"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.