"From the pieces, we were able to reconstruct this portion."
"The fuel system?"
"You might say that, General."
"Then it is a missile."
"Uh, yes and no."
"Don't 'yes-and-no' me again. Out with it! It is or it isn't. "
"It's not a conventional missile. But it acted like one in flight. In other words, it was ballistic."
"That makes it a missile," General Leiber said decisively.
"No," said the major. "A missile is a fuel-propelled rocket. This is no such thing."
"No? Then how did it get to Washington? By slingshot?"
"That's the part of this I can't answer, General. We haven't a clue there."
The general stubbed his cigar into his mouth. He tilted his service cap off his lined forehead and his hands went on his hips.
"If you know what it is, you oughta be able to tell me what its motive power was."
"That I can tell you," the major said, patting the long drumlike cylinder affectionately. "They usually run on kerosene or coal."
The general blinked. "Say again."
"Kerosene or coal. That's the fuel. But the propulsion system is a by-product."
"What?"
"Steam."
"Steam." The general's cigar dropped to the floor, shedding sparks. "My God. Do you realize how serious this is? Steam. Every ratass little nation in the world possesses steam technology. If this is true, we could be facing a terrible new era of steam missiles."
"That's the bad news, General. Every nation on earth already possesses these devices."
"They do?"
"General, I don't quite know how to tell you this, but the object we dug out of that pit is a locomotive."
The general looked blank. "A what?" he asked quietly.
"A steam locomotive. See this wheeled section? It's part of the propulsion system."
The general looked. Beside the big cylinder was a distorted truck sitting low to the ground. It sat on heavy flanged wheels.
"Locomotive. As in choo-choo? As in the little engine that could? Are we talking about that kind of locomotive?"
"I'm afraid we are, sir."
"That's preposterous," the general sputtered.
"I agree."
"A steam locomotive runs on rails. It doesn't have a propulsion system."
"Not for flight, anyway."
"Steam locomotives don't have guidance systems."
"Exactly. And neither did this one."
"They don't have warheads."
"This one is perfectly harmless. Unless it fell on top of you."
"Then what the hell was it doing falling out of the sky if it was so goddamned harmless?"
"Well, had it landed another hundred yards to the north, it would have demolished the White House."
"That's a hell of a small target to take out for the throw weight involved. Only an imbecile would attempt such a thing. "
"I can't explain it."
"How the hell did it get airborne? You can at least explain that, can't you?"
"I wish I could. I have no idea. The front end is fused from reentery and the rear end, where you'd expect to find a propulsion system, is ... just the rear end of a locomotive."
"There's got to be something more. Something you've overlooked."
"There is one other phenomenon."
"Yes?"
"The individual pieces. As you can see, we've kept them well-separated. Watch what happens when I push them closer."
The general watched as the major walked over to an isolated fragment. With his shoe, he nudged the piece across the floor until it neared the wheeled truck. Suddenly the smaller fragment jumped across the concrete and hit the truck with a bang.
"Magnetic," the major said. "Every bit of it is magnetically charged."
"We knew that at Lafayette park. It was one of the first things we discovered."
"Highly magnetic. Unusually magnetic. It must have taken an incredible application of electricity to magnetize a five-hundred-ton locomotive."
"That's it?"
Major Cheek shrugged. "It's all we have."
General Martin S. Leiber looked at the chunks of blackened iron surrounding him. He looked at the major. He felt suddenly very small, as if he were surrounded, not by the pieces of a demolished locomotive, but by dinosaurs which had come to life with ravenous appetites. And he was the only piece of meat in sight.
"How am I going to explain this to the President?" he said in a shaken voice.
The major shrugged again. "I think you should tell him exactly what we've discovered. It's disturbing, but it's not as if we've had a dud nuke dropped on us."
"Dud nuke!" the general roared. "Dud nuke! A dud nuke we can handle. With a dud nuke we could read the serial numbers and identify the aggressor nation. Can you tell me who's responsible for this?"
"Once the reference books on locomotives arrive, we might."
"Can you tell me how it was launched?"
"Not from a book," the major admitted.
"No, of course not."
"I don't see the problem. Even if one of these hits a critical target and I don't see how, without internal guidance systems-the damage on the ground would be very limited."
"On the ground! You don't win wars on the ground anymore. You win 'em in the back rooms. At cocktail parties. This is the fucking twentieth century. Do you think America and Russia haven't had a major war this century because neither side thinks it can win a ground situation? Hell, no."
"I'm aware of the balance of power, General. But this thing doesn't figure in. It's nonnuclear."
"This one was. But what about the next one?"
"We don't know that there will be a next one."
"Do you want to tell the President that there won't be a next one? Do you, soldier?"
"No, sir," the major said hastily.
"Let me explain something to you, son. There are two absolutes in national defense. Our ability to detect and intercept an incoming threat. And our ability to retaliate in the event of an attack. We have no defense against this thing. It went up so fast our satellites couldn't read it. Hell, we barely had time to get the President into deep cover before it hit. But more important, we don't know where the bastard came from. We can't admit it hit sovereign territory without admitting weakness. Therefore, we can't warn the world that it had better not happen again. And if it does happen again, chances are we'll just have enough time to kiss our fat, contented assess goodbye. "
"I think you may be exaggerating, sir."
