"Didn't they go out of business?" asked another.
King's face fell some more. He was paling by degrees.
"The coloring says Halloween," a fourth board member murmured. "Not appropriate for a summer tour. "
"We can paint it to match the season," King said instantly.
"We will not!" Nancy flared.
"Nancy," King hissed. Clearing his throat, he said to no one in particular, "Anything the board wants, it gets. Heh heh."
"'That's it!" Nancy said, getting between them and the reptile. "I must object in the strongest terms to the whole concept of a tour. The animal hasn't been stabilized. We have no idea how-or even if-he will acclimate to captivity. And the strain of transport could be catastrophic."
King snorted. "Crap! We brought him from Africa to America. We proved it can be done. A tour is doable."
Nancy looked to the board members. They stared back with noncommittal expressions. They might have been thinking. A moment later, it was clear they had not been.
King said, "Miss Derringer has been under a lot of strain. You'll have to forgive her."
"Strain?"
"It's all covered in my report," King said.
"Report!" Nancy exploded.
"I stayed up all night writing it," King said defensively. "No grass grows under my feet."
"And butter doesn't exactly melt in your mouth, I see."
"We have read Mr. King's report," the man with the cigar said. "You have done an excellent job, Miss Derringer. Why don't you take a month off? With pay, of course."
"A month! And who will tend to the animal?"
"I have that covered," King said hastily.
"I refuse."
"I'll have her removed from the building," King offered.
Nancy blinked furiously. Her eyes went from King's eager-to-please expression to the six faces of the board of directors, whose own expressions were unreadable. When none of them objected to the suggestion, King motioned to a pair of Burger Berets stationed at the elevators.
"Escort Miss Derringer to the door," he said.
Nancy froze. Her fingers became fists. Then, all the tension drained out of her.
"I can walk out under my own power, thank you."
And she did. Flanked by two guards.
Echoing in her ears was Skip King's self-satisfied voice, saying, "I have the entire tour itinerary worked out, if you gentlemen care to see it . . . ."
Skip King waited until the two Burger Beret guards had returned. He had set up a pair of easels in front of the dinosaur terrarium.
"Why don't you two take twenty?" he said. "Out of the building."
The pair went away without a word. And King faced the board of directors.
"Now that we're alone," he said, grinning, "would you gentlemen care to see the projections I've worked up for Operation Bronto Burger?"
The man with the cigar nodded.
"We are now entering phase two," King said, extending a telescoping pointer. He tapped red points on a map of the nation. "Phase two envisions a six-month, twelve-city tour of our Brontosaurus. During which time we anticipate moving over six million units on our all-beef monster burger tie-in promotion."
King removed the map placard and exposed one showing graphs and cost projections.
"Once that target volume has been achieved, our subject dinosaur will be returned here and phase three will begin."
He removed the graph placard. The next one showed an Apatosaur, with its body separated into segments, each segment indicating its gross weight.
"After the beast is discreetly but humanely euthanized, the carcass will be rendered and the meat frozen for a one-year period of bereavement. After that, phase four.
"My office will then issue press releases announcing that the meat has been preserved in the interest of science and has been scientifically determined to be edible. Everybody with me so far? Good."
King shifted to the other easel, removing a blank placard. Under it was a mockup of a billboard showing a man sitting on the fender of a Ferrari, a blonde in a silvery evening dress draped over him. Both were trying to take a bite out of the same hamburger.
"We will market our deluxe Bronto Burger as a special one-time-only offer at five thousand dollars and ninety-nine cents per quarter-pound burger," King said. "Soft drinks and fries extra."
The board nodded in unison. King went to the next placard, which showed a family picnic. The adults were wearing Burger Triumph crowns and the children played with plastic dinosaurs. Everyone had a hamburger.
"For the downscale market, bronto-meat-flavored extract will be laced into our regular monster burgers at ten ninety-nine per unit. We will play up the unique taste, the novelty, and the once-in-a-lifetime offer. Only one burger to a customer. And toys for the kiddies, of course. Our estimated gross is seventy million."
"Sounds doable so far, King. But how does the Bronto Burger taste?"
"We don't know. Yet."
"What if the public won't go for it?"
"What if it tastes like snake meat?"
King grinned broadly. "Remember our unofficial motto, 'The public's curiosity is stronger than its stomach.' Just in case, a no-refunds policy will be strictly enforced."
"The animal looks mighty sick. How do you know he'll survive the tour?"
"I've got that covered," King said, collapsing his pointer. "Unless she's quit in a huff, Nancy Derringer will keep him healthy if she has to donate her own blood to do it. Best of all, she doesn't suspect us. In fact, no one will ever suspect us, because of the fake attacks we arranged. After they're through serving as an honor guard, the Burger Berets will be quietly disbanded. And the so-called African environmentalists will catch all the flak. In short, the operation is foolproof."
The man with the cigar exhaled a slow, thoughtful cloud of aromatic smoke. "King my boy, proceed with confidence. The board is behind you."
"You don't know what that means to me, sir. Ever since kindergarten, I've ached for a shot at the big time."
The board filed out. After the elevator had closed on them, Skip King, beaming like an altar boy at his first communion, turned to the Apatosaur and blew it a kiss.
"See you later, you gorgeous seventy-million-dollar rack of reptile!"
As King walked off, a forlorn harrooo followed him. And the Apatosaur's head settled to the ground, eyes slowly closing.
Chapter 20
Nancy Derringer had called everyone she knew. Her lawyer. Her friends at the International Colloquium of Cryptozoologists. Everyone. Her lawyer had been blunt.
"If I sue Burger Triumph, they'll have me for lunch. Sorry."
Her colleagues were more sympathetic.
"We'll picket."
"We'll help you kidnap the dinosaur."
"We'll do anything!"
In other words, long on enthusiasm, but short on practicality. That was typical cryptozoologist thinking. Since the Colloquium was not so much an organization as a loose interdisciplinary alliance, there was no muscle behind their expressions of support.
In her furnished apartment provided by Burger Triumph for the duration of her term of service, Nancy fumed and fought back hot tears.
"How could I have been such a fool?" she said bitterly.
A rapping at the door brought her off the sofa.
"Who is it?" she called through the door.
"Remo."
Nancy threw open the door. And there he was. Lean and casual in a crisp white T-shirt, but somehow as exciting as if he wore Navy dress whites.
"You don't know what it means for me to see a friendly face right now," she said with relief. "Come in, please."
"Nice place," Remo said, looking around.
"It's bought and paid for-just like me," Nancy said ruefully. She shut the door and clapped her hands once softly. "So--what brings you back into my life so soon?"
"I hear the bronto was attacked after we left you."
"How did you know that? As far as I know, the company was able to keep a tight lid on it."