The Last Dragon td-92

by Warren Murphy

  Chapter 15

  The ekranoplane Orlyonok thundered across the Atlantic Ocean in exactly eleven hours, twenty-eight minutes, and sixteen seconds.

  Her nose engines began to throttle down, and Remo, who had passed the trip stretched out on the port wing, sat up. The reduced slipstream threw his dark hair around, and he kept his face turned away from the blasting air.

  Shore breezes brought a conglomeration of smells to his sensitive nostrils-smog, food odors, car exhaust. Civilization. The ekranoplane was nearing land. It was night. The moon outlined a shelf of pale sand. A beach.

  Then the nose engines cut out and the wingship settled into the water, her tail propellers pulling her toward shore.

  Remo stood up. It was possible to stand up now. Over the prop roar, he called, "Hey, Little Father. Ready to make landfall?"

  "The tardy cook dinner," Chiun squeaked back.

  And Remo jumped off the leading edge of the blunt wing. His feet carried him in front of the wingship. Once past the gleaming white nose, he spotted the Master of Sinanju, pipestem arms pumping, legs flying under his broad kimono skirts, keeping pace.

  Remo pushed himself harder. The wavelets under his feet felt like slippery elusive pebbles that tried to repel footing. But Remo's flashing feet moved on so quickly that they found purchase enough to keep him moving ahead, but not enough to break the surface tension of the water.

  Then there was a chunking of hard-packed beach sand under his shoe leather.

  "I win!" said Remo, turning toward the water.

  Chiun was nowhere to be seen. Remo saw the big wingship coming in, but out on the water there was no Master of Sinanju.

  "Oh man," said Remo, starting back. He had just set both shoes into the cold water when behind him, Chiun's squeaky voice said, "You were slower than usual."

  Remo whirled. There was Chiun, standing there, pointing to Remo's sopping shoes.

  "And you have wet your feet."

  "They're wet because I thought you'd fallen in."

  "Anyone who would think that deserves to walk about with his shoes full of seawater."

  Remo walked back, his shoes simultaneously squishing and making gritty sounds.

  "I didn't see you overtake me," he said.

  "And if you do not learn to see with both eyes, you will never see the hand that strikes you dead," retorted Chiun, a faint light of triumph in his hazel eyes. "We will have fish tonight," he added blandly.

  "Maybe there's a good restaurant around here, wherever here is."

  They looked around. The beach and docks looked unfamilar. The wingship continued gliding toward the empty beach. Tugboats were chugging to meet it. The Orlyonok settled into a slow glide and the tugs bumped at its wings, stopped it, then backed off as other tugs began nudging the wings from behind.

  Slowly, they guided it toward the beach. The craft nosed onto the gritty sand, crushing sea shells and driftwood, and its hull made an extended grating sound before it came to a dead stop.

  "Let's pretend we're a welcoming party," Remo suggested.

  "I will welcome a toe bone and nothing less."

  They circled around to wait patiently by the hatch while it was unlocked and thrown open.

  Colonel Mustard poked his head out.

  "Greetings," said Chiun.

  "Miss us?" asked Remo.

  Colonel Mustard grew round of eye and mouth and pulled the hatch back with both hands.

  Remo caught the door edge. Mustard pulled harder. Remo gave a casual yank and the colonel landed in the sand, face first.

  Skip King barged up to the door, demanding, "What is going on here?"

  "Welcome wagon," Remo sang out.

  King let out a shriek and stumbled back into the craft.

  Nancy Derringer showed up next. "How on earth did you two-" She saw the purple-bereted figure sprawled on the beach and changed her question. "What is he supposed to be?"

  "Colonel Mustard, in the sand, with egg on his face," Remo said.

  "Funny."

  "How's the Bronto?"

  "Apatosaur. And he's sleeping like a little lamb."

  "Some lamb."

  Nancy looked around. "That's odd."

  "What is?"

  "I don't see any press."

  "I wouldn't complain," Remo said.

  "I'm not. It's just that I've come to expect the glare of hot lights every time I turn around."

  "No press," King shouted from within the craft. His voice held a nervous tremble. "We're in a press blackout."

