"Batsucker's not going to be armored up, so this should be a piece of cake," Remo told Chiun as they moved through the crowd.
"It is time for the reckoning that has waited since the days of Kang."
"I thought you were off that ghost-ronin kick?"
"We fight the Nishi clan. There is no doubt of this. Take your katana, Remo."
Accepting the paper-wrapped blade, Remo led the way, Chiun following determinedly.
At the pavilion entrance, they were met by two stiff-faced Japanese greeters.
"You have heard of magrev?" one asked.
"We danced this dippy dance already," Remo said.
"One side, jokebare!" Chiun hissed.
"Senjin!" spat one greeter.
"Chanko!" snarled another.
At that, Chiun stripped his katana of its butcher paper camouflage and sliced their neckties off at the knot.
Faces whitening, the pair stepped aside.
"What's a jokebare?" asked Remo as they ducked into the Nishitsu pavilion.
"The worst thing you can call a Nihonjinwa, " spat Chiun.
Inside, Remo and Chiun found the autograph booth empty and a number of baseball and rail fans jostling about.
Remo collared one. "Where's Batsuka?"
"Ran off. Hardly gave six autographs. I tell you, these ball players have just got too big for their durn britches."
"Come on, Little Father. Something's wrong."
Moving in the direction indicated, they got barely twenty feet when they ran into Melvis Cupper and K. C. Crockett, walking arm in arm.
"Look, Remo! " squeaked Chiun. "It is Melvis and K.C. reunited."
"What are you two doing here?" Remo asked.
"I came to make amends," Melvis said. "We're on our way to ride the maglev, poisonous as that thought may be to a true-blue wheel-and-rail man like myself."
K.C. jabbed him in the ribs, saying, "Watch your mouth, Melvis. Remember that you are on probation."
"Sorry, K.C. What about you two fellas?"
"We're looking for Furio Batsuka," said Remo.
"Hell, you just missed him. I was just talkin' to him, turned my back a minute and he'd lit out slick as greased lightning."
"He saw you?" Remo asked sharply.
"Sure. Walked right up and introduced myself proper."
"Damn. He must have recognized you."
"What's that again?"
"Forget it," said Remo, hurrying on.
THE PAVILION REAR-EXIT door was open, and Remo and Chiun went through it.
Two husky security men with earphones were standing with hands down, clasping wrists in what Remo recognized as the semiofficial bodyguard stance.
"Where's Batsucker?" Remo demanded.
"Are you with Nishitsu?" one asked in impeccable English.
"Are you?" Chiun countered.
"Yes."
"Good," said Remo, taking one by the neck and the other by the throat. "Listen carefully, I'm looking for Furio Batsucker and I am in a very violent rush"
"His name Batsuka," the second man said thickly.
"Thank you for the elocution lesson." And Remo squeezed.
The one whose throat was caught developed a new coloration while the one Remo had by the neck heard the distant sound of his cervical vertebrae grinding.
Both suddenly changed allegiance.
"Hotel. Limo," one gurgled.
"Denver Hirton. That way," the other wheezed, pointing.
"I could use your car keys."
They couldn't get their hands into their pockets fast enough. Remo picked the set with the Mercedes key ring because he was in a Mercedes mood. Then he squeezed their necks to clamp off the last, sluggish blood flow to the brain. They made a sleepy pile.
"Much obliged," said Remo.
The Master of Sinanju pointedly stepped on their faces as he walked over them.
Soon they were burning rubber out of the parking lot.
IN HIS HOTEL ROOM Furio Batsuka was talking into the portable cell phone he had carried up from the limousine.
"Leave Denver immediately," the shogun was saying from distant Japan.
"Hai. "
"Do not drive or fly. And above all, do not go by rail."
"There is only one other path," he breathed.
"That is the path you must take."
"I understand."
"Pick up where you left off. The US. media are doing our jobs for us. We must keep up the pressure. Let Nishitsu Denver promote the product. Now go."
Furio hung up. He had stripped off his Mariners uniform as he talked. For the last time, he knew. Now he stood nearly nude in the G-string undergarment of the samurai.
But he was not a samurai, he thought as he belted on the shigati and obi foundation garments. He was only a ronin. Forbidden to wear the crest of his clan as he performed his work in an alien land.
The armor went on layer upon layer. When it was in place, he donned the Nishitsu-brand nickelcadmium battery-pack belt that powered the Nishitsu vibrating exoskeleton.
The last element was the folding tatami-style helmet. Furio covered his head, the tinted face shield dropping into place. He had taken great care never to be seen. But he wore a famous face and could take no chances even in a large, barbarian nation such as this, where white men saw a Japanese face rather than an individual one.
Going to the closet, he extracted his weapon bag. The loss of two katanas was humbling but not critical. He extracted a heavy battle-ax, thinking this is the proper tool to bring down a trestle bridge.
Attired in the electronic armor that made him more invincible than the mightiest samurai of old, Furio Batsuka dialed a number in Mobile, Alabama.
"Moshi moshi, " a voice replied guardedly.
"Emergency transmission to come. Stand by."
"Hai," the well-trained technician said, instantly hanging up.
THERE was a cellular phone in the Mercedes's front seat, and Remo had Chiun dial it they as raced through the streets of downtown Denver.
Chiun held it to Remo's face when Harold Smith came on the line.
"Smitty. We just missed Batsuka. He got spooked. He's headed for the Denver Hilton. Odds are he's taking the fastest way out of town."
"One moment," said Smith.
The line hummed. Then Smith returned.
"Remo, I just phoned the Hilton. Batsuka is registered in room 14-D."
"We're almost there," Remo said, screeching through a turn.
"Hold the line."
Smith returned shortly. "Remo, a call was just made to Mobile, Alabama, from room 14-D of the Denver Hilton."
"We missed him!"
"Assume nothing. Check the room. If he has not escaped, there may be something I can do on this end."
"What do you mean?"
But Smith had hung up.
Chiun tossed the phone out the window while Remo went into a turn with the gas pedal pressed flat to the floorboards.
FURIO BATSUKA CHECKED his armor. It was very heavy when both armor and wearer were in what was called solid state. He'd been told that the original Goblin Suit had been white and fit the skin like vinyl. The fiber-optic cables were mounted externally and shone with racing golden lights when the suit was activated. This had proved insufficient for stealth assignments.
Furio would rather be a ronin than a goblin, if that were the only choice.
Battle-ax in hand, he reached his mailed fist toward the room telephone. It was time to be on his way. His finger moved toward the Redial button.
Furio heard the hotel-room door smash in with a sound like splintering thunder.
Turning, he saw them. The strange pair from Nebraska. One obviously Korean, the other the white with the thick wrists.
And to his surprise, each brandished one of his Nishitsu electronic katanas.
In that moment of shock, Furio Batsuka knew he had been exposed. He also knew he had time to activate his armor or hit Redial, but not both.
They came at him from two sides. A practical approach. He raised his ono. It was the heavier weapon. They had no chance even if there were two of them. He reached for the shoulder rheostat that would activate his armor.