"That will never, repeat, never happen in this film," Bronzini promised. "We know our weapons."
Colonel Tepperman reached for his telephone. "Okay. I'll make that call," he said decisively. "Do you have a part for a Marine colonel in this movie of yours?" Bronzini looked to Jiro with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes," the Japanese said smoothly. "This very ambitious firm. We have parts for as many men as you have. But they must bring own weapons. We wirr need many authentic American weapons."
"We have all you need."
"Of course, they must be roaded with prop burrets."
"Damn straight," Colonel Tepperman said as he listened to the ringing in his phone receiver. "Hello, put me through to the commandant of the Marine Corps." The base commander at Luke Air Force Range was stubborn.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I can't allow this," said Colonel Frederick Davis. "I appreciate what you have in mind, but I can't have a movie crew tramping all over my base. Too irregular."
"We wirr not require to be on the base for very rong," Jiro Isuzu said eagerly. "An afternoon at most." Bronzini noticed the Japanese was sweating. On a shooting schedule this tight, it was no wonder.
"No, I doubt it," Colonel Davis was saying.
"I'm sorry." Bronzini broke in. "What we want to do, sir, is a massive parachute drop, using as many airmen as you can spare."
"You want me to provide airmen?" Bronzini nodded.
"In full gear."
"We wirr suppry the parachute, of course," Isuzu said. "And pay arr operating expense. Okay by you?"
"And a per diem for everyone," Bronzini added. He noticed a faint gleam appear in the colonel's evasive eyes. "My God, man, do you realize what's involved? You'll need C-130 Hercules transports."
"We'd like three," Bronzini said with calm assurance.
"We want to have the men drop into the Yuma Desert. Naturally, we'll need to film the planes taking off from here. And the operation in its entirety."
"Sounds spectacular," Colonel Davis mused. He had never been in combat, never participated in a military operation on the scale this flat-cheeked actor was describing.
"Think of the publicity for the Air Force," Bronzini said. "In the script, they are the forces that engage the invading Chinese on the ground and destroy them."
The colonel thought long and quietly.
"You know," he said, sitting up in his chair, "our recruitment people tell me that every time you do a Grundy film, enlistments go up twenty percent in all branches of the service."
"Maybe this time it'll be thirty. Or forty."
"Sounds tempting. But it is a lot to ask. I don't think I could get the Pentagon to go along."
"Marines arready say yes," Jiro Isuzu inserted.
The colonel's face clouded over. "Those jarheads," he muttered. "What kind of parts are they getting?"
"Their base is overrun by Chinese Red Army in first reer," Jiro told him.
"He means the first reel," Bronzini translated.
"I might be persuaded to make a few phone calls," Colonel Davis said. "But you'll have to do something for me in return."
"Name it," Bronzini said. "An autograph? A photo?"
"Don't be absurd, man. I don't want any of that worthless junk. I want to be the first man out of the plane. "
"Done," said Bartholomew Bronzini, rising to his feet. He shook the colonel's hand. "You won't regret this, sir."
"Call me Fred, Bart."
Chapter 10
Sheryl Rose wondered what kind of a name Chiun was as she pulled up to the Yuma International Airport terminal. It sounded Asian. Probably Japanese. He'd almost have to be to cover this film. She parked the studio van at the curb and stepped inside.
There was only one man waiting inside. He was about five feet tall and wore a colorful silk robe. He looked lost, and Sheryl's heart went out to him.
"Are you Mr. Chiun?" she asked.
The tiny Asian man turned stiffly and said, "I am Chiun."
"Well, howdy, I'm Sheryl. From the studio."
"They sent a woman?"
"I'm the only unit publicist on Red Christmas," she said pleasantly. "Take me or leave me, but I hope you like me."
"Who will carry my luggage?" the little Asian asked plaintively. Sheryl noticed his shiny head, bald but for little cloudlike puffs over each fragile ear.
"No hat? Didn't your editor tell you that the sun is very, very strong in Arizona? You'll get a terrible sunburn going around like that."
"What is wrong with my attire?" demanded Chiun, looking down at his robe. It was cactus green. Scarlet and gold dragons marched across the chest.
"You'll need a hat."
"I am more concerned about my luggage."
"Now, don't you fret, I'll take care of it. Meanwhile, why don't you step into the gift shop and treat yourself to some headgear?"
"My head is fine."
"Oh, don't be shy," Sheryl told the sweet old man. "The studio will be glad to pay for it."
"Then I will be happy to take you up on your generous offer. My luggage is in that corner," he said, gesturing with his impossibly long fingernails to several lacquered trunks stacked at odd angles in the waiting area. Then he disappeared into the gift shop.
Sheryl touched one experimentally. It felt like it was filled with hardened concrete.