"I'll have the heat increased, Director."
"And go to Threatcon Squeaky. No telling what the cat might drag in."
"And Revuelta?"
"Find out what his problem is. That idiot is probably just jumping at shadows."
The Director made the fox girl's naked rump a size larger. Then two. He chuckled appreciatively.
"I love this thing," he said as Captain Maus left the room, his uniform blouse sticking to his skin.
Chapter 12
Remo Williams drove through the cool Florida night in tight silence.
Beside him, the Master of Sinanju said nothing.
The road ahead ran in straight lines that became cutbacks at unexpected moments. Remo was completely focused on it and his car. He was at one with the car, feeling the tires hug the road through vibrations coming up through the steering column.
The modern automobile was as far removed from the purity that was Sinanju as was Donkey Kong. Still, the reflexes Remo had acquired made him a superb driver.
He had been running without lights for hours, his vision fixed on the distant taillights of Zorilla's car.
They were on Interstate 75, heading north, toward Tampa. Cool, salty breezes were blowing in off the Gulf of Mexico.
Remo turned on the radio and punched up the stations until he got a newscast.
". . . in Florida, military bases and law enforcement agencies are reportedly on a high state of alert in the wake of the Cuban interference of broadcast channels. The Pentagon is being uncharacteristically tight-lipped, but sources here confirm contingency plans are being reviewed for a possible retaliatory action against microwave TV-transmitters on the Cuban mainland."
"Good," Remo muttered. "No, it is not good."
"Why not?" Remo asked Chiun.
"Because the oppressor cannot oppress unless he has external enemies."
The newscaster continued, "According to a Cuban television broadcast monitored in Mexico, Fidel Castro told his people today, 'We will fight them without quarter, with the force of the masses and the law, in the political field and in the ideological field with every means. If the Yanquis come, it will be another Vietnam, only worse.'"
"Guess he never heard of Desert Storm," Remo said.
"If there is one person who wishes for invasion, it is the oppressor," Chiun said.
"Say that again," Remo said, turning off the radio.
"It is very simple, Remo. I know what is happening on that island of sugar. The tyrant cannot feed his people. They clamor for food and grow restive. It is the beginning of the end. Only a miracle can save him now." Chiun turned, his voice pointed. "Or an enemy to be invoked, the better to draw the people around him to protect the man, under the pretense of protecting his throne."
"Makes sense. But Castro isn't doing this."
"What has he to lose?"
"I still think it's the CIA. They've had a bug up their ass over this guy since day one."
"They should pass gas then, and be done with it," Chiun said blandly.
"Chiun?"
"Yes?"
"When we get to the head guy, I get Zorilla, too."
"Why?"
"He slaughtered his own men. He deserves to die."
"If all your wishes come true, my son," Chiun said in a low voice, "we will have a very busy night before us."
As they neared Tampa, the taillight angled east. Remo followed onto Interstate 4, as if riding a wheeled lodestone being pulled by another lodestone. The driver never suspected he was being followed.
The countryside changed character. They began to see cattle farms, surprisingly enough. Lakes were common sights.
The signs began to say: LAKELAND. WINTER HAVEN. KISSIMMEE. FURIOSO.
The Master of Sinanju, seeing the last of these, perked up in his seat and said, his voice squeaky with pleasure, "Look, Remo, we are going to Furioso."
"Big hairy deal," Remo growled.
The Master of Sinanju frowned. "It is a big hairy deal to some," he said.
"Not to me."
"We have no time to stop?"
"Chiun, we are not going to you-know-where while we're on a freaking mission."
"Now I know," Chiun said forlornly.
"Know what?"
"That I am unappreciated by ingrates on all sides."
Remo sighed. "Maybe on the way back."
" 'Maybe' is not 'definitely.' "
Silence fell over the darkened car interior.
Somewhere in the night, fires raged. They were passing through fields of orange groves now. The air was filled with a strange mixture of orange blossoms and burning kerosene, and dense with dragons of rolling black smoke.