"Remo, meet Jim. This is Bronzini's technical adviser, Jim Concannon."
"How're you doing?" Remo asked.
"Outstanding," Concannon replied.
"Jim's our all-around expert on military matters," Roam explained. "He worked with Bronzini on all the Grundy flicks. Right now, he's walking me through checkout on these Japanese parachutes."
Remo noticed that the room was filled with parachute packs. Hundreds of them. They were black.
Concannon was unpacking one now, untying the canvas covers to examine the nylon chute bell. He examined the fabric carefully, holding it up to the light.
"You check every stress point," Concannon was explaining. "Don't worry about any little holes you find in the canopy. Just make sure the shroud lines are anchored firmly and not tangled up."
"Right," Bill Roam said. He tossed a pack to Remo. Remo caught it. "Lend a hand, son. It's your ass that's onna be dangling from one of these Nipponese umrellas. "
Remo set the pack on the long table and undid the flaps. He checked the lines, tested the fabric. It felt sound.
"Hell of a point to come to," Bill Roam was saying as Jim showed them how to repack the chutes. "I can remember a time when Japanese products were the joke of the Western world. And today I'm working for a Japanese film company and booting several hundred Air Force boys out the back of a transport with Japanese parachutes strapped to their backs."
"Okay," Jim said. "These appear to be strack. Now, who wants to be the guinea pig?"
"Hell, man. Not me. I'm too old," Bill Roam said.
"I haven't jumped from a plane since Korea," Jim added.
They both looked at Remo.
"You game?" Bill Roam asked him.
"Why not?" Remo said, pulling the chute onto his back.
They walked out to the idling prop plane. An airman was at the controls. He wore aviator sunglasses and chewed gum vigorously. Remo climbed in.
Jim Concannon clapped him on the back.
"You be sure to let us know if it doesn't open, hear?" Everyone laughed but Remo. The door was slammed on his impassive face. Providence was still on his mind. The plane hummed down the runway and lifted awkwardly. It climbed up and out over the desert.
The pilot spoke up over the engine drone. "I'm going to stay as close to the base as I can. Not much wind right now. So you ought to land close enough to be picked up by helicopter. That okay with you?"
"Sure, Remo said. He pushed open the passenger door, placed a foot on the wing, and as the plane tipped that wing to earth, Remo launched himself into space.
As he fell, the sleeves of his Air Force uniform chattered wildly. The vast expanse of southwestern Arizona hurtled up to meet him. Remo reached for the D-ring and pulled.
The pack vomited a cloud of black nylon. The updraft filled it, and Remo was yanked back violently. Then he swung like a pendulum. He looked up.
The big black bell was floating above him. He looked past his boots and saw the sand rising to meet them. When Remo hit the ground, he rolled and shucked off the parachute webbing all in one motion.
A helicopter rattled overhead moments later. It settled several yards distant. Its rotors blew sand in every direction, kicking up a momentary sandstorm. Remo shut his eyes until it subsided. Then he ran for the waiting chopper and ducked under the rotor.
Sunny Joe Roam put out a big hand and pulled him aboard.
"Nice jump," he said. "You know your stuff. Military background?"
"Marines," Remo admitted.
Jim Concannon grunted. "Jarheads," he said. He said it with a smile.
"Don't mind ol' Jim," Roam laughed. "He's ex-Army. He may talk like a grunt, but there's none finer. Speaking of which, Jim, we gotta get you over to that drop site. You'll be with the desert drop unit today."
"Where will Bronzini be?" Remo asked in concern.
"Search me," Roam told him. "Latest I hear, filming's split into nine units. We'll be with the parachutedrop unit. Bronzini will probably be with the tank units at the Marine Air Station. We'll have the fun. All they're doing is running tanks in and out of the main gate. Anyway, much obliged for doing the drop. I'd have sent up an airman, but if we'd lost him, they would have held it against us, probably. Right, Jim?" The two men joined in good-natured laughter as the helicopter lifted off.
"What about the other parachutes?" Remo wondered.
"Hell," said Sunny Joe. "What do you want, to go jump in every dang one of them?" Their laughter increased. "They looked sound and yours tested out. They work."
"That's the problem with parachutes," drawled Jim. "They're like condoms. Good for that first plunge, but I wouldn't want to depend on them a second time."
"Well," Remo said, looking back at the deflated mushroom of his parachute as it flapped in the rotor wash, "we know that one worked." His face was worried. Not about the parachute drop, but over the fact that he wouldn't be working near Bronzini this first day. Maybe that wouldn't be a problem. He hadn't seen any picketing outside the hotel or at the air-base gate.
The camera crews were the first to enter the Yuma Marine Corps Air Base gate outside the city limits. Colonel Emile Tepperman was there to greet them. He wore his best utilities, and a pearl-handled sidearm at his hip. It was loaded with blanks.
The Chapman crane came next. It was a four-wheeled vehicle with a telescoping boom-mounted camera. The cameraman wore an authentic-looking People's Liberation Army uniform, down to the sidearm. The crane positioned itself on one side of the approach road.
A half-dozen Japanese piled out of a van, lugging Nishitsu video-cameras. They deployed snappily, impressing Tepperman with their near-military discipline.
Then came the Nishitsu car carrying Jiro Isuzu. He was swiftly passed through the gate. Emerging from the car, he walked up to Tepperman, trailed by a retinue of men in desert camouflage carrying leather cases.
"Good morning, Mr. Isuzu, " Tepperman said heartily. "Great morning for it, isn't it?"
"Yes, thank you. We are ready to begin."
"Where's Bronzini?"
"Bronzini san in read tank. On way. We wish to firm tank entering base. Your men fire on them. Tank fire back. Then you surrender."
"Surrender? Now, wait a minute. This isn't consistent with the image of the Corps."
"This earry in firm," Isuzu assured him. "Rater we firm Marines crushing wicked Chinese Red Army."
"Well, in that case," Tepperman said, "as long as the Corps emerges victorious, I'll go along."
"Excerrent. Stand very stirr, prease."
Two uniformed Japanese began clipping metallic buttonlike objects to Tepperman's uniform.