"We're sitting ducks. Do you know how many steam locomotives there are in Russia? In China? In the third world? Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. And every one of them a potential threat. How are we going to defend ourselves? Nuke the rest of the world and hope we get the enemy?"
"There may not be a next one," Major Cheek said stubbornly.
"I want total security on this. Who knows that this is a locomotive?"
"You and I. And three of my men."
"Confine them. They are not to breathe a word of this. No one talks about trains or locomotives or any of it. I'll figure out what to tell the President. In the meanwhile, you get your shiny nose into those reference books. I want to know when this thing was built, who built it, how many more of them are out there, and I want the answers tonight. You got that, soldier?"
"Yes, sir, General."
"I'll be at my office trying to hold this country together. Don't let me down."
And General Martin S. Leiber turned on his heel and stormed out of the overheated hangar. When he got outside, the rush of cold air made him shiver and frosted his mustache. He wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief and got into his car.
He was still sweating when he reached the Pentagon.
Chapter 8
"You don't seem very broken up, Little Father," Remo said as he tooled the lumbering truck through darkened city streets.
"I am not broken at all," sniffed Chiun.
"I didn't mean literally broken," Remo said. "I meant unhappy. As in heartbroken."
"Why should I be unhappy? It is true that I agreed to accompany you on what should have been a short pleasure ride but has turned into an expedition second only to Odysseus' voyage home from the Trojan Wars. But I am not grief-sticken."
"How was I to know that the first three zoos we'd try would refuse to accept Rambo?"
"You could have called ahead."
"I was in a hurry. I want this albatross off my neck."
"Albatross? What albatross?" Chiun asked, looking around.
"Never mind," fumed Remo.
"I wasn't going to mention this, but this is all your fault."
Remo braked the truck in anger. It skidded and he had to wrestle the wheel to the left to avoid hitting a mailbox. He succeeded. He hit a fireplug instead.
"How odd," said Chiun when the truck jounced to a halt. "It is raining, yet there are no clouds."
Remo threw the truck into reverse and backed off the hydrant so the engine would not be flooded. Wordlessly he got out of the truck.
The fireplug was cracked at its base. Water gushed up from the shattered main. Because Remo was upset, he did not approach the problem logically. He kicked the hydrant. The casing flew into a wall. Without the hydrant to cap it, the water geysered upward.
Remo was instantly soaked, which did not improve his mood.
Seeing no other alternative, he plunged into the geyser. Eyes clamped shut to the overpowering column of water, he felt for the sharp, broken water-main mouth. When his fingers found it, he began working the metal. Shrill metallic squeals emanated from the main.
Slowly, as Remo squeezed the water main shut, the torrent turned to a gush and then dropped off to a spastic trickle.
When Remo stood up, only a little water still stubbornly bubbled up. Remo stamped on the source, and the water stopped.
Soaking wet, he climbed back into the cab and tried the ignition. It caught after several tries and he backed the truck off the sidewalk.
A beat cop stood watching the truck depart. He hadn't seen the accident, only the sight of a thin man with unusually thick wrists angrily beating a water main into submission. He decided he hadn't seen enough to warrant questioning the man. If anyone asked, he had no idea what had happened to the hydrant.
"How is it my fault?" Remo asked bitterly after several blocks. He blew water off his lips. It kept rilling down his face. He tried wringing it out of his hair with his fingers.
"We would not now be having this problem had it not been for your rashness," Chiun told him evenly.
"I think we've had this conversation before," Remo said. "Is this the one that starts with: if I hadn't gone back to Vietnam, none of this would have happened?"
"No, this is the one that ends with my humiliation at your hands."
"I think I walked out before we got to that part last time. "
"That is why I bring it up now."
"You can get off here if you want."
"Nonsense. You drive. I will talk. Hopefully, you will listen in spite of your stubbornness. It was your stubbornness that created my dilemma."
"What dilemma is that?" Remo asked in spite of himself.
"Smith ordered you not to go to Vietnam."
"So I went anyway. I had an obligation. American POW's. It's about something you can't seem to understand. Loyalty. "
"I understand loyalty. I also understand higher obligations. My obligation to Smith. Your obligation to Smith."
"Sometimes I don't give a rat's ass about Smith."
"Ordinarily I would give even less. But emperors are hard to find in the modern world. Especially emperors with vast stores of gold. I may not value Smith, but I value his gold. It supports my village. Your village, now."
"So what's the beef?"
"The beef is that while I may turn a blind eye to your disobedience toward Smith, you have a deeper obligation to me. I gave Smith my word you would not go to Vietnam, and you did."
"I don't know what came over me," Remo said vaguely. "Must have been those flashbacks I was having."
"A convenient excuse," Chiun sniffed. "But I will continue my tale. I cannot have you disobeying me."
"It was a special case. It won't happen again."
"So you say. Your word was not good enough before. I cannot trust it now."
"Where is this leading? I'd like to take a shortcut."
