"No, it was in his hand," Remo insisted. "He dropped in his tracks when I pulled off the hand."
"No," Chiun said firmly. "I saw him stagger for some moments after that. He sought the copper line, which was the connection to his brain. See? The copper line leads to the ceiling and to the hanging cable."
Remo looked. Sure enough, the filament traced along the ceiling and ran into the suspension cable from which the Sword of Damocles had hung.
"No, no," said Remo. "You don't understand electronics. He probably controlled the satellite through the wire."
"No, the satellite controlled him. That was why he kept touching the wire. Gordons had learned from his past mistakes. He knew that you would seek to destroy him in combat by wrecking his thinking parts. So he sent a false version of himself to do his fighting, operated by removed control."
"Remote control," Remo corrected.
"Then you accept my theory."
Remo threw up his hands. "Does it matter? One of us got him. It's over."
"It does matter," snapped Chiun. "I got him. The glory is mine. And I would appreciate it if you kept your white mouth shut when I report my great victory to the grateful Emperor Smith."
"Whatever you say, Little Father," Remo said wearily. The Army Corps of Engineers set off the last explosive charge, sending a smoking pile of debris quaking into the air.
"Well, that's the end of Larryland," said Remo.
He watched the mushrooming cloud of dirt and debris slowly lift, pause, then collapse in on itself.
"And of the evil creature Gordons," added the Master of Sinanju. "Thanks to me."
"Are you going to start that again?" sighed Remo.
"Start what?" asked Dr. Harold W. Smith. He had flown in from New York to personally oversee the operation. The Army thought he was a civilian attached to the Environmental Protection Agency.
"Never mind," said Remo. "A family quarrel. It's a shame to destroy Larryland so soon. I never got to go on any of the rides."
"Larryland was Mr. Gordons," said Smith. "He had assimilated the entire park. That's why we're having it pulverized. You'll recall that as long as any functioning piece of Gordons remains intact, he's capable of reconstructing himself."
"Chiun and I smashed every particle of Mr. Gordons' body," Remo assured him.
"No," said the Master of Sinanju stubbornly. "Remo wasted his time dismembering a dummy. I obliterated the round sword of the Russians, which truly contained Gordons' wicked brain."
"In any case," Smith went on, "destroying Larryland should put a period to this whole affair."
"Not to mention making certain that Gordons won't ever come back again," Remo added.
"I think we can be assured of that this time," said Smith, watching the dust settle over Larryland.
"What are you telling the Russians?" Remo asked him.
"Almost nothing. A low-level Soviet delegation is on its way to New York to take possession of the Yuri Gagarin and the bodies of its crew. The latter are in sealed caskets, of course."
"I'd love to see the looks on their faces when you present them with the keys to a car wash." Remo chuckled.
Smith ventured a rare smile. "I would too. But I don't think they're going to ask any questions. Not about the Sword of Damocles. They will assume that we have it. That knowledge alone will inhibit them from deploying another."
"What about the guy who owned Larryland?"
"He's undergoing extensive questioning. But I'm satisfied that his story of being a dupe is genuine."
"What will happen to him?"
"No charges will be filed," Smith said. "But I imagine there will be lawsuits once the first symptoms of sterilization show up in the general population. Fortunately, they will be few in number. We've already put out the word that Larryland had to be destroyed because it was built on a toxic-waste site. That should take care of the explanations. What Larry Lepper says in his defense is his problem. But it's doubtful that he will tell the truth. No one would ever believe him."
"Did they find Anna's body?" Remo asked quietly.
"What there was of it that Gordons hadn't assimilated," Smith said grimly. "Along with the KGB team, she will be buried in an anonymous grave. Officially, we don't know what happened to any of them. I doubt that the Soviets will be asking about their whereabouts."
"Anna was a good person."
"She was a valuable ally," Smith admitted. "But she was also a security problem for us. It would have come down to her death sooner or later."
"That's the biz, I guess," Remo said sadly. "I won't forget her soon."
"And I hope that Emperor Smith will not forget that it was his humble servant who finally dispatched Mr. Gordons," Chiun injected. "I would have accomplished this task many years ago, but I was formerly hampered by having to train an unruly pupil at the same time. Now that I am working for the emperor alone, I had no trouble with him."
"I still say the brain was in the hand," Remo mumbled.
"You would," sniffed Chiun.
"All that matters is that Gordons is gone for good," said Smith.
"Amen," added Remo, taking a last look at Larryland.
Epilogue
High over the settling dust that was Larryland, a cracked metallic element reached the apex of its climb. It was beginning the rapid descent to earth when a high wind caught it and sent it tumbling through the clouds. It glittered under the sun, helpless, aimless, and useless.
It would have eventually fallen back to earth to dash itself to pieces on the ground if the jet plane had not come along.
The tiny element was sucked into the port engine. In the cockpit, the pilot saw the trouble light that warned him the port engine had flamed out.
"Oh, God," he said. Frantically he killed the switch and initiated restarting procedures.
The engine kicked in on the third throw of the switch. "Whew!" breathed the pilot. "That was almost the last call."
"Definitely," said the co-pilot. "I wouldn't want to make an emergency landing way out here. Not with the Man himself on board."
"Odd, I thought I felt the controls move by themselves," said the pilot.
"Nerves," said the copilot dismissively.
"Probably," agreed the pilot, gripping the controls more tightly. The momentary resistance seemed to go away. Laughing self-consciously, the pilot radioed for landing instructions.
"This is Air Force One," he told the tower, "requesting permission to land. Over."