"A rail fan!" they exclaimed.
THEY TOOK the transmitter back to the crash site. K.C. got it working and threw the train into reverse.
No one expected a reaction, but a beacon light atop the train began flashing yellow and the train lurched backward, dragging the Genesis with it. It crawled painfully for all of two feet, then stopped dead.
K.C. shut down the transmitter. "They're rigged to control only one train at a time. You got to reset it for another."
"How much of a range?" asked Remo.
"Maybe twenty miles. With repeaters, more."
"So the murderer could have stood way back at the shed and sent the rotary plow this way without having to see what was happening?"
"It's possible. All you gotta do is set the cab controls and start her up by RC. If you're looking to run it smack into the California Zephyr, all you need is the right track and the correct direction. It's not like you gotta steer anything."
"The question is, who?" said Remo.
"All we gotta do is pry them two sad-sack engines apart and maybe we'll get our answer," Melvis offered.
"An excellent suggestion," said Chiun, throwing back his silvery sleeves with a flourish.
He marched up to the mashed locomotive pile.
"What's he up to?" Melvis asked Remo.
"He's going to separate the locomotives," Remo said casually.
"You mean he thinks he's gonna separate the locomotives."
"He thinks it, too."
Reaching the wreck, the Master of Sinanju examined it carefully. He turned. "I may need assistance."
"Hah," said Melvis.
"Back up the ugly engine."
"Won't do nothin'. You saw that with your own eyes."
"Do it anyway," said Remo.
"I got it," said K.C. Raising her voice, she said, "Just call out when you're ready. Hear?"
"I am ready," returned Chiun.
Melvis turned to Remo. "Ain't you gonna stop him? He could hurt hisself."
Remo shrugged. "I learned to let him have his way a long time ago."
K.C. threw the plow locomotive into reverse.
The engine grunted, clashed backward. Tangled steel and aluminum groaned like a tortured beast.
And the Master of Sinanju inserted a hand into the tangle. He did something very quick with his hands. Abruptly, with the sound of a giant spring letting go, the plow engine backed off from the mangled Genesis, trailing thin struts and pieces of flat black blade.
"Did you see that!" Melvis exploded. His eyes were popping from their sockets.
"No," said Remo.
"See what?" said K.C., her head coming up. "I was looking at the controls."
"Nothin'," said Melvis. "But I sure heard a sprungin'."
"I heard it, too," said K.C. She grinned. "Guess we got lucky."
Melvis gave Remo a sharp eye. "A lotta that around these two. Hope it's catchin'. "
They ran up to the separated engines. The exposed noses were mashed flat. The housing containing the snow-eating fan blades now looked like a grille. The Genesis snout resembled a kicked-in loaf of bread. Crushed air hoses and power conduits drooped from the bottom, as if a hand grenade had gone off in a snake pit.
"Well," Melvis commented, "they say the Genesis is the homeliest loco since the old Union Pacific M-10000, but a head-on sure didn't improve her profile any."
Blood was streaking down the one side. It was enough to tell the Genesis engineer had taken the brunt of the impact.
Remo climbed the access ladder of the Genesis, looked in the broken window and climbed back down.
"Dead," he said.
"Too bad."
"But he still has his head."
"Why wouldn't he?" Melvis demanded.
"Never mind," said Remo, jumping down.
They circled around the other engine. The entire front end had been pushed back into the firewall, cab and all.
"If he's in here," Melvis said, "he's mashed flatter than an elephant's pillow."
"Only one way to find out," said Remo. He started up the twisted access ladder.
"Now what do you think you're loin'?"
Remo said nothing as he reached the engine roof. Kneeling there, he examined the steel roof plates under him.
"Find me a crowbar," he called down.