  "Why?" Remo called back.

  "We don't want the public to see Old Jack until we're ready to unveil him."

  "Where are we anyway?" Remo asked Nancy.

  "Dover, Delaware, home of the globe-girdling Burger Triumph Corporation." She looked to the beached ekranoplane. "This is the part that worries me most. Offloading Old Jack and transporting him through the city. We've already subjected him to enough strain as it is."

  Remo noticed two barge-mounted cranes standing off in the harbor.

  "Here we go again."

  "Yes, and I'm worried those cranes aren't up to the job."

  "Excuse us a minute," Remo said, motioning Chiun away. The two consulted for some moments and returned.

  "We have an idea," announced Remo.

  "Yes?"

  "But it's not likely to make too many people happy."

  "Will it insure Old Jack's survival?"

  "Guaranteed."

  "Then I don't care. Just tell me what I have to do."

  "Take a short nap," said Remo.

  "Excuse me?"

  But before Nancy could hear the reply, steely fingers had her by the neck and squeezed down on her spine. She heard a faint click, and when she woke up an unknown period of time later, she was sitting in one of the comfortable ekranoplane passenger seats, surrounded by other expedition members, who snored and grunted in their chairs.

  Except Skip King, who for some reason was on his knees with his face jammed under his seat flotation cushion.

  Nancy felt very sleepy and her memory was hazy.

  Then the howl of metal under stress caused her to jump bolt upright. It seemed to be coming from the cargo bay. Nancy leapt to the door. It was closed, dogged shut. She tried to undog it. The wheel seemed to have been welded immobile.

  Rushing back, she jumped to the main exit door.

  The locking lever refused to budge, and from the rear of the plane came more howls of metallic complaint.

  The wingship had a double deck, like a jumbo jet. She raced up the spiral steps to the observation deck. The pilot and copilot were asleep in the cockpit, but aft of it was an observation bubble. Nancy mounted the short carpeted steps and stared out.

  "Oh God!"

  The tail of the plane was off. It had fallen backward and was canted to one side. Between the dismembered tail and the passenger and wing area, there was no plane. Just hull plates and the exposed ribs of the mainframe, which had fallen away from the naked keel.

  The Apatosaur was slumbering on the open air platform that had been the enclosed cargo bay floor, its black-andorange skin shining in the moonlight. It seemed undamaged by the incredible explosion-for what else could it be?-that had blown open the cargo hold.

  Then an airframe rib moved and fell into the sand. Nancy shifted position to see what had brought it down.

  And there was Remo, casually placing a foot on the next rib. He set his weight on it. Nancy judged he couldn't weigh much more that one hundred fifty-five pounds, but the rib snapped off like a dry branch.

  Remo looked up, happened to see her, and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  Nancy waggled fingers back. Weakly.

  Then she sat down and had herself a good shake.

  "This isn't happening," she told herself.

  Not long after, the main hatch was ripped free and Nancy pounded down the steps and out.

  "Check it out," Remo said, face calm.

  She ran past him and to the rear. The Apatosau
r was still in a drug-induced stupor. She found no marks on his leathery orange hide and breathed a long sign of relief.

  Chiun appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "Do not worry, it has all its toes."

  "I don't know how you did it, but-"

  Something rumbled up on the high ground. A horn honked. It sounded like a diesel truck, and they all looked toward the high end of the beach.

  Monster headlights appeared first, shooting rays into the night sky. Then as the great forward tires eased down into the soft sand, they dipped, blinding them.

  "What on earth is that?" Nancy breathed.

  "At a guess, the official Brontomobile," Remo said.

  With a hiss of air brakes, the lumbering multiwheeled vehicle came to a stop. The headlights were doused, and they were able to see again.

  "Looks like a missile carrier," Remo ventured.

  "Leave it to King to buy the biggest toys," Nancy sighed.

  "And we'll leave it to you to get the Bronto onto that thing safely, okay?"

  "Where are you going?"

  "Our work is done. So this is where we cut out."

  Nancy grinned. "Didn't the Lone Ranger say that once?"

  Chiun lifted his chin. "I am not leaving without proper compensation."

