"To be defiled," Major Grimm said, unlocking and sliding open the single escape door, "means to be left in the dust."
Stepping down, Major Grimm saw that the security team was all over the consist.
Running over to the security officer, he said, "Report."
"We hit a man on the tracks. We're looking for him now."
"Man on foot?"
"Yes, Sir."
Grimm looked to the train. His eyes automatically went to the second boxcar, where the MX Peacekeeper missile crouched like a cougar awaiting the launch command. For as long as he had been in charge of ferrying the beast through cornfields and prairie, he wondered if he was carrying a live one. His superior officers refused to confirm or deny that the aluminum-tipped titanium warhead packed live Mark 21 reentry vehicles or inert dummies. The possibility that they might be dummies offered absolutely no comfort at all.
His empty side-arm holster slapping his thigh, Grimm joined the search.
"Any sign?" he asked, bending down to join an airman peering past the unique eight-wheel trucks, cocked .45 in hand.
"No, sir."
Grimm could see plainly that no body or any detached parts thereof lay under the consist.
Getting up, he walked the length of the train.
At each checkpoint he received "No, sir" and puzzled faces.
Someone handed Grimm a pair of field glasses, and he trained them down the length of track. It ran straight as a ruler, and if there was a body mashed into the ties, it was bound to show.
But it didn't. Grimm climbed to the roof of the last car.
Kneeling, he scanned the line. No body. No splash of red to show that a civilian had been struck. The surrounding prairie was likewise clean.
Clambering back down, Grimm said, "Anybody see anything? Anything at all?"
"Just the engine," the security officer reported.
"I think we should talk to the engineer," Grimm said, loping back to the engine. "Have your men stand ready."
"Yes, sir."
THE ENGINEER REFUSED to open his cab until Grimm gave him the password of the day.
"Hotbox."
"Wasn't that yesterday's password?"
"Yesterday's was 'Reefer.'"
"That's right, it was." The door banged open. "C'mon in."
Grimm climbed the ladder. He shut it behind him. "We can't find a body," he said tightly.
"We ran right over the poor dumb SOB."
"What'd he look like?"
"Dressed all in black, like one of them whatchamacallits." The engineer was snapping his fingers as if that would help his memory.
Grimm pitched in. "Bikers?"
"No."
"Protesters?"
"No. No. One of those Jap skulkers."
"Ninja?"
"Yeah! That's it. He was dressed like a dirty lowdown, egg-sucking ninja. Face all muffled sneaky-like and everything."
"Oh, shoot," said Claiborne Grimm, jumping from the cab. "We got a ninja on board! We got a ninja on board!" he called out.
The security officer looked blank as a blackboard. "Sir?"
"A ninja! You know what a ninja is?"
"No, sir, I do not."
"Japanese spy. Dressed all in black. They say they can get close enough to spit in your eye before you notice 'em. Masters of stealth, camouflage, infiltration-the whole nine yards."
"Oh, shoot."
"That's what I said. We gotta do a car-to-car search. I want security teams stationed at each end of the train. The minute he shows his ninja face, blow his head clean off. We can't take any chances."
The security teams were deployed.
Grimm led the search team. The security officer took another contingent to the rear-end car.
They worked from car to car, going over every square inch.
The rail-garrison consist was set up to be self-sufficient. There were bunks, a shower and even a kitchenette. In theory, they could remain mobile for weeks at a time. The downside was the consist was as cramped as a nuclear submarine.
Grimm's team checked the engine cab, the crapper and the security car, even though the security team had been stationed there all during the contact.
He skipped the second Hy-Cube car, which housed the missile. The only way in and out was through a locked access hatch or if the roof doors split open on command. Even though it made no sense to do so, he returned to the launch-control car.
"Hotbox," he said. The door fell open.