The Master of Sinanju waited until the last possible second, the instant that he saw the truck driver begin to turn into the other lane to avoid hitting Chiun's car head-on.
Chiun slid into the lane first. The Mack truck wavered, then stayed its course.
The car that had been following them did not have enough room to slide into Chiun's lane because the Master of Sinanju had cut in front of a long line of cars. The pursuing driver had a choice the Mack truck or the soft shoulder of the road. He selected the shoulder. And barely made it. His car hit dirt at such a high rate of speed that it rolled onto one side in a cloud of enveloping dust.
"That will teach him to drive more carefully," said the Master of Sinanju smugly.
Anna Chutesov sank into the passenger seat. She was beyond fear, beyond pain, and beyond caring. She only hoped that when the end came, she would not suffer. The Master of Sinanju would have continued driving at over one hundred miles an hour all the way to New York City, but up ahead the traffic thickened in both lanes.
"I do not think I can stop in time," said Chiun, seeing the traffic as he came around a hairpin curve.
"What?" said Anna dazedly.
"These fools in front of me. They will not move out of the way," Chiun told her.
"What fools?" asked Anna, looking up suddenly. Then she saw it. Traffic was tangled up at the next exit. It was backed up all the way from the bottom of the ramp, like a swarm of feeding locusts.
Anna Chutesov suddenly cared. She cared about living. She cared about her mission. And most of all, she cared about not becoming the middle element in a chain-reaction highway crash.
She dived for the floorboard, grabbed at the brake with her slim strong hands, and pressed hard. "Wheee!" cried the Master of Sinanju as the car began to slow. It came to a stop directly behind a convertible. A sheet of onionskin typing paper could have fit between its rear bumper and the front bumper of Chiun's car-but it would have to be worked down carefully so the paper would not tear.
Anna Chutesov scrambled back into her seat.
The Master of Sinanju looked at her approvingly. "That was very good," he said. "Remo did exactly that same thing before he inexplicably lost interest in teaching me."
"I think I should take the wheel for a time," Anna Chutesov said abruptly.
The Master of Sinanju clutched the steering wheel possessively. "Remo said those words too. Exactly those. And once I surrendered the wheel to him, he refused to let me have another turn."
"Why do you want to learn to drive?" Anna asked.
"I told you. So I can become like an American."
"You no more want to become an American than I do."
Chiun's face darkened. "Are you suggesting that the Master of Sinanju is speaking an untruth?"
"I suggest no such thing. I speak it plainly."
"You are direct. Normally, that is a rude trait, but I notice that Americans are also direct, so I will consider it as possibly a good thing, although it pains me. Very well, I will speak to you the truth. I wish to learn all things American so that Remo will agree to stay in this country with me."
"When a child grows up, it is better to let him go rather than to cling to him," Anna Chutesov said gently. "It is an old Russian saying."
"Suitable for old Russians, I am sure," Chiun said bitingly. "But do not waste your Russian wisdom on me. I am the Master of Sinanju."
"And it will be a long time before you are a Master of the Automobile."
"I am learning," sniffed Chiun. "Already you have taught me many important driving tricks, as was our agreement. "
"Our agreement was that I would teach you a little driving and you would tell me where I can find Remo."
"Remo is away on important matters that concern only him."
"I only agreed to teach you to drive if we stayed on this road," Anna went on firmly. "It was in this area, according to Smith, that a possibly drunken man saw what might be my country's spacecraft come down."
"And we have seen no Russian ship," said Chiun.
"Granted. But I wonder if this traffic congestion has anything to do with my search?"
"Why would it?" asked Chiun.
"I don't know," Anna Chutesov said slowly, "but perhaps I can find out."
Anna got out of the car and walked up to the convertible in front of them. A young man in a tank top and the tan of an old shoe sat behind the wheel listening to what Anna recognized as "metallic" music, which was becoming popular in her homeland. The Americans called it heavy metal, but as Anna saw it, by any name it was garbage.
"Excuse me, comrade," Anna asked, "what is the meaning of this blockage?"
"What?" asked the boy. He wore a T-shirt that said, "Scrambled Debutante World Tour."
"I asked what was the meaning of this stopped traffic."
"What?" asked the boy, tapping the steering wheel with blunt fingers. He made noises with his mouth in time to the music that reminded Anna of her grandmother who was in a people's nursing home. She sat by the window all day and made similar sounds. The only difference was that her grandmother did not need raucous music to inspire her. She had suffered a brain injury during the Great Patriotic War.
Anna reached in and lowered the volume. "Huh?" said the boy.
"Can you hear me now?" asked Anna.
"I'm not deaf, you know," said the boy.
"Not yet. Why is the traffic stopped? Has there been an accident?"
"No, babe. This is the line."
"What line?"
"The line to the car wash."
"But this is a major highway. I see no car washer."
"Car wash. It's at the bottom of the ramp. The next exit. "
"I do not see what is so wonderful about a car wash-whatever that is-that it would back up the traffic like this."
"Hey, babe, it don't have to be wonderful. It's free."
"So?" asked Anna. In Russia, many things were free. Usually they were not worth crossing the street for, except possibly the free medical coverage every Soviet citizen received. That was worth crossing the street for. The trouble was, after treatment it wasn't always possible to cross back.
"Free is free," sang the boy, turning up the volume again.
"Why do you listen to that junk?" Anna asked.
"What?" asked the boy.
"Why do you listen to that?" Anna screamed into his ear, pointing at the tape deck.
"It helps me to concentrate," the boy screamed back. Anna Chutesov walked back to the car. Two things struck her simultaneously. One was the thick rubber burn marks in the middle of the road. She hadn't noticed them before. Rubber burns were common on American highways. But these were too big, the tires too fat, even for the big freight trucks that plied the roads.
The other thing that struck her was a memory. Dr. Smith had briefed her that the drunken driver, Daryl Doone, had claimed to see the shuttle disappear near a car wash. Air Force investigators had combed the area. The only car wash they had found was abandoned and empty.
Possibly the very car wash up ahead, Anna reasoned. Only now it appeared to be in business. She hurried back to the car.
"Do you know what a car wash is?" she asked Chiun. She smiled sweetly, as if talking to a child.
"I have seen them," Chiun said doubtfully. He knew from past experience that when Anna Chutesov turned on the charm she wanted something. He made a mental note that whatever it was, he would not give it to her without a fight-or without getting something very special in return.
"I have never been in one, but I would like to," Anna smiled. "All those cars in front of us are waiting in line to see this one particular car wash. It must be extraordinary. Don't you agree?"
"How can washing a car be extraordinary?"
"I don't know, but I would like to see the car wash that is causing such traffic," said Anna Chutesov.
"But I would not," said Chiun firmly.