Telephone poles flashed by on either side of them. The road was narrowing and the wobbling Cadillac dominated it. The man hugged the Cadillac's right while the woman's tiny car wove in and out on the left.
"Don't tell me my job!" the redhead was insisting. "And get out of the way. How can I run him off the road with you there? How are you doing that, anyway? I'm pushing fifty."
"If I tell you, will you get lost?" the man asked.
"No," the redhead said flatly.
"Then forget it."
Rair Brashnikov could not accept the evidence of his ears anymore. They were fighting like children. Did Americans not take their national security seriously?
But Brashnikov's wonder vanished when he realized that he had his own skin to think of. Seeing the road ahead veer into a sharp turn, he saw a way to rid himself of both pursuers.
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As the two vehicles and one running man hit the curve at fifty-three miles an hour, Brashnikov turned sharply to crowd the redhead's car. She met his challenge, crowding him back. But the Cadillac's flat tire made Brashnikov's machine more difficult to push. It didn't give, and when he realized this, he muscled the wheel sharply to the left.
Robin Green knew she wouldn't make the corner. She realized it too late. She hadn't been watching the road. She saw the telephone pole too late. It was framed in her windshield before her brain caught up with what her eyes were seeing and signaled "telephone pole in road." By then the windshield was already a splinterwork of cracks and the hood of the car was buckling like tinfoil and she could feel the seat pushing her forward and the wheel slamming into her chest.
The last thing she felt was her breasts. They felt like water balloons about to burst from impact.
Remo saw Robin Green's car pile into the telephone pole. It hit with so much force, it pushed the pole several feet beyond its pesthole. A tangle of transmission lines slapped the buckled hood.
Remo forgot about the Cadillac and ran to the mangled wreck. Flames began licking up from under the hood like red fingers. The smell of roasting wood filled the air. As Remo thought of Robin trapped behind the wheel, the smell was a sickening premonition. He got to the driver's side. Robin was just there, her head slumped over the warped steering wheel. Her eyes were closed. There was a streak of blood across her forehead.
Remo grabbed the door handle. It was one of those reach-under-and-pull-up types. Remo pulled straight out. The handle came away like an oversize staple.
"Damn," Remo muttered. He looked for another
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way in as the stench of flowing gasoline hit his nose like a chemical punch. He could see gas pooling under the rear bumper, away from the licking flames. But not for long. Already tendrils of gas were reaching out in all directions like feelers.
The driver's-side window was intact. But Remo knew if he shattered it, glass would fly into the car interior with dangerous consequences. Feeling his way around the door edge, Remo fervently wished cars still had external hinges. It would have been simpler to shear them off and pluck the door away. But this door was jammed shut.
Remo was about to hop across the hood to try the other side, when he noticed a hairline crack atop the window. It was not fully closed. He slipped his steel-hard fingers up under the rubber sealing strip and found the top of the glass. He levered down, and there came the grinding of an electric motor being forced into reverse as Remo pushed the window inexorably down against all manufacturers' recommendations.
When he had it halfway down, Remo reached in and shattered the exposed glass with a hard inside punch, sending jagged chunks out into the dirt. He pulled the door free and snapped Robin's seat belt. She didn't move. Her legs were wedged under the bent steering wheel, and Remo wondered if they were broken. He was about to check when a sudden whoosh! told him the fire had found the fuel in the engine. Now he had no choice.
Remo pulled Robin's limp body from behind the wheel as gently as he dared. Cradling her in his strong arms, he ran. He could feel the intensity of the flames building. The heat was on his back. When he knew the car was about to go, he dropped to his knees and shielded Robin's body with his own.
The car exploded like a cardboard box filled with skyrockets. Fire burst out of the windows, melting the
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tires and congealing glass. The upholstery burned with an acrid stink.
After the shock wave had passed, Remo looked back at the blazing ruin. No explosion-borne pieces of metal had landed near them. He looked down at Robin's pale face. Touching her temple, he felt the throbbing of her pulse. She looked almost angelic in the crackling backglow of the flames. For a moment Remo forgot her abrasive personality and saw her only as a gorgeous, desirable woman. He instantly regretted leaving her in the lurch back in North Dakota. When she awoke, Remo decided, he would apologize.
Robin Green's eyelids began fluttering and Remo tenderly wiped a thread of blood from her brow. It came from a minor cut near the hairline, he saw.
"Take it easy, kid," he whispered. "You're in safe hands."
The first words Robin spoke dispelled Remo's solicitous thoughts.
"That was a stupid macho thing you just did," she snapped. "I almost had him! He would have spilled his guts after two minutes with me."
"You tried to run him off the road, and you're calling me macho?" Remo said incredulously. "You were nearly killed, you know that?"
"Another minute and I would have had him."
"And I'm the Incredible Hulk," Remo said. "Here, give me your hand."
Robin pushed the offered hand away. "I can stand without help, thank you," she said frostily. Then she got up on wobbly knees. She fell back immediately, landing on her rump.
"I just need to catch my breath," she said in a weaker tone. "If only you hadn't interfered."
"Right," Remo said bitterly, looking down the long stretch of deserted highway. "If only I hadn't interfered."
"That guy would have pulled over in another minute," Robin Green insisted as she redid her buttons,
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which had come loose in the excitement. "Damn. I wish I had been born flat-chested."
"Be careful what you wish for," Remo said. "You might get it."
"Just what's that supposed to mean?"
Remo looked away.
"You hit that pole head-on," he said distantly. "You should be dead. You probably would have been if you hadn't had all that natural cushioning."
Robin followed the direction of Remo's gaze to the blazing tangle that was her car. She felt her breasts and winced. They hurt.
"Oh," she said in a shaken voice.
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Robin Green was still very shaky when Remo pulled up in his rented car. He pushed open the door, and Robin eased herself into the passenger seat in obvious pain.
"Where's Charlie Chan?" Robin asked. "I thought you were going to fetch him."
"He wasn't there," Remo told her as he sent the car speeding down onto the road. "Just the car."
"Well, if you think I'm going to let you waste time chasing him down, you've got another think coming, buster," Robin snapped.
"Chiun wouldn't leave the car unless he saw something important. I think he spotted the Krahseevah."
"Fat lot of help he was," Robin said. "Where are you going?"
"After the Krahseevah," Remo told her. His dark eyes were intent on the road ahead.
"You can forget that too. He's long gone."
"A minute ago you were all hot to chase him. By the way, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the brig or the stockade or whatever they call it?"
"The Air Force calls it corrective custody, and I have friends in high places. So I'm still on this case, no thanks to you."
"Me?" Remo said innocently. "What did I do?"
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"Do? You left me twisting in the wind, for one thing."