"I didn't say that word."
"No, sir. Airman Dumphey!" came the reply.
"What about the you-know-what?" the major shouted.
"The ninja's not in here."
"If he's not in there, where can he be?"
That question was answered indirectly but in the most dramatic fashion possible.
MAJOR CLAIBORNE GRIMM had one eye on the Hy-Cube and the other on the captured helicopter when it happened. His side arm was trained on the chopper.
As far as he knew, everything was under control. They had the ninja cornered, the missile in prefiring position and the helicopter crew under control. It was just a matter of getting everyone locked down for interrogating.
The very last thing Major Grimm expected to hear was the gigantic sound like a massive shotgun blast, the overwhelming whoosh that preceded by mere seconds the mushroom cloud of boiling white steam generated when the detonating explosive charge in the missile canister turned thirty gallons of stored water to instant steam, scalding the airmen atop the boxcar and sending the MX Peacekeeper missile vaulting into the sky like a piston ejected from a mortar tube.
The tip of the missile popped up from the expanding steam cloud.
It was the last thing Grimm expected to see.
"Oh, dear God," Major Grimm said in a small, horrified voice. "We have launch."
The next thing was no surprise. Given the changed circumstances.
Vaulting two hundred feet above the train, the missile paused, seeming to hang in the air like a long white balloon. A heartbeat elapsed. Grimm's stricken eyes went to the cold exhaust bell of the stage-one engine.
Once it ignited, there was no calling the MX back.
Grimm waited for the eruption of flame that would send the missile streaking downrange toward its unknown destination. They had not input any targeting coordinates. It could come down anywhere. Russia. China. Hawaii. Even Ohio.
For a heartbeat the future of humanity hung in the balance, and Major Claiborne Grimm saw himself going down in history as the man who triggered nuclear Armageddon-if there was anyone to record anything past this fateful day.
"Please drop into the Atlantic," he beseeched the God he suddenly believed in with all of his pounding heart. "Or the Pacific. Or anywhere harmless."
The MX obliged him. It came down in Nebraska some two thousand yards south of the train. The stage-one engine nozzle never fired. The force of its steam-driven expulsion expired, and gravity took hold, pulling the long tube back to earth. It struck lengthwise, exploding into a fireball that looked for all the world like a raging mushroom cloud.
The blast of heat withered prairie grass and wilted the standing ears of corn, while everyone with sense dropped to the ground.
EXCEPT REMO WILLIAMS.
He threw himself over the streamer trunk and waited for the shock wave to roll over the helicopter.
It wasn't much of a wave. More heat than force. The chopper wobbled like a big bubble. That was all.
By the time everyone realized they were not going to be incinerated, the Master of Sinanju had calmly collected all Air Force side arms and rifles in the vicinity from the fear-stunned hands of various airmen and was methodically dismantling them.
Remo figured it was safe to leave the trunk on the seat, and joined the Master of Sinanju.
He found Chiun standing on the back of the major.
"Get off me!" the major demanded.
"Not until you apologize," Chiun said.
"For what?"
"For referring to me by that unspeakable word."
The major grunted and strained. He cursed such a blue streak that K.C. Crockett covered her ears as her face turned the color of beets.
Finally Grimm gave up. "What word?" he asked.
"The J word."
"He means 'Japanese,'" Remo said helpfully.
"I apologize for calling you Japanese," the major said with no enthusiasm whatsoever.
"And you will never do this again," Chiun prompted.
"And I will never do this again."
"So help me Jesus," added Melvis.
Remo looked at Melvis.
"Just keepin' things honest," he said.
"I will allow use of the other J word," said Chiun.
"So help me Jesus," the major gasped.
"It pays to make certain," said Melvis in a satisfied voice.
The major got to his feet, saying, "They're going to bust me down to airman once this gets out."
Remo asked, "What's this about a ninja?"
The major stiffened. "Claiborne Grimm. Major. United States Air Force. Serial number available upon request."
Remo handed him a business card. Grimm took it.
"FBI?"
"Let me see that!" Melvis said, taking the card from the major. He read it once, and his eyes jumped to Remo's composed face. "You told me you were with DOT. And your last name was Renwick."