from Swindell's hands as if intangible.
"The neutral boom," Chiun replied brittlely.
"What!" Remo flashed to the Master of Sinanju's side, leaving Swindell's outstretched arm hanging on empty air. Swindell pounded after him, huffing and puffing as if going into cardiac arrest. The night air was cool but his toothy face broke out in little dewlike droplets of sweat. Even his teeth seemed to sweat.
As Remo drew near, the Master of Sinanju slipped his nails into the slightly ajar crack in the helicopter's tail boom. A hatch popped down.
And out of the black space tumbled the missing neutron bomb. It plopped into the sand with a mushy thump, like a silver trophy on an overdone base.
"Oh, Lordy." Connors Swindell gave a twisted moan. "Get away from it! It might go up!"
"It's okay," Remo assured him, touching the electronics. "Just relax."
Swindell paced back and forth like his shoes hurt. "This is awful! This is terrible! I don't wanna be nuked."
"Will you relax?" Remo told him. "It's not armed. I know how these things work. Not all the plastique charges are in place. It can't go nuclear without them all."
"I say we take no chances," the Master of Sinanju said.
"I second that," Remo said grimly. And stepping up to the silvery sphere, he began extracting plastique charges by their convenient handles.
Swindell howled in anguish. "What are you doing? Are you crazy? Let experts handle this! We gotta hightail it!"
"Get a grip, will you?" Remo shot back. "There's no danger."
When he had reduced the device to a skeleton of welded rings, Remo started in on the framework. Metal broke with snapping barks. Soon it lay stripped to the beryllium-oxide tamper. That, Remo left alone. He didn't know what would happen if he breached it.
"Well," Remo said, stepping back and slapping his hands clean, "that's the end of that. The mystery's solved. Dirt First!! stole the bomb and now it's neutralized."
Connors Swindell suddenly lost his anguished look. His fleshy face loosened, then relaxed. He stopped his mad pacing.
"That's the best damn news I've heard all decade," he said in joyous relief.
Remo turned to Chiun. "Nice detecting. How'd you guess it was in the helicopter? I would have sworn he didn't have enough time to grab the bomb and take it with him."
"I did not guess," Chiun said, eyeing Connors Swindell narrowly, "I detected the telltale scent of the explosives."
"You must have a great nose."
"I have excellent judgment."
"Ready to admit Dirt First!! was behind this all along?" Remo suggested happily.
"No," said the Master of Sinanju, turning his back on Remo and Connors Swindell. "Show me my well-deserved reward. It may be I will occupy it very soon."
And casting a narrow glance to Remo, he floated toward the Condome.
"We're having a little tiff," Remo explained for Swindell's benefit. "Don't take him too seriously."
"I take every potential buyer seriously," he said, taking out a white silk handkerchief and mopping his brow until it was wet enough to wring. "Especially when he can bring down an entire helicopter with a hunk of tin flashing."
Chapter 16
When Remo Williams liberated the construction crew from the frozen Condome airlock, they poured out, waving hammers and other heavy tools.
"Monkey wrenching!" cried a man who carried an actual ten-pound monkey wrench like a broadsword. "I'll show them monkey wrenching."
There weren't enough living Dirt Firsters to pound on, so the crew vented their wrath on the scorpion population.
"I need to use your phone," Remo told Connors Swindell, who couldn't figure out which fascinated him more-the ferocity of his crew or the strange way the skinny CIA agent had opened the airlock door. Since the power was out, it had been frozen in place. The skinny guy had used the side on his hand to chop out a section of Plexiglas, exposing the locking mechanism. Then, simply reaching in, he manipulated the lock.
The great door had opened as easily as a refrigerator, and they all made room for the furious outpouring of frustrated men.
"How'd you do that?" Swindell wondered, escorting them through the massive bank-vault-like airlock.
"I used to be lock picker for the CIA," Remo said blandly.
"But you used your hands."
"Had to. Left my picks back in Mongolia. Now how about that phone?"
"If we can find a cellular, you're all set."
They found a cellular phone in the penthouse complex. Swindell proudly led Remo and Chiun into his lavish penthouse office. His face fell as Remo went to the phone without commenting on the tasteful interior decoration and gracious living spaces.
Undaunted, he turned the charm on Chiun instead. "Yessir, I think any man would be right proud to live in digs like these. Don't you?"
"Possibly," Chiun undertoned. His eyes were slits.
Swindell didn't like the way the little Asian was eyeing him. It was creepy. Like he could see right through him. And Connors Swindell prided himself on being as transparent as chilled steel.
"You'll change your tune once you see one of the nice units I got picked out just for you," he said. "Yessir, Con Swindell don't forget a favor. You and you CIA friend saved my Condome from being nuked by those crazy anarchists. And I ain't never gonna forget it."
"Let us repair to another room."
"Why's that?"
"My son has a secret call to make."
"Oh, I get it. CIA stuff. Come on, I'll show you the kitchen. It's got every modern convenience known to man."
"Does it have a spittoon? I have noticed during my years in this land that spittoons are a rare luxury. "
"No, but it's got a mean microwave."
"Rice cannot be microwaved."
Swindell blinked. "What's that got to do with the price of real estate?" he wondered, leading the old man away.
> Once alone, Remo dialed Harold W. Smith.
"Mission accomplished, Smitty."
"You located the neutron device?" Smith asked eagerly.
"Located and dislocated," Remo said proudly. "It's in pieces. Should I bring them back?"
"Yes, do that. I do not want nuclear materials lying around. Where are you, Remo?"
"In the California desert. Ever hear of a Condome?"
"Yes. It's a new design in condominiums. A prototype is now under construction. I doubt they will catch on."
"Well, they caught Dirt First's attention. They were trying to nuke it for some reason, but we stopped them. We piled up a lot of bodies, Smitty."
"I will cover your tracks," Smith said in a tone of voice that said bodies were no more a problem than empty soda cans. "Have you found any proof that Dirt First!! was behind the La Plomo incident?"
"Nope. But I'd say we got them dead to rights." Remo's eyes went around the den. The knotty pine walls were lined with photos of Connors Swindell-usually breaking ground and wearing a hardhat that fit his beefy head like a thimble. Remo recognized several senators and other celebrities. One shot in particular drew his attention. The man standing arm in arm with Swindell looked familiar, but Remo couldn't place him. Probably a service buddy, he decided. He wore some kind of uniform.
"That is hardly proof," Smith pointed out.
"The FBI has determined that the Lewisite was Army surplus."
"That fits in with Chiun's theory that the body we found in Missouri was military. I still think he was a Dirt Firster."
"We should know soon. The FBI is processing the body. He is an annoying loose end. I would feel better if all the loose ends were tied together."
"What do you want-signed confessions? I'm an assassin, not Dale Cooper."
Smith sighed. "Very well. Return to Folcroft."
"As soon as we get the grand tour."
"Grand tour?"
"The developer is giving us a condo in return for services rendered."
"Do not accept it," Smith said sharply.
"Why not? I'll bet it's bug-free," Remo said pointedly.
Smith had no reply to that, so Remo disconnected, saying, "Chew on that a while, Smitty."
Remo found the Master of Sinanju in the bathroom examining the fixtures as Connors Swindell pointed out their attributes.
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