"Remo Llewell?" Melvis said, reading the name aloud.
Remo retrieved the card. To the major, he said, "We're interested in your ninja. "
"If you can find him, you can keep him," Grimm said in a bitter voice.
Major Grimm led them to the train. He explained the problem in a surprisingly small number of words, considering how many were cusswords.
Chiun drifted up to Remo's side. "See, Remo? Did I not assure you Japanese were behind these horrible crimes?"
"Not now," Remo muttered.
"What I don't understand is how that durn MX launched without orders," said Major Grimm.
"MX? Didn't they scrap that program?" Remo asked.
"They canceled the program. We didn't throw away the prototype train."
"Are we talkin' new-clear here?" Melvis demanded.
"If we were," Major Grimm said, "we wouldn't be standing here exercising our jaws right now. We were carrying a dummy-warhead array. Thank God."
"Amen," said K.C.
"You the guy that called in the haz-mat situation?" Melvis wanted to know.
"My superior must have," Grimm admitted.
Remo blinked. "You have a top secret, unauthorized nuclear program and you reported a hazardous-material problem to the NTSB?" he blurted.
Grimm shrugged lifelessly. "State environmental regulation."
"Well, you got a pretty hazardous situation goin' on over on that cornfield," Melvis drawled. "I can still hear that sucker a-poppin' away."
"Popcorn," said K.C. She smiled. "Smells good, too."
Chiun eyed Remo. "Remo, do not think what you are thinking. You have risen above your corn-eating redskin ancestors."
"I'm thinking about the ninja, " Remo said sourly. "Let's see where he is."
THEY DIDN'T FIND the ninja. But they discovered where he had been.
The two launch-control officers were at their consoles, hands on keys, keys in their slots and turned all the way over to the final launch-firing position.
Their heads were on the floor looking astonished.
"Da-yam," said Melvis, pushing K.C. back. "You better not see this, gal. It's a mess."
A camera was pushed in. "Take pictures?" K.C. asked. "For my magazine."
Stepping into the command car, Major Grimm looked at his dead launch-control officers and said, "It's impossible."
"What's impossible?" Remo asked.
"We had that slippery ninja cornered in the missile car. The car was surrounded. There is no access from that car to this one. How did he get in?"
Chiun was looking at the raw neck stumps, which oozed blood in the last, slow gulps of the dying hearts below them.
"A katana did this," he intoned.
"You sure, Little Father?"
"No ninja did this deed."
"My engineer reported a ninja on the tracks," Grimm insisted.
"Let's talk to your engineer," suggested Remo.
THE ENGINEER WAS ADAMANT. He spit a string of tobacco juice, dug in his heels and made his voice boom so it could be heard over the snap, crackle and pop of the burning MX missile.
"It was a ninja. Short as a tree stump, all muffled in black and as mean looking as an oncoming barrel-assing Baldwin diesel."
"You sure?" said Remo.
"Abso-positively. He even had on one of them funny-looking ninja hats."
"Hats?"
"You know-the kind that sorta look like a fireman's helmet from the back."
"Ninja don't wear helmets," said Remo.
"I know a ninja when I see one."
The Master of Sinanju used his sandaled toe to draw an outline in the dirt.
"Like this?" he asked, indicating an ornate flanged helmet.
"Yeah. You got it. Exactly like that."
"That," said Remo, "is a samurai helmet."
"Samurai-ninja-what's the blasted difference? The little bastard was chock-full of mischief any way you spell it."
"Why would a samurai attack my train?" Major Grimm demanded.
"He is not a samurai, but a ronin, " sniffed Chiun.