Nishitsu employees bowed him into the immense pavilion. Security teams with ear microphones formed a flying wedge and protected him all the way to the autograph booth where he was to appear.
It was all very smooth, extremely efficient-and very, very Japanese.
Furio had missed such efficiency during his mission in America. But soon he would return to Osaka. Yes. Very soon.
There was already a line, he saw as he took the chair and a Nishitsu salaryman picked up a microphone and began announcing his arrival in English and Japanese.
It went with Japanese efficiency. They came up, mouthed crude banalities and handed over crisp dollar bills. Furio signed whatever was offered, charging an extra ten dollars if an eight-by-ten glossy was requested.
It amazed him still, even after three years in America. He was paid a handsome salary, and the very people whose ticket purchases paid his salary willingly exchanged good money for his signature.
It was no wonder, he had long ago concluded, that American baseball was slowly dying.
That and the fact they played it so clumsily. Everyone knew the perfect baseball game was one fought to a draw.
The sixth man in line had a booming, twangy voice that brought Furio out of his reverie.
"Hilly. Name's Cupper. Melvis O. And I'm a right big fan."
The face looked familiar. Then Furio noticed the black letters stenciled on the crown of the white cowboy hat.
NTSB.
I have seen this man before, was his first thought.
His second was I have seen this man in Nebraska only yesterday. And the blood in his veins turned to ice.
"You wish autograph?" he said, steadying himself.
"Sure."
And the NTSB man who should not have been there plucked an eight-by-ten glossy from the stack and laid it before him.
"What is name again?" Furio asked, silver ink pen poised over his own naked face.
"Like I said, Cupper. Melvis O. The O's for Orvis."
A girlish voice suddenly squealed, "Melvis! Is that you?"
Melvis Cupper heard the voice he ached to hear and swallowed hard as his legs got all rubbery.
"K.C.?"
It was her, all right, sashaying up in her hiphugging dungarees and Casey Jones cap. She hadn't changed a lick. That seemed like a right proper opening line, so Melvis availed himself of it.
"You ain't changed a lick."
"Shucks, Melvis. It's only been a day. What did you expect? Wrinkles?" She had her hands on her hips and a skeptical look on her oval face.
"What I expected is what I'm seeing," Melvis said. "K.C. gal, I came all this way to see you" He thrust out a hand, saying, "Here."
"K.C.'s eyes flew wide." Is this what I see?"
"Dang straight. It's the nose herald off an old Chicago ern F-unit. I just bought it. Thought it had your name all over it."
She was hugging the nose herald to her bosom as she said, "Oh, Melvis. I don't know what to say."
"Then let me do the talkin', K.C., I know you think I'm the lowest thing this side of the Red River and a ball-hog to boot from the way I got short with you back in Cornhusker territory, but I can change."
"Melvis, what are you trying to say?"
"I'm talkie' about a lash-up. You and me. Engine and coal car. Rolling inseparable down the main line of life."
"Shucks, Melvis. I don't rightly know what to say."
"Then say yes."
"Will you take a ride in a maglev train with me while I think about it?"
"That's a hard thing for me to do, bein' a confirmed steel-wheeler like I am," Melvis muttered.
"Well, either you can or you can't."
"One second. Let me say goodbye to my good Jap buddy, Batsuka."
But when Melvis looked back to the booth, Furio Batsuka was gone. So was his security entourage.
And Melvis was suddenly aware of all the disgruntled people milling about. One glance from K.C.'s Conrail blue eyes, and everyone else in the universe faded into the background again. The corners of his grin were nipping at his earlobes.
FURIO BATSUKA didn't understand what was going on, but he could take no chances. While the two Americans were busy with their crazy courtship talk, he had his security team usher him out of the pavilion and back into the waiting company limousine.
The limo roared back to the hotel. In the back he punched up a long-distance number on the cell phone.
"Moshi moshi."
"There is a problem," Furio said quickly. "I think my cover has been blown."
The voice of Kozo Nishitsu at the other end became low and furious.
REMO FOUND the Master of Sinanju regaling a group of children with tales of the Kyong-Ji Line.
"There you are," Remo said. "Come on. Get a move on. Batsucker's due any second."
Chiun laid his long-nailed hands on the heads of two boys, saying, "Remember always-Korean steam is the most noble and pure steam of all."
They waved him goodbye, calling him Uncle Chiun.