that his nostrils filtered out the most disagreeable aspects of the smell.
"What on earth is he doing?" Robin asked Remo.
"Silence," Chiun commanded.
Then the Masters of Sinanju took up two bamboo sticks that were decorated with varicolored feathers and topped with silver bells. He began to stalk around the burning bowl and his voice rose from its usual squeaky pitch to a quavering howl that reminded Remo of a lovesick alley cat.
It reminded Robin Green of something entirely different.
"What is he doing?" she asked tartly. "A rain dance?"
Remo, who knew Korean, listened for a moment and offered what he called a loose translation.
"It sounds like he's saying something to the effect of 'Begone, spirits of the outer void. Return from whence you came. Leave this ridiculous missile and the unsavory steaks and garments to the living. There is nothing here for you.' Unquote."
"An exorcism!" Robin shrieked. "He's performing an exorcism on a nuclear facility! Oh, I'm not seeing this! I'm not hearing this."
"Hey," Remo said. "I said it was a loose translation. I might have gotten a few of the words wrong."
"Well, I'm putting a stop to this right now."
Robin Green started forward. Remo caught her by the waist.
"Uh-uh," he said. "Seriously."
"Let me go, you big goof. I have authority here."
"You may have authority, but not over him. Look."
The Master of Sinanju was now in a frenzy of motion. He ran from wall to wall, literally bouncing off them. Whenever he bounced, he struck the wall with one of the bamboo rods. He leapt into the air, twirling like a dervish. The silver bells jingled like sleigh bells. Chiun seemed to be using the rods to describe invisible circles in the air.
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"There was a time when he was addicted to soap operas," Remo explained. "Nobody, but nobody, ever interfered with his daily viewing. A couple of times people did. I always had to dispose of the bodies."
"Bodies! Him?"
"Parts of bodies, actually. They looked like they had walked into a baling machine or something."
"Him?" Robin repeated incredulously.
"Trust me."
"That's ridiculous! He can't weigh more then ninety pounds."
"A black widow spider weighs even less."
"Well, I don't care. This is chickenshit. And it's got to stop."
At the sound of Robin's shouted words, Chiun suddenly stopped in his tracks.
"Thank you for reminding me," he said, going to the trunk. He returned with two jars of a dark ashy substance. He handed one to Robin.
"Since you are obviously familiar with this ritual, you may help," he said. "Dip your finger into the jar and anoint first your forehead, then every thing else in this room that is green. For they like green and use it to empower themselves."
"Green?" Robin croaked.
"Yes. Be certain to do your forehead first. It will protect you. Even if you are not truly green, but only named so."
"What is this" stuff?" Robin asked, bringing a smudge of it to her nostrils.
"It is the chicken stuff of which you spoke, of course," said Chiun, who then marched off and began smearing ash over every green status light and indicator on the twin consoles.
Robin Green's eyes widened in horror. "Chicken . . . ? He can't mean that this . . . This isn't... I mean ..."
"Search me," Remo said. "Guano isn't my area of
60
expertise. But maybe you'd better do as he says. You're starting to look a little green around the gills."
Robin didn't reply. Her expression was dazed.
At length Chiun finished his ministrations to the launch-control room.
"All done, Chiun?"
"No. I must do the missile too. I will do all the missiles so that the wicked ghost causes no accidental launchings."
"There are ten missiles attached to this LCF alone," Robin Green pointed out. "And fifteen LCF's in the grid. That's one hundred and fifty missile silos."
"I will start with this one. If necessary, I will do others."
"Better humor him," Remo said quickly. "The sooner we're done, the sooner we can get on with the real investigation."
"This is madness. But all right. Just let go of me."
"Huh?"
"You've still got your arms wrapped around my waist, buster. Or haven't you noticed?"
"Oh! Sorry," Remo said, his face reddening. "I just didn't want you to get hurt." He released her.
An hour later, the Master of Sinanju stepped back from the silo hatch to Fox-4. He surveyed the hatch from every angle. The entire surface was covered with arcane Korean symbols, daubed on in dried chicken guano. He had placed one of the feathered rods to the north of the silo and the other to the south. They tinkled in the breeze like wind chimes.
"Finally," he intoned, addressing a ring of security police, whom he had set to beating on their helmets because it frightened off certain kinds of spirits, "I declare this absurd contraption proof against spirits, demons, and other inhabitants of the outer void. You may all go about your business normally."