  "You have your castle," Remo said. "So what's the beef?"

  "Castle?" Nancy asked.

  "Long story. Catch you around sometime."

  Remo started away. On impulse, Nancy reached out and snagged his lean arm. It felt as strong as it should-given the fact that he had just disassembled a giant aircraft without resorting to tools.

  "I owe you a lot," Nancy said simply. "Care to swap phone numbers?"

  Remo hesitated. Reluctantly, Nancy let go of his arm, her brow furrowing. "I know I crushed your childhood fantasies, but-"

  "We do not have a telephone," Chiun said.

  "We don't even have furniture yet," Remo added. "Tell you what, give me your number."

  Nancy handed him a business card.

  Remo looked at it. "Cryptozoology?"

  Nancy smiled. "Call me sometime. I'll explain it to you. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  And then they were gone.

  Nancy's eyes went to the crew scampering down from the dinosaur hauler, back to the Apatosaur sleeping peacefully in the exploded hull of the ekranoplane, and she mumbled to herself, "I don't know how I'm going to explain all this." Then she shrugged mentally and added, "Then again, why should I? This is B'wana King's responsibility. Let him explain it."

  She smiled as she ran to meet the carrier crew.

  Chapter 16

  Remo and Chiun had to walk two miles before they found a roadside payphone.

  "Well, I feel good," Remo was saying. "I did my good deed for the week."

  "May you feel so elated at my funeral," Chiun said bitterly.

  Remo frowned, "Look. One, I don't believe that crap about dragon bones being the fountain of youth. And two it wasn't a dragon. And saving it was our mission. Smith will be happy."

  "Not when he learns that he is doomed to a too-short life due to your inflexibility."

  "Got news for you," Remo said, fishing into his pockets for a quarter, "I don't think Smith will buy into that fable, either."

  The Master of Sinanju turned his back on his pupil. Remo thumbed the one button down until the automated dialing system brought him Harold Smith's lemony voice.

  "Remo. Where are you?"

  "The wilds of Delaware. Mission accomplished. The Bronto is on the beach. They should be loading him onto the carrier about now. And best of all, we have the eternal gratitude of a Dr. Nancy Derringer, who gave me her card. It says she's a cryptozoologist, whatever that is."

  "It is one who searches for creatures who may or may not exist," said Smith, showing no surprise at learning the dinosaur was real. "I am pleased all went well. And I have interesting news for you."

  "Yeah?"

  "You will remember Roy Shortsleeve, the death row inmate you believe is innocent?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I have looked into his background. Shortsleeve and two other men went on a camping trip in August 1977. The murdered man was found shot with Shortsleeve's rifle. Shortsleeve has steadfastly maintained his innocence from the trial to now. He claimed the third man on the trip, a coworker named Doyce Deek actually committed the murder. But Deek insisted it was Shortsleeve."

  "One man's word against the other, huh?"

  "The evidence against Shortsleeve was otherwise circumstantial," Smith admitted. "If Deek did it, he might be persuaded to confess."

  "Got a line on Deek?"

  "He is now living in Gillette, Wyoming. No visible means of support."

  "Wyoming. I'm on my way."

  "I am not going with you," Chiun called out. "My days are growing short and I wish to savor every precious hour."

  "What is Master Chiun saying?" Smith asked.

  Remo sighed. "He took a fancy to the Bronto."

  "I am not surprised. It is a remarkable find. I would like to see it myself."

  "Chiun is disappointed he didn't come away with a souvenir. Like a big toe."

  "A big toe?"

  "Seems dinosaur bones are the main ingredient to some witch's brew that makes Masters of Sinanju live to ripe old ages."

  "Great longevity can be yours, too, Emperor Smith," Chiun called out. "Just speak the words that will speed me on my way."

  "Tell Master Chiun I have no wish to live beyond my allotted span," Smith told Remo.

  "Not only great longevity, but virility belongs to he who partakes of the bones of the dragon," Chiun proclaimed.

  "Er, I am virile enough, thank you," said Smith.

  "Don't tell me, tell him," Remo said sourly. He put his hand over his mouthpiece. "Nice try Chiun, but Mrs. Smith is built like an overstuffed sofa. I think Smith could care less about his virility."

