"Red?"
"Their funding originated in Havana."
Remo grunted. "From the way they cut and ran from Chiun and me, they should call themselves the Congress for a Yellow Africa. But I don't see them following the Bronto all the way to the U.S. Unless they have branches all over the world."
"Unknown. Perhaps you might reestablish contact with Dr. Derringer, inasmuch as you have her confidence."
"Is this an official assignment all of a sudden?" Remo asked. "I thought the idea was to appease Chiun, and rescue the expedition."
"Remo," said Smith, "a sovereign African government has allowed an American corporation to take possession of a native animal of incalculable value to the world scientific community. When the dinosaur's existence is confirmed, the eyes of the entire world will be focused on how the animal is treated. U.S. prestige could be at stake here."
"Gotcha," said Remo. "Does Chiun know about this?"
"I have not been in touch with Master Chiun."
"Maybe we should leave him out of this."
"Do what you think is best, Remo."
"Always," said Remo, hanging up.
Chapter 19
Nancy Derringer had to admit it. She was impressed. The sauropod habitat was perfect. A sunken bowl covered with hard-packed dirt and jungled with fronds, trees, and tough, edible lianas. There were even hard rocks scattered about as potential gizzard stones. True, there was no jungle chocolate or orange toadstools, but they could be flown in. Why not? A company that could build a dinosaur habitat in the basement of its world headquarters could afford to run fresh food between Port Chuma and Dover, Delaware as often as necessary.
Old Jack, Nancy was pleased to see, had woken up. He had not yet levered his great body up from the dirt, but his head was up and swinging about. To look at the head alone, the creature brought to mind a massive python, sleepy and even a little stupid.
The goat-pupiled eyes regarded her with no trace of comprehension.
"How's the boy? If you are a boy, that is."
The creature seemed to recognize her voice. It made a low noise-a curious sound, not threatening at all.
Nancy took a fragment of toadstool she had pocketed in Gondwanaland and speared it on a thin branch she had broken off in an examination of the habitat before Old Jack had come around.
Leaning over the stainless steel rail, she offered the morsel.
The curious sound came again. The head lifted, the heavy lids lifted, too. The eyes cleared, grew interested.
"Come on, Punkin. Come on."
The creature moved its massive legs, pushing its wrinkled knees downward. But muscular strength was not there. The body trembled and surrendered to weakness. It eased its great belly to the dirt floor in defeat.
Swaying, Old Jack brought his small head as high as he could. His neck was not long enough to close the gap between his snout and the aromatic food.
Nancy knelt and shoved the stick downward through the lowest rail.
The creature hesitated, the morsel was only inches away.
"Go ahead, Punkin. You can do it. Come on."
The mouth yawned, exposing peglike teeth and the head crept forward, serpentlike.
Nancy steeled herself. If necessary, she would drop the stick. Those teeth, though blunted by chewing hardwood branches, could take her hand off at the wrist with a casual snap.
But the movements of the Apatosaur were so languid they disarmed her. Nancy relaxed. The forked tongue licked out heavily to caress the toadstool. Liking what it found, the mouth crossed the last inch and Nancy let go as the stick was taken in the firm grip of many teeth.
She stood up and watched it gulp the toadstool, branch and all, into its long gullet.
"Good boy. Or girl."
The click of footsteps on parquet flooring brought Nancy around. Her face, soft with pleasure, abruptly fell into tight lines.
"King."
Skip King saw the hovering orange head and brightened. "He's awake?"
"Obviously."
King gripped the rail, grinning. "Great! The board is on the way down."
"They are?"
"Are you kidding? They couldn't wait."
"I wish they would. I don't want to disturb Punkin."
"Old Jack. Unless the board decides different. Which I think they will."
"Why should they?"
"Because they'll want maximum name appeal when the thing goes on tour."
"Tour!"
"Hey! Settle down. That's why I came ahead. I don't want you to go all hormonal in front of the big guys. The board wants to set up a twelve-city tour, to tie in with our new monster burger promotion."
"Promotion, my butt! Our agreement expressly stipulates that there would be no such circus. This is the last surviving dinosaur, as far as anyone knows. We can't subject it to lines of gaping primates poking it with sticks and throwing french fries at it."
"Please. No french fry slurs in front of the board. They're sensitive about the fry perception thing ever since it came out that our fries are cooked in lard."
"I object in the strongest terms to a tour," Nancy said firmly.
"Hey, don't get upset with me. Take it up with upper management. I'm merely a corporate servant, just like you. And try not to forget it. Without Burger Triumph, this big brute would be languishing in Darkest Africa, unloved and unexploited."
"Which is where I'm beginning to wish I'd left him."
"Sour grapes make sorry wine," King sniffed, leaning over the rail. "Hey, big Jack. Remember me!"
Harrooo!
The head came up with unexpected speed. King leaped back, startled. Saurian eyes regarded him coldly.
"What's with him?"
"Maybe he remembers you shooting him," Nancy suggested.
"Dinosaurs aren't that smart. That's why they're extinct."
"A common misapprehension," Nancy said. "Let me suggest you keep your distance."
"Doesn't matter. I don't need a pet. Not when this bag of meat is my ticket up the corporate ladder."
The ping of an arriving elevator floated across the wide, well-lit basement area.
King straightened his coat and said, "That's the big guys. Remember. Play it cool, and everything will work out for the best."
Nancy made her face placid as she watched the board of directors of the Burger Triumph Corporation cross the polished floor. There were six of them, all well fed and prosperous. And probably none of them so much as sniffed their own product, never mind ate it. They looked like stuffed-lobster types.
King made formal introductions. "Gentlemen, I don't believe you've met Miss Derringer. Better known as Nancy, the greatest dinosaur-minder in the world."
"It's Dr. Derringer," Nancy said, mustering her composure.
"She prefers to be called Nancy," King said.
Nancy bit her tongue and shook a half-dozen cool hands. A minute after she had repeated their names aloud to commit them to memory, she had forgotten them. They were that faceless.
And beside them, King was waving to the floating Apatosaur head, saying proudly, "Now meet the most colossal contribution to U.S. culture since the invention of onion rings. Heh heh."
His laugh was a solitary sound in the great basement.
The six members of the board leaned over the rail and stared at the unhuman face regarding them. One puffed on a cigar. The others wore no particular expression. They might have been looking at a stack of freeze-dried hamburger patties and not a living thing.
"What do you think?" King asked anxiously.
"Kind of ugly for a corporate symbol, King."
Skip King's face fell. He swallowed hard. "When I was a kid, there was a gas company that had one as its logo."
"I remember it," another board member said slowly.
King brightened. "See?"