"No." Chiun gave Remo a cold stare.
The stewardess glared at Remo again.
"He lives outside Boston," Remo said. "And I just want to get him home. Look, I brought him his ticket and everything. All I have to do is get him on the freaking plane."
"I am forced to travel on an empty stomach," Chiun complained, snatching the ticket from Remo's hand.
The stewardess patted Chiun's frail-looking hand, saying, "There, there. Don't fret. Let me take you to travelers' aid. Are you hungry?"
"My appetite seems to be returning now that I am in your caring hands," Chiun said.
"I'll be happy to treat you to a nice meal. You look as if you haven't eaten in weeks."
"I am in the mood for fish."
They started off together.
"Fine," Remo called after the stewardess. "Feed him. But whatever you do don't let him con you into loaning him any money. He's as rich as King Midas."
"My ancestors were rich," Chiun told the stewardess. "For they were secure in their families. But I am in my twilight years and have no sons to call my own. Therefore, I am poor."
"You know," the stewardess said. "Cheeta Ching did a special report on this only last month. It's called granny dumping."
"A gross name for a gross practice. Did I mention that I am a personal friend of Cheeta Ching?"
"Really? She's my hero. Especially for having a baby at forty. She's so . . . so Murphy Brown!"
"She could not have done it without me. Did you know that?"
"I think her husband had a little something to do with it. He's a gynecologist, you know. Talk about having it all!"
Remo went to his gate, and talked his way into an earlier flight to Wyoming. He was looking forward to having a conversation with Doyce Deek, who had let a man rot on death row for a crime he never committed.
Remo knew exactly how that felt. He planned on explaining how it was to Deek-in excruciating detail.
Chapter 17
As the converted missile carrier lumbered through the night, Nancy Derringer was amazed at how smoothly the transfer had gone.
There had been some rough spots before the big cranes had hoisted Old Jack from the remnants of the wingship, true. But those had been confined to Skip King's tantrums and carrying on when he found the Orlyonok, for which he was directly responsible, a broken derelict.
"How am I going to explain this to the board?" he moaned as the wingship crew compared notes. They had all remembered waking up in their seats to find the ship destroyed. No one remembered falling asleep. No one remembered anything.
"Simple," Nancy had suggested. "We beached, there was an accident, and the ship broke apart. We were all knocked unconscious."
"That's it! Pilot error. Why not? It works for the F.A.A."
"It was no pilot error. It was an accident."
"You don't understand. This is corporate politics we're talking about. There has to be a scapegoat. It's the way the game is played, and you're my backup."
"I am not your backup. Get clear on that point."
"Forget about me ever mentoring you."
They had to beach the barge, but it worked out better that way. A beached barge could not capsize. The cranes toiled briefly, under the watchful eyes of the Burger Berets, swinging the limp creature onto the padded carrier.
Everyone pitched in at that point, guiding the dinosaur's head to a safe landing. One of the cranes was needed to drape the thick tail onto the carrier. The beast was secured with heavy cable.
"Perfect." King said. "We're ready to roll."
The moon had become lost in a storm front. The darkness was absolute. Even so, transporting a ten-ton reptile up the lonely Delaware coast was not about to come off smoothly.
Yet, it did. The roads were virtually deserted.
"I can't believe our luck," Nancy said, riding in a company car with King. They were directly behind the brontohauler, as King called it. Three cars loaded with crack Burger Berets rode point.
"Don't," King said flatly. "The board had the roads blocked off."
"The board has that kind of clout?"
"The board has that much money to throw around," King retorted.
"Somehow I don't much care for the way the board throws money at problems instead of reasoning them through."
"In our league, baby, things move so smoothly that thinking is optional."
"That, I believe."
King frowned in the darkness. "That didn't come out right."
"Oh, yes it did."
They were barreling along a stretch of wooded road. The carrier, on twelve fat tires, each the size of their own car, dragged them along in the steady suction of its passing.
"I'll be glad when we get where we're going," Nancy breathed. "I feel like I personally carried Old Jack all the way from Africa on my shoulders."
"Me, I feel great. I'm Skip King, the man who brought the last living Brontosaur back from Africa alive. I wonder if I'll make the cover of Time?"
"Probably not," Nancy said in a cool voice.
"Why not?"
"I think they'll put Jack's picture on the cover, if anyone's."
"Damn, that's right. Those bastards probably will. Damn. Maybe I can get into the picture, somehow."
"Maybe if you put your head into his mouth."
King blinked. "Brontos don't eat people, do they?"
"Of course not."
"Maybe it's worth a shot then." King reached over and chucked Nancy under the chin. "Thanks, kid. You're all right."
Nancy rolled her eyes.
The walkie-talkie on the dash crackled.
"Mustard to Mogul. Mustard to Mogul. Acknowledge."
"Mogul is my code name," King said proudly. Into the walkie-talkie, he said, "Go ahead, Mustard."
"We have some vehicles blocking the road up ahead. "
"Roadblock?"
"Looks like."
"Must be state troopers securing the road," King muttered. "Go on ahead and get them to clear the way for us. Fast. We don't want the carrier to have to brake unless we have to. That thing is a juggernaut."
"Roger. Out."
Through the steady rhythm of the carrier they heard the lead cars accelerate. Several moments passed: Then, unmistakably, there came the rattle and pop pop pop of small arms fire.
"That can't be gunfire!" Nancy said.
Abruptly, the red brake lights-all sixteen of them-flared along the carrier's rear end. Massive brakes engaged and the giant wheels kicked up acrid rubber smoke as momentum pushed the locked tires along.
The brontohauler began slewing.
Nancy moaned, "Oh no. It's going to jacknife!"
The carrier didn't jacknife. But it was a near thing.
Knuckles white, King swerved to avoid a collision.
He ended up on the soft shoulder of the road. He popped the door and lifted his head up to see.
The carrier was sliding on locked tires to a sloppy halt. There was another silence. Then the gunfire broke the stillness, louder and more spiteful this time.
King grabbed up his walkie-talkie. "Mogul to Mustard. What's happening?"
"You won't believe this, Mr. King," Colonel Mustard panted, pausing to snap off a shot. "We're under attack!"
"Not again!" Nancy said.
"Can you make out who it is?" King asked in a heated voice.
"No, sir, they're wearing camos and ski masks. But there is something you should know."
"What?"
"They're wearing green berets."
"It can't be! We left those third world do-gooders back in Africa."
"I can't say it's them, but they have the same haberdasher. We're returning fire. "
"Return fire, hell! Wipe 'em out!"
Nancy hissed at him in the dark. "Are you crazy, King? A firefight is insane."
King looked at her incredulously. "What do you want-to let them just steal the animal?"
"If I have a choice between a dead dinosaur and a kidnapped one," Nancy bit back. "I'll take the latter. Gladly."
"The board didn't spend millions just to lose out on the product tie-in of the century."