  "He does not know what he is missing."

  Remo took his hand off the mouthpiece. "Okay, Smitty. I'll bundle Chiun on the next magic carpet to Castle Sinanju and get on my way to deal with this Deek character."

  When Remo had replaced the receiver, he found the Master of Sinanju looking up to the night sky, his face forlorn.

  "I am unappreciated."

  "You are not. You own a brand spanking new castle. "

  "I am unappreciated in a foreign land and a castle will no longer console me, for I do not know how long I will have to enjoy it." He shut his eyes.

  "I knew this wouldn't last," Remo said. "Come on. Let's find some transportation. Smith has an assignment for me."

  Chiun eyed Remo suspiciously. "You are trying to get out of cooking dinner."

  "I'll buy you dinner at the airport, okay?"

  "I am being abandoned at an airport. I never thought you would stoop this low, Remo."

  "Stoop to what?"

  "Parent dumping. I have seen this terrible practice on television. Cheeta Ching decries it often. Now it is my turn. I am being dumped."

  "You are not being dumped!"

  Chiun bowed his aged head. "I am being fed a farewell meal and left to fend for myself."

  "Oh, cut it out."

  At the airport, the Master of Sinanju announced that he was not hungry.

  "You sure?" asked Remo, suspiciously.

  "I am sure that I am being abandoned."

  "Bulldookey."

  "But do not think simply because I am being abandoned by you," Chiun said in the loud, attention-getting voice. "that you no longer owe me a final meal."

  "Keep it down, will you?"

  A passing stewardess stopped, set down her folding baggage cart, and asked, "Is there a problem here?"

  She directed her question at Chiun not Remo.

  "No, no problem," Remo said quickly.

  "I am being abandoned by my adopted son," Chiun said plaintively, lifting a corner of his kimono sleeve to one eye.

  The stewardess glared at Remo, "You should be ashamed of yourself. This poor old man
."

  "Look, I have to get him on the next flight to Boston."

  "Do you live in Boston, sir?" This to Chiun.

  "No." Chiun gave Remo a cold stare.

  The stewardess glared at Remo again.

  "He lives outside Boston," Remo said. "And I just want to get him home. Look, I brought him his ticket and everything. All I have to do is get him on the freaking plane."

  "I am forced to travel on an empty stomach," Chiun complained, snatching the ticket from Remo's hand.

  The stewardess patted Chiun's frail-looking hand, saying, "There, there. Don't fret. Let me take you to travelers' aid. Are you hungry?"

  "My appetite seems to be returning now that I am in your caring hands," Chiun said.

  "I'll be happy to treat you to a nice meal. You look as if you haven't eaten in weeks."

  "I am in the mood for fish."

  They started off together.

  "Fine," Remo called after the stewardess. "Feed him. But whatever you do don't let him con you into loaning him any money. He's as rich as King Midas."

  "My ancestors were rich," Chiun told the stewardess. "For they were secure in their families. But I am in my twilight years and have no sons to call my own. Therefore, I am poor."

  "You know," the stewardess said. "Cheeta Ching did a special report on this only last month. It's called granny dumping."

  "A gross name for a gross practice. Did I mention that I am a personal friend of Cheeta Ching?"

  "Really? She's my hero. Especially for having a baby at forty. She's so . . . so Murphy Brown!"

  "She could not have done it without me. Did you know that?"

  "I think her husband had a little something to do with it. He's a gynecologist, you know. Talk about having it all!"

  Remo went to his gate, and talked his way into an earlier flight to Wyoming. He was looking forward to having a conversation with Doyce Deek, who had let a man rot on death row for a crime he never committed.

  Remo knew exactly how that felt. He planned on explaining how it was to Deek-in excruciating detail.

  Chapter 17

  As the converted missile carrier lumbered through the night, Nancy Derringer was amazed at how smoothly the transfer had gone.

  There had been some rough spots before the big cranes had hoisted Old Jack from the remnants of the wingship, true. But those had been confined to Skip King's tantrums and carrying on when he found the Orlyonok, for which he was directly responsible, a broken derelict.