"I wouldn't call them ugly."
"Zey 'ave giant uncouth cartoon faces on zem."
"Watch what you say about an American original," said Remo. "Besides, you have to admit the light show was spectacular."
"I saw only zat it was very bright."
"Struck me as more soothing than bright."
"What is soothing about bright white light?"
"White? It's pink."
"Oh. I am, how you say, daltonienne?"
"Say what?"
"Color-blind."
"Must be nice," said Remo.
She looked at him questioningly. "Was ze bright object zat fell from ze black 'elicopter also pink?"
"How do you know it was black if you're colorblind?"
"Answer my question, s'il vous plait."
"No. It was yellow. Petrified the guys it landed on, too."
"You say yellow?"
"Yes."
"But now pink?"
"Yeah."
"Ze yellow scared some men, and now when ze pink light comes zey all lay down zeir arms and cease fighting?"
"I don't know if there's a connection, but sure, it might be that way." Remo looked at the girl under the beret more closely. "Anyone ever tell you you have a nice accent?"
"Yes," Chiun chimed in, "you have a very nice accent for a Frankish wench."
The girl glowered at them.
"What's your name?" asked Remo.
"Avril Mai."
"Nice name."
"Yes, you have a very nice name for a lying Frank," said Chiun.
Remo and the girl looked at the Master of Sinanju.
"She has just told you her name is April May," Remo told Chiun.
"Must be a Taurus. Are you a Taurus?"
"I am a Cartesian."
"It is an impossible name for a Frank," said Chiun without rancor. His hazel eyes swept back to the warm pink shine coming up out of the Crater.
The girl began backing away. "I must be going," she said quickly. "I ' ave a story I must phone in."
"Good luck," said Remo.
"Au revoir," said Chiun, waving her away with a graceful flutter of fingernails.
As she walked away, she began hissing words into satellite phones intently.
"What's she saying?" asked Remo.
" 'La charade se perpetre avec lumieres de tres brillantes couleurs. Les lumieres de tres brillantes couleurs sont la clef'," Chiun repeated.
"In English, I mean."
"The charade is being perpetrated with very bright colored lights. The bright colored lights are the key."
"What charade?"
"I do not know," said the Master of Sinanju, who had caught the eye of Mongo Mouse and exchanged friendly waves with the upright rodent. "And I care even less."
Chapter 12
Dr. Harold W. Smith was tracking the progress of the Second American Civil War on his office computer when he got the call.
On an amber map of the continental United States he was carefully plotting the position and movement of the converging forces.
The rogue Rhode Island National Guard unit was still camped out on the District of Columbia side of the Potomac, just above Arlington, under the watchful eye of D.C. Capitol Police while elsewhere other units were on the move.
It was an astonishing sight. On the screen, which was buried under the black tempered glass of his desktop where only Smith could see it, it looked as if mighty armies were on the march to Petersburg, Virginia.
Smith had assigned tags to each unit. The Confederate regiments were represented by amber numbers while the Union troops were assigned letters. These were keyed to a list of regimental names that kept scrolling by on the left-hand side of the screen like marching soldiers.
That they went by designations like the 13th North Carolina Unreconstructed Signal Corps, 5th Tennessee Butternut Guerrillas or the 501st Motorized Michigan Touring Teamsters did not detract from the deadly earnestness of the situation.