"Impatient white," Chiun snapped. "We will probably be driving about all night and you do not even wish to converse. Very well. This is where this is leading: you asked me why I did not shed tears for the giving up of my elephant and I will tell you. He is a nice elephant, but truly I have no interest in him. He was merely a tool."
"To do what?"
"To educate."
"I get it," Remo said."As a Master of Sinanju I'm supposed to learn all there is to learn about elephants because your ancestors had to. Is that right?"
"No, it is not right. You disobeyed me and I had to teach you. Rambo was my choice to teach you a lesson."
"Whaaat!" Remo said, open mouthed.
"I made you wash him, feed him, and walk him so that you would learn the consequences of your actions."
"Wait a minute. You told me he was being abused. Then you tricked me into getting him aboard the sub. When did it occur to you to use him like that?"
"Before then. When I first came upon him."
"I thought he was your transportation through the freaking jungle.
"He was," Chiun said brightly. "He is a dual-purpose elephant."
"You mean to tell me," Remo shouted, "that the only reason you dragged that bag of wrinkled meat back to America was to stick it to me?"
"Hush, Remo," Chiun warned. "Rambo will hear you. He is sensitive."
From the rear of the trunk came a low, forlorn trumpeting. "See?" said Chiun.
"Yeah, I see. I see a lot. You're really something, you know that?"
"Yes," Chiun said happily. "I am something special."
"I don't believe this," Remo said under his breath. "All this because you wanted to teach me a lesson."
"Not just a lesson. Something more. Responsibility. Someday you will take over the village of Sinanju. Someday I will not be here to guide you through the thorny paths of life. I will not be at your side, but my teachings will stay with you. Especially this one. The next time you consider embarrassing me in front of my emperor, you will think of Rambo. And you will hesitate. Perhaps even reconsider. It is too much to hope you will refrain from your headstrong ways, but after a few additional experiences such as this, you may learn. It is enough to give me hope. "
"It is enough to give me a headache. I can't believe you've put me through all this just to make a point."
"An important point," Chiun corrected.
Remo said nothing. He came to a cross street. The sign said "Tower Avenue." Back at the last gas station they'd told him the Stonebrook Zoo was off Tower Avenue. But they hadn't said right or left. Remo decided to go left.
After three-quarters of a mile they came to a stone-rimmed gate that said "Stonebrook Zoo" in wrought-iron letters. A steel sign added that it was "Closed for the Season."
"Damn," Remo said, slapping the steering wheel in frustration. It shattered into three sections, leaving only the post.
"Now we are stuck," Chiun complained.
"No, we're not," Remo said grimly. "They may be closed, but not to us." He stepped out of the cab. Chiun followed.
"What do you plan, O determined one?" Chiun asked as Remo rattled the padlocked chain on the gate.
"I made a mistake last time," Remo said, testing various links in the chain. When he found one that seemed right, he pulled it apart with both hands. The link snapped. The chain rattled to the ground and Remo shoved open the gate.
"You make a mistake every time," Chiun said.
"Last time," Remo went on, ignoring him, "we offered to donate Rambo. Mistake. Nobody wants him. This time the
donation will be anonymous."
Remo opened the back of the truck and pulled down the ramp. He did it with one hand. Normally it took two men. Rambo backed out of the truck and stood docilely. Chiun patted him on the cheek and said to Remo, "Lead, and Rambo and I will follow."
"Come on," Remo said. Chiun tugged on one of the elephant's saillike ears and Rambo padded alongside him. They walked through the open zoo gates.
"All we have to do is find the elephant house and we're home free," Remo whispered.
"I understand," Chiun said. "When we find it, we will open it and place Rambo within. Then we will take our leave. No one will be any the wiser."
"It should work."
"Yes," said Chiun. "It is a good plan."
"All we have to do is find the elephant house."
"Hold it right there," a hard voice warned. Suddenly they were transfixed in the glow of a flashlight. A uniformed man advanced on them, flashlight in one hand and a revolver in the other. He was a silhouette in the darkness, but beyond the flashlight's glare Remo made out the outline of his peaked cap and gunbelt.
"Oh-oh," Remo whispered. "A guard."
"Don't move a muscle," the guard said, coming to a stop. He was very careful not to get closer.
"You're both under arrest," he said, looking them over.
"Arrest! For what?" Remo demanded.
"Elephant poaching."
"Elephant . . ." Remo sputtered. "Now, wait a minute. We're not-"
Chiun kicked Remo in the ankle.
"Oh, please, Mr. Policeman," the Master of Sinanju said in a pitiful voice. "Please do not shoot us."
"I won't if you don't make any funny moves."
"Not us," Remo said, wishing he could reach down and massage his aching ankle.
"We are very sorry for this intrusion," Chiun went on, his voice quavering. "If you will show mercy, we will attempt to atone for our terrible crime."
"That'll be up to a judge."
"But there is no judge to be seen," Chiun pointed out, "and we are alone in the dark, just the three of us. And this elephant." Chiun tugged on Rambo's ear. His trunk shot up and he let out a cry of anguish.
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