"No, no, I couldn't do that," said Jim. His face paled, his arms shuddered, and his legs seemed to find other places to go than to stay beneath him. He tipped over and landed like a bag of peat moss off a truck.
Kathleen O'Donnell wanted to tell him it was good for her, too.
The Jodrell Bank radio telescope picked up strange readings in the jet stream of atmosphere. Something that caused their signals to bounce back crazily.
"Do you think this is it?" asked one of the scientists. "Never saw anything like it," answered the other. "Must be."
"Over Malden, I gather."
"Well, let's give the intelligence chaps a ring, eh?"
"Odd effect on radio signals, I say. So that's how a fluorocarbon beam, or stream, behaves. Have you considered what it might do to the ozone?"
"Don't think so. It's supposed to be coming from America."
"Can't tell for certain. The source appears to be west of Great Britain."
"America is west of Great Britain."
"Quite. "
The phone rang in Remo's suite. "Remo?" It was Smith. "Yes?"
"They got a hit in Great Britain."
"Is that thing there?"
"No. It struck there, but they believe the point of origin was west of England. Which we think also."
"So where is it?"
"Somewhere in America, but we're not sure where. Probably still on the east coast. The British should have a better read than we do. That's the thinking here. But there is a problem in Great Britain. They are not sharing their data with us. For some crazy reason, their intelligence services are keeping everything to themselves."
"Which means?"
"You get over to Britain and find out what they're hiding. They get back here and tear the hearts out of these lunatics before we're all killed," said Smith. Remo had never heard the rigidly controlled man use terms of violence when he ordered violence.
"And do it fast, because I don't know what's happening with the Russians. I never could figure them out. The only one who ever knew what they were doing was Chiun. And I can't figure him out, either?"
"What's happening with the Russians?" Remo asked.
"I think they picked up something, too. They knew what to look for now. But how they'll react is anyone's guess. There will be an Air Force jet waiting for you in a special hangar at Kennedy Airport. It's the latest fighter. Cost a quarter of a billion dollars to build and can get you across the Atlantic in half the time of the Concorde. Performs wonders."
One of the wonders of the new Z-83 retracting wing Stratofighter was its ability to track all radar signals in the hemisphere and translate them into a tactical reading so that a staff officer in the Pentagon could feed them into a computer. This brilliant idea would in theory enable the Air Force to monitor all air traffic around the world using just two jets.
The problem with the Z-83 was that it had so many "enhance functions"; the radar-tracking computer, the navigational computer, and the automatic target select and track unit, that most of the time the engines wouldn't start. The Z-83 sat like a metallic-winged shark on the runway when Remo arrived, and kept on sitting.
"Does this thing fly?"
"She's best aircraft in the world when we integrate her multimodes." This from an Air Force general who explained that it would be militarily premature to assign any on-line function to the system; one should look at it as a launching mode strategically, rather than tactically.
In brief, the general explained, it didn't fly, wouldn't fly soon, and had every likelihood of never flying. He advised taking Delta Airlines. They would be ready when he was.
When Field Marshal Alexei Zemyatin was informed that another beam had been fired, this time above England, he muttered over and over:
"I do not want a war. I do not want a war. Why are the fools giving me a war?"
It was the first time that the Great One had been heard to call an enemy a fool. He had always saved that for allies. An enemy, he had warned every Russian leader, was brilliant and perfect in every way until he showed you how he could be defeated. And, of course, he always did because no one was perfect.
"How do you know they are not attacking Great Britain?" demanded the Russian Premier. "Some in the Politburo think America might be using Great Britain as a target because it is a useless ally. Contempt, it is. How can you say war when they are firing that thing against an ally?"
Zemyatin sat in a black leather chair staring into a room filled with Russian generals and KGB officers. They did not look back because they did not see him. They were on the other side of a one-way mirror and they talked quietly among themselves in aimless conversation. It was aimless because the Premier had left the room. He had left because Zemyatin had buzzed.
Zemyatin shook his hairless head. The sadness of it all. This mindless pack was Russia's future. Still, the rest of the world was run by the likes of these. But even the likes of these across the Atlantic should not start a war for no reason.
"How do you know they plan war?" the Premier asked again. Zemyatin nodded. He motioned the Premier to bend down because he did not wish to raise his voice. He wanted the other to listen hard.
"When our missile base was hit by this thing-whatever it is-I allowed myself to hope it was an accident. Granted, one does not run a country on hope. That would be disastrous."
"Why did you think it was an accident?"
"I didn't think it was an accident," corrected Zemyatin. "I hoped it was an accident. I reacted as though it was a willful act, but I had to ask myself why America would do something so foolish. There is no reason for them to test an untried weapon on us first. You don't do that if you are starting a war."
"Yes. Good thinking. Yes."
"But it was such a device that I thought perhaps the Americans consider us fools and believe that we would not recognize their device as a controllable weapon. A foolish idea, because we suspect everything."
"Yes, yes," said the Premier, struggling to follow the twists and turns of the Great One. Sometimes he was so clear, and other times he was like the summer mists of Siberia. Unknowable.
"There was still the possibility, a shred of hope, that this was an accident. However, we knew there was one thing they needed from us. And if one can be certain of anything, I am certain of that."
Zemyatin paused. "They know what it does to animals, according to our reports. They know what it does to microbes. But they still do not know what it does to our current defenses. In my belief, they do not know how to use it for war. Yet."
The Premier thought that sounded good. He was hesitant. He did not want to be called a fool even in private. He was relieved when Zemyatin refrained from doing so.
"But I am also sadly sure, now more than before, that they will use it for war. And why? When they tested it against us, they made a mistake. They couldn't find out whether it worked or not. As a matter of fact, it was such a severe mistake, it left open the one small hope that perhaps it was an accident. Of course, they fell into our trap when they desperately sought to 'share' information in our so-called common struggle. So what do you do now that your first test has possibly alarmed your enemy?"
"You don't test again. But they have," said the Premier.
"Exactly. In friendly territory, pretending for all the world that they have only a scientific interest. Blatant. If they had shot this thing at soldiers, I would be less sure of their intentions for war, because then they would not be disguising a first strike."
"Oh," said the Premier.
"Yes," said Zemyatin. "And it was I who had for all these years said they did not seek a war, but control of resources."