"Too hard. I found this in his desk." Remo held up a plastic vial containing red pills.
"Another candy beeper?"
"These are pills."
"He is always taking aspirin," Chiun said unconcernedly.
"This isn't aspirin. I don't recognize the generic term on this label, but I'll bet these are amphetamines."
"Aspirin, amphetamines, what is the difference?"
"These could kill him. Worse, he could become a speed freak."
"He is already a freak. He is white, isn't he?"
"I'll explain about amphetamines on the way," Remo said as the whut-whut-whut of the approaching helicopter broke the cold morning stillness. "Hey, what are you doing?"
Chiun took his candy-dispenser beeper in one hand and squeezed it until smoky puffs of powdered plastic spurted from between his thin fingers.
"I will not carry this abomination on my person."
"But what if Smith wants to reach you?"
"You have yours?"
"Yeah."
"Then I officially deem you assistant Master of Sinanju in charge of humoring Emperor Smith's communications whims."
"Thanks," Remo said dryly.
"It is nothing. You have earned it," the Master of Sinanju said as the helicopter touched down and set his thin beard fluttering.
Chapter 19
Pyotr Koldunov watched from the booth of his underground control room.
The open area leading to the EM Accelerator was busy with green-smocked Lobynians. They swarmed over a gleaming black La Maquinista steam engine like soldier ants, draining residual water from the great cylindrical boiler and scouring the last dangerous traces of flammable oil from the crankcases. They had already scraped away every speck of red piping and removed the running number plaques.
Then, to Koldunov's surprise, they began to weld threadlike filaments to the engine's skin. He was told the material would make the locomotive impervious to reentry friction. He wondered where Colonel Intifadah had secured the substance.
Finally the Lobynians set about repainting the locomotive entirely green. They were putting the finishing touches to it now.
"This is a waste of time," Koldunov muttered to his new assistant, Hamid Al-Mudir. Al-Mudir was Al-Qaid's replacement. He didn't know a solenoid from a gigawatt. He had GID written all over him.
"It is to honor Colonel Intifadah, who reveres the color green above all other colors," Al-Mudir insisted.
"Speaking of the Colonel, he should have been here by now."
"He will be on time, I assure you," Al-Mudir said smoothly.
The final dabs of paint applied, the Lobynians gave Koldunov the American A-okay finger sign.
"Tell them to load the engine into the breech," he ordered.
Al-Mudir barked the command into a console microphone. His words reverberated through the dank underground complex.
As the Lobynians pushed the locomotive with agonizing slowness, Pyotr Koldunov thought again of what he was about to do.
Koldunov had no love for America. He hated all foreigners. And as a scientist and a good Soviet, he was willing to do whatever the Kremlin required of him. But it was one thing to launch a locomotive at official Washington. Everyone knew Washington was the breeding ground for all the political troubles plaguing the world. And at first Koldunov did not dream that the first launch would come anywhere near the target area. In that respect his concern over the consequences of impact had paled before his elation as an inventor. With the second launch, he was certain the EM Accelerator would perform less effectively and drop the second locomotive into the Atlantic. At worst, most of its mass would burn up before impact.
But even tumbling erratically, the second locomotive had come wonderfully close to its intended target. And the knowledge of where Colonel Intifadah had ordered him to aim this third locomotive sent a cold horror into Koldunov's dry heart.
New York City. Innocent people. Worse, what if Colonel Intifadah ever got control of the Accelerator? Would even Moscow be safe?
Colonel Intifadah was correct in his assumption. The EM Accelerator was being deployed as a test. If American satellites ever discovered this site, they would take it out with massive retaliation. The Kremlin assumed that possibility. But as his superior in the Ministry of Science had told him:
"It is a reasonable risk. Besides, if Lobynia is destroyed, all that will vanish from the world will be a lot of useless sand and a client state that is more trouble than it is worth. It might be a good thing if we lost Colonel Intifadah. He is forever threatening to join the Western camp."
"I understand," Koldunov had said. And so he knew the risks of this assignment and had accepted them in the name of science.
But he had not expected to become a mass murderer on this assignment. He was a scientist. Not a butcher.
As he thought that last thought, Colonel Hannibal Intifadah's jeep tooled into the launch area. The jeep was green. Not military green, but lime green. Colonel Intifadah wore his usual green uniform. To Koldunov, he looked like the clown prince of military men as he stomped on olive boots into the control console.
"I see that I am just in time to watch the magnificent weapon being loaded," said Colonel Intifadah, smiling broadly. Everyone in the console saluted Colonel Intifadah and called him al-akh al-Aqid, which meant "Brother Colonel. "
"The damaged rails have all been replaced. The device is in perfect working order. But I wonder if this is wise."
"What is wise? Everything I do is wise. How could it be otherwise? I am the Leader of the Revolution."
No, Koldunov thought, you are a barbarian in a gaudy uniform. Strand you back in the desert and you would be reduced to eating snakes to survive, like any other animal.
To Colonel Intifadah he said, "The American President has warned against another strike. He claims to know who is responsible."
"He lies."
"How do you know that?"
"All Americans lie. Now, let us go."
"But ... New York City?"
"If you could hit the White House, I would not be forced into this. I want death and destruction. I would settle for the Senate or the Pentagon. But you cannot guarantee me either of those, so I will strike where I can cause the most death."
"Death," the staff shouted suddenly. "Death to America!" Colonel Intifadah smiled brutally. His people were well-trained. Like circus dogs.