"And you proceeded to alter him in spite of your knowledge of his mental condition?"
"Are you kiddin' me, son?" Chesterfield mocked. "That's what made him perfect. He was shit out of luck on this murder thing. We had him dead to rights. It was either the gas chamber or volunteer."
"How could he refuse."
The general missed the irony completely. "Absolutely," he enthused. "And it worked, too. The plan always was that he'd be the prototype. We'd be able to build more once we were sure all the bugs were worked out. An army of invincible soldiers marching for the good ole U.S. of A." Even as he finished boasting of his great scheme, Chesterfield's shoulders began to droop. "Then he goes off and escapes and screws up the whole works. I might never get my stars now."
"Forgive me if I take no pity on your dashed career hopes," Harold W. Smith said sarcastically. Chesterfield didn't appreciate his tone. His brow furrowed as he watched Smith take his laptop computer from his battered leather briefcase.
"Listen, buddy, are you gonna be all right here?" the general asked, annoyed. "I've got some stuff I've got to take care of. Don't forget, we've still got a maniac on the loose who most likely wants to fry my ass."
"I will need some time here," Smith said.
"Take it," the general said, backing toward the door. "Take all the time you need."
He watched for a moment as Smith set up his computer on the table next to the lab monitor. With nimble fingers, the CURE director hooked into the back of the lab computer, accessing the hard drive. He began downloading files.
As the Shock Troops data was being transmitted to CURE's Folcroft mainframes via the portable laptop, Smith hunched back down before the monitor. He began to study Elizu Roote's schematics, hoping to find a weakness. Anything that might give them an advantage.
AT HIS ROOM, the general could not help but smile. The whole Shock Troops idea had been an unquestionable disaster. Until now. Chesterfield now had a scapegoat in Mr. Harold Jones. Jones could shoulder the blame even as the general took whatever credit might arise. And there could very well be some.
Chesterfield had been on the phone again with one of his superiors in Washington. There was genuine interest in what had been going on at Fort Joy. In spite of his complaints of being stuck at two stars, the future might not be as bleak as it had earlier appeared.
As the general left the lab for the last time, self-preservation was the order of business for the career soldier. It was cover-your-ass time in a major way. Let Jones and his two operatives clean up this mess. When the shit finally hit the fan at Fort Joy, General Delbert Xavier Chesterfield had no intention of being anywhere near the messy splat.
Chapter 15
"It's my fault," Arthur Ford wailed.
The jeep was prowling swiftly across the desert toward Fort Joy.
The stars were diamonds, scattered across the heavens. Out here they were bright enough to illuminate the vast tracts of empty land in a thin wash of ethereal white.
"Are you going to ask him?" Remo said to Chiun.
"No," the Master of Sinanju droned. "And if you know what is good for you, neither will you." Neither one of them had to ask. Ford volunteered the answer on his own.
"I failed to understand him. I'm lucky enough to meet an actual alien and I have to run away. Now he's at the mercy of the military." As if cradling a baby, Ford clutched to his chest the water bottle he'd found in the back of the jeep. "Oh, how terrible it must be for him. To have to face the hostile military of an alien world on his own."
"I think the military has to worry more about him than he does about it," Remo commented aridly.
"No, no," Ford moaned. "You don't understand. No one understands." He stared out into the lonely desert night.
"You think you've been tooling around the desert all day with Robby the Robot and you're telling me I don't understand?" Remo said.
"Remo, why are you still talking to it?" Chiun complained, his parchment face a scowl. "You are only encouraging it."
"Why didn't I sign a mutual nonaggression peace treaty with him?" Ford lamented to the desert night.
"See?" Chiun demanded, swatting Remo on the arm.
"I don't think he needs much encouragement, Little Father." Remo frowned, rubbing his stinging bicep. He was about to say something more when Chiun touched him on the forearm.
When he glanced over at the Master of Sinanju, the old Korean was nodding surreptitiously to the back seat.
All was silent. For the first time since Arthur Ford had come back to what passed for his senses, the UFO enthusiast had stopped talking.
Chiun placed a long finger to papery lips. "Shh," he said in a cautious whisper only Remo could hear. "With any luck he has swallowed his tongue and is choking to death."
The silence lasted all of three seconds.
"Maybe if we'd agreed on terms, the military would have been persuaded to go along," Ford announced abruptly. "After all, the United Federation of Planets has a military dimension, but it has benign intentions. Maybe this could have been the start of a new world order."
Twisting in the passenger's seat, the Master of Sinanju stared, irritated, at Ford. He frowned as he examined the features of their passenger. Bouncing morosely in his seat, Ford didn't seem to notice the scrutiny.
"Is he insane?" Chiun asked Remo.
"He wasn't in the desert long enough to be dehydrated," Remo offered, steering up an incline in the dusty path. The hurricane fence surrounding Fort Joy was a dark strip in the distance. "And it wasn't daytime, so he couldn't have suffered sunstroke. My guess is he's the real deal."
"Hey, aren't you the guy who was with that G-man at the Roswell airport?" Ford blinked, noticing Chiun for the first time.
"G-man?" Remo questioned.
"Smith," Chiun replied, facing forward once more.
"Oh."
Ford had already forgotten his own question. He sank back into the pool of despair he had created in the rear of the jeep.
"How is history going to remember me?" Ford complained. "I missed an opportunity for a cultural exchange with an extraterrestrial. Think of what he could have taught us."
"How to kill for fun and profit?" Remo suggested blandly.
"That was only a defensive mechanism," Ford insisted quickly. "The Army shot first."
"Only because they know what he can do," Remo said.
"And are afraid of him. Typical. A visitor comes all the way from another planet and we greet him with guns."
"He's no more an alien than I am," Remo said, irritated.
Ford's eyes suddenly narrowed. He stared intently at the back of Remo's head, as if searching for antennae. "Are you?"
"Of course not," Remo snarled.
Ford accepted the denial even as he scooted to the far corner of the back seat. Just in case. "Think of the science we missed out on because of me," Ford complained from his new perch. "Maybe if I'd stuck by him when he needed me, he might have given me the secret of an inverse proton propulsion system or some other method of interstellar travel. Otherwise it could take years for humans to travel from Earth just to the nearest star."