Chiun turned, hazel eyes narrowing. "No," he said.
"Look, what's the big deal? It's Vimu and Songjong all over again, isn't it? Okay, I'm Songjong. I'm telling you, Vimu, to stay here and guard the gold while I go into the Egyptian desert to handle the wicked pretender."
"He was a princeling, not a pretender."
"Whatever. The legend fits. Admit it. I should go and you should stay. It's a piece-of-cake gig for both of us."
Chiun's eyes squeezed down to sightless slits.
"You believe because I am old, I have grown afraid," he intoned.
"It's not that. Heck, I didn't know you were pushing a hundred until you told me. It's just that you have this thing about Palm Springs. Dealing with a nuke is tricky enough. I don't want to have to watch you too."
"I am no child who needs watching!" Chiun exploded. "I am the Reigning Master of Sinanju and I am not afraid to go into the desert, no matter what perils await."
Remo threw up his hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay! You win. Let's go. But if we miss a solid lead because of you, you get to break the bad news to Smith."
"I do not think it will be me breaking bad news to Emperor Smith," Chiun said as they walked from the rundown San Francisco Victorian. "But I go without fear, for I am unafraid. As always."
Chapter 22
Because they had military-airlift-command helicopters at their disposal, Remo and Chiun reached the Palm Springs Municipal Airport within an hour. A cab took them to the Thousand Palms Hotel, a palatial Spanish-Moorish monstrosity of stucco and red-tile roofs sprawling on the edge of the desert.
From the lobby they called Room 334 on a house phone.
"It's just ringing," Remo told the Master of Sinanju. "I don't think anyone's up there."
Chiun nodded. He looked about the lobby, as if preoccupied.
They took the elevator and followed a long curved corridor to Room 334. The lock was the key type. Remo simply put his fist to the keyhole, drew back, and punched hard once.
The door jumped inward on its hinges, the tongue of the lock having gouged out a notch in the inner doorjamb.
Before Remo could stop him, the Master of Sinanju leapt into the room. He whirled twice, in different directions, as if to deal with unseen attackers.
Then, lowering his crooked nails in disappointment, he faced Remo.
"This den of evil appears to be empty," he admitted.
"No kidding," Remo said dryly, closing the door behind him. He went around the room, checking in the bathroom and under the bed. Chiun poked about the dresser drawers, dropping the Gideon Bible into the wastebasket.
"Found it!" Remo said, flinging open a long clothes closet.
The Master of Sinanju drew up alongside him.
The neutron device gleamed like a model radome equipped with convenient carrying handles.
"I do not hear ticking," Chiun noted.
"These things don't tick," Remo said, dropping to his knees. He tested the stainless-steel handles on the shaped charges. They were locked up tight. He dismissed pulling them out by force. No telling what might result.
His eyes went to a digital counter welded to the breadboard electronics.
The digital numbers were bright red: 01:21:44.
"Looks like the countdown is definitely under way," Remo said.
"Did you not say there remained five days until this contraption explodes?" Chiun asked.
"That's what Kranish's dippy drafts said. Five days."
"If I read this correctly, this neutral device is but an hour from booming."
Remo blinked. He peered closer. "You must be mistaken, Little Father. It's five days. See the last digits, 44? That probably means 4.4 days or something like that."
But even as Remo spoke, the last two digits became 43. Then 42. Then 41.
"What do you say now?" Chiun asked.
"I think we could use a third opinion," Remo said worriedly.
As she was shoved into the back of the car, Sky Bluel collided with the man sitting in back. His eyes were too round.
"Who's he?" she asked as the two stocking-masked men got in front. The car started off. She didn't know where she was. The familiar California date palms offered no comfort. She bit her lower lip.
"That," the driver with the smoky Humphrey Bogart voice said, "is the jerk who heisted your neutron bomb."
"No way!" Sky said. "That guy needed a bath."
"Take my word for it, girlie."
"Girlie! When were you born, back in the fifties?"
"As a matter of fact-"
The other man cut in. "I hope you know how to disarm that bomb, little lady."
"Sure, I got the key right here around . . ." Sky's mouth froze in a perfect O.
"What's that?"
"Nothing," Sky Bluel said in a weak voice, feeling the absence of a key around her throat.
"I thought you said something about a key."
"Oh, right. I don't suppose you guys found my luggage key? I had it around my neck."
"Don't sweat it. Your luggage is safe in New York."
Sky Bluel swallowed. "So's the key. Probably."
They parked in a corner of the Thousand Palms Hotel lot, and Sky Bluel was pulled out of the back, along with the other captive, who hadn't spoken a solitary word during the short ride.
"Just walk ahead of us and don't turn back." A revolver nudging her ribs prodded Sky along.
They slipped in the kitchen entrance and up a flight of steps to the third floor and Room 334. While the man with the revolver held them at bay, the other man reached for the doorknob with one hand and into his coat pocket with the other.
He pulled out a hotel key and said, "This key is the only one that counts." His broad grin shone through the sheer rayon like a polished bone.
Then the doorknob was abruptly yanked inward, taking him and his smile with it. The look on his thick flattened face as he disappeared was comical.
Remo Williams released the swinging door and grabbed Connors Swindell by the back of the neck. His nails zipped up the back of Swindell's head, causing the stocking mask to peel off and drop to the floor.
"We meet again," Remo said.
With a deft twist of his wrist, he sent Swindell bouncing on the bed. The Master of Sinanju's hand slapped him once into submission.
"Watch him, Chiun," Remo said. "I'll get the others."
There were three of them, Remo discovered. Sky Bluel, Barry Kranish, and a third guy he didn't recognize, and not due to his stocking mask. His body shape was unfamiliar. This man was holding a revolver on the other two. He shifted the weapon toward Remo.
As if a revolver were no more menacing than a rolled-up newspaper, Remo pointed to the revolver with one finger.
"You don't know it, pal, but you're outgunned."
Before the gunman could complete his defiant sneer, Remo's right arm snapped forward, jamming the rigid forefinger into the gun barrel. He crooked his finger. The gun barrel broke off.
Grinning, Remo lifted the barrel, still wrapped around his finger, under the gunman's nose. The latter's eyes crossed trying to keep it in focus.
"It's fast-answer time," Remo suggested brightly.
"I . . . I'm just an employee," the gunman blurted out. "I work for Mr. Swindell. That's all! I got nothing to do with the big picture."
"Are you sure?" Remo asked politely.
"Positive. I'm a private dick. Just a cog in the machine."
"The machine," Remo said, returning the gun barrel through the surprisingly fragile bone of Calvin Taggert's forehead, "just broke down."
"Won't you step into my office?" Remo asked the others as the gunman got down on the rug and shook the life out of his body.
Sky Bluel all but jumped into the hotel room. Barry Kranish needed a push, which suited Remo just fine. He used his foot.
"Okay, people," Remo sang out, closing the door behind him. "It's show-and-tell time." He pushed the closet door open, revealing the silent neutron bomb with its screaming red digital display. "There, that's the show. Now, let's hear the tell." Remo's deadly finger waved back and forth among the three captives. "Starting with . . . " The finger stopped, pointing at Connors Swindell, sprawled on the bed, mopping his forehead. "You!"