"We meet with customs man. Then we return to Arizona, where we wirr personarry oversee the movement of these prop tanks."
"Okay, you read, I forrow," Bronzini said, gesturing broadly to the door.
As they stepped out into the plush hotel hallway, Jiro Isuzu turned to Bartholomew Bronzini.
"You have become very cooperative since we arrive in Washington, D. C. Why change of attitude?"
"It's like this, Jiro," Bronzini said, stabbing the elevator's down button. "I don't like the way I was conned into this. No shit, okay? I do not like it. But that's my name on that contract. I'm a man of my word. If this is the movie you want, this is the movie you get."
"Honor is a very admirable trait. We Japanese understand honor, and varue it highry."
"Good. Do you understand elevators? I'm getting old waiting for this one. What's the Japanese name for elevator anyway?"
"Erevator. "
"No shit. Sounds like the American word, give or take a consonant."
"It is. Japanese take many things from American curture. Reject only what is bad."
"Which brings me to the other reason. Everywhere I turn, I see the name Nishitsu. You guys may be the wave of the future, and if you're going to be doing movies, I'm your boy."
"Yes," Jiro Isuzu said as they stepped into the elevator. "You are our boy indeed, Bronzini san."
The director of U. S. Customs was an easy man to deal with. He settled for an autograph.
"But you realize that these tanks will have to be exported when you're finished." He laughed self-consciously. "Not that we think you're trying to put one over on us-after all, what would a movie company want with actual combat vehicles? And everyone knows that the Japanese are among the most peace-loving peoples on the face of the earth. Especially after we dropped the Big One on them, eh, Mr. Isuzu?"
When Isuzu did not join in the customs director's nervous laughter, the latter recovered and went on. "But you do understand that we do have regulations that must be adhered to. I can only expedite the process. The inspection procedure must be observed. It's for everyone's benefit."
"I understand perfectly, sir," Bartholomew Bronzini assured him. He shook the man's hand.
"Nice meeting you too, Mr. Isuzu. Sorry about my little joke there."
"Don't mind Jiro," Bronzini quipped. "His funny bone was surgically removed at birth."
"Oh," the director of customs said sincerely. "Sorry to hear that."
The T-62 tanks and armored personnel carriers were stored at a Nishitsu warehouse in San Luis, Mexico. They had been dismantled and shipped to Mexico as farm equipment and assembled there by Nishitsu employees. The Mexican authorities had been paid off in Nishitsu merchandise. VCR's were the most popular. Hardly anyone took any of the Nishitsu Ninja jeeps because even the Mexicans had heard about their tendency to tip over on sharp turns. The Mexican road system was almost all sharp turns.
Customs Inspector Jack Curry's knees shook as he went through the rows of tanks in the Nishitsu warehouse with no less than Bartholomew Bronzini. They did not shake from the fearsomeness of these war machines. Although they looked pretty awesome with their long smoothbore cannon and Chinese Red Army star on the turrets. They were painted in chocolate-and-vanilla desert camouflage striations.
"This is really something," he said.
"I can hardly believe it myself," Bronzini said. "Look at these monsters."
"I didn't mean the tanks, Mr. Bronzini. I'm just so surprised that you'd actually be here in person." Bronzini recognized a cue when he heard one. "This is important to me, Mr. Curry. I just want everything to go smoothly."
"I can understand that. It's obvious that these tanks must have cost thousands of dollars apiece, even if they are props." Curry experimentally rapped the fender of one of them. It rang with a solid metallic sound.
"Our finest machinists assembre these," Jiro Isuzu put in proudly.
"Yes, well, if it wasn't for the fact that this is a movie, I'd almost think they were real."
"These Japanese copies of Chinese battre tank," Isuzu supplied. "Tanks are supposed to look ... What is word?"
"Realistic," Bronzini supplied.
"Yes, rearistic. Thank you. You inspect now?"
"Yes, of course. Let's get to work."
At a signal from Isuzu, Nishitsu mechanics fell on the tank like white ants. They popped the hatches and one of them slid into the driver's compartment. He started the engine. The tank growled and began spewing diesel exhaust in the cramped confines of the warehouse.
The tank shifted its tracks, and eased from its slot. It rolled to a halt in front of Bronzini and the others. Jack Curry entered the turret with his big flashlight. He speared light over the interior. He inspected the big cannon. It lacked a breech. Obviously a dummy. It could not possibly fire without the missing components. The turret-mounted .50-caliber machine gun was also apparently a shell. There was no firing mechanism.
Curry wriggled his way into the driver's pit. It was so cramped he got tangled in the handlebarlike steering yoke. He poked his head up from the driver's hatch.
"It looks fine," he said. "I take it these things are completely self-propelled."
"Yes," Jiro Isuzu told him. "They wirr run like rearistic tank, but cannot shoot."
"Well, in that case, there's only one thing that prevents me from passing these things."
"What that?" Isuzu asked tightly.
"I can't seem to get out of this hatch so I can sign the proper forms," Curry said sheepishly. "Would someone give me a hand here?"
Jack Curry was amazed when Bronzini himself offered him a leather-wristband-supported hand.
"Here, just take it slow," Bronzini told him. "Put your foot on that bar." Bronzini pulled. "There. Now the other one. Uhhh, there you go."
"Thank you, gentlemen," Curry said, stepping off the hull. "Guess I'm not as spry as I once was.
"Tanks buirt for Japanese extra. Much smarrer than American," Isuzu said with a rapid-fire bowing of his head.
Bronzini thought he was going to throw his head out of whack, he was bobbing it so much.
Customs Inspector Jack Curry gave the rest of the tanks and APC's a cursory glance and then he produced a sheaf of documents. He set them on the tank's fender and began stamping them with a little rubber stamp.
When he was done, he handed them to Bronzini. "There you are, Mr. Bronzini. Just have your people show these at the place of entry and you should have no trouble. By the way, how are you going to get them into the U.S.?"
"Don't ask me. That's not my department. Jiro?"
"It very simpre," the Japanese answered. "We wirr drive them across border into desert."
"There," Bronzini said. "Now, is there anything else?"