"That patch of black up ahead," said Remo.
"I see nothing in the patch."
"You heard the voice?"
"Yes. Of course. It sounded like Mickey the Mouse and Donald the Duck speaking in unison."
"Let's hope he takes that as a compliment," said Remo.
"I do not," the squeaking voice from the shadows returned.
And suddenly Chiun was moving on.
Remo slipped up behind him. It was then that he saw the object of the Master of Sinanju's interest.
He looked like a NASA technician. He was stepping back, his head canted, his eyes fixed on the giant ruined transporter-crawler down the long road that stretched between the launch-assembly building and the forlorn tower that was the launch gantry. Clutched in his hand was a candy bar, still in its cream-colored wrapper. He nibbled at the exposed bar of chocolate as he surveyed the damage.
"Nothing suspicious about this guy," Remo said quietly, joining the Master of Sinanju in the lee of a blob that still had a few half-smelted tractor treads sticking from it. It had been dragged here for examination.
"He is a secret Martian agent," Chiun hissed.
"What makes you say-?" Then Remo caught a glimpse of the candy wrapper. Too late to stop the Master of Sinanju, who flitted forward and seized the technician by one unsuspecting wrist.
Chiun's hand clamped down as the technician sank to one knee, his face looking the way Remo imagined his own did when they threw the juice to him in the electric chair.
He jumped, twisted and kept jittering as Chiun's voice lifted in an accusatory tone. "You have been captured, agent of Mars. Confess the name of your warlord, or perish on this spot."
"What-"
Remo stepped in at that moment, saying, "Chiun! Let him go."
"He was sent here by the insidious Mars Incorporated-therefore, he knows what transpired here. Speak, alien one."
The technician squealed like a speeded-up voice recording. "My name is Otis Mine. I'm from Boca Raton. And I don't know what you're talking about."
Remo flashed his NTSB ID and said, "I think there's a little misunderstanding here."
Chiun squeezed harder, and the man's eyes began to bug out. His face became purple and rubbery, his nostrils flaring.
"Behold, his true countenance is revealing itself. See how the eyes protrude unhumanly?" Chiun said triumphantly.
"You're doing that to him," Remo countered.
"I am merely encouraging him to resume his normal appearance," Chiun returned.
"He's going to need plastic surgery if you keep that up."
Stooping, Remo picked up the dropped candy bar. He held it to the moonlight so the bold red letters were visible.
"Is this your clue?" he asked Chiun.
"Yes. This spy is on a world that is to him alien, and he must consume food from his home planet to survive."
"Chiun, this is a Mars bar."
"Yes. From Mars."
"No, it's not."
"Read the small print," Chiun sniffed.
Remo did. "Says 'Copyright Mars Inc.'"
"Proof!" said Chiun, giving his captured Martian another squeeze. He got even purpler.
"Hackettstown, New Jersey," Remo finished. "I'm from New Jersey. And I'm not even remotely Martian."
"Obviously, that refers to the Martian New Jersey."
"There is no Martian New Jersey."
"There is a Jupiter, Florida, is there not?" Chiun demanded.
"But there's no Hackettstown, New Jersey, Planet Mars. Trust me, I used to eat these things when I was a kid."
"That exact same?"
"Well, the wrapper's different from what I remember."
"Hah! Therefore, this is a shoddy counterfeit."
"They're selling these over at the commissary. Okay?"
Chiun narrowed his hazel eyes until they were unreadable slits.
Gently Remo extracted the hapless technician from the Master of Sinanju's fierce clutch.
"Misunderstanding. You can go now."
"But we will be watching you," Chiun called after him in a cold voice.
The NASA technician stumbled away.
His hands retreating into the belled sleeves of his coat, Chiun regarded Remo with thin disapproval. His eyes flicked to Kinga. "Who is this?"
"Kinga. She's a reporter."