"So I'm surrendering to you. You have to take me alive."
"Who says?"
"It's the way the game is played. Don't kid me."
"Not my game," said Remo.
"What game is that?"
"Counterassassin."
"Counterassassin? What's a goddamn counterassassin doing on my trail?"
"For special cases, we drop the prefix," said Remo.
Uncle Sam switched to a wheedling, ingratiating voice. "You wouldn't kill your old Uncle Sam? First time we crossed paths, you were going to. But you couldn't, could you?"
"You should have stayed in that padded cell," Remo said, adjusting to each shift of his opponent's body so he blocked the door.
"You couldn't do it because you remember those long-ago Sunday nights squatting before the old TV in your pj's, watching my TV show. Watching me."
"Stuff it. You aren't that Uncle Sam anymore. He died when you should have."
"You're pretty brave behind that mask. There's no hypercolor laser units here. Let's see if you can look me in the eye before you do it."
"Sorry. No time."
"Coward."
"Don't call me that."
"Uncle Sam is calling you a coward. Are you a man or a little mousie?"
Remo hesitated. "I don't have time for games."
"I'm not afraid to look into your eyes. Why are you afraid to look into mine? Only have the one, you know."
"No sale," said Remo, stepping up in the welcome darkness to do the job he had to do.
A whirring warned of the steel hydraulic fist coming up, seeking Remo's mask, but it was too slow by weeks.
Zeroing in on the regular pumping of the animatronic heart, Remo drove the hard heel of his fist toward the sound.
Uncle Sam tried to block the blow. Remo felt the initial pressure wave. But Uncle Sam might as well have been trying to block a steam shovel with a plastic drinking straw.
"Punk! I raised you! I raised you better than your own parents. And you know it. You can't kill me! You wouldn't dare."
"Shut up! You don't know anything about my parents."
"I know they mistreated you. Admit it. They tanned your helpless butt and left you to cry your little eyes out. And when you thought no one loved you, I was there. Me and Mongo and Dingbat. And if we'd asked you to shoot your folks back then, you'd have done it. Because we molded your mind, just as we molded the little minds of every American generation since the Depression. You think you can kill me? Don't make me laugh. We're family."
In the darkness of his mind, Remo was silent for half a minute. Then in a low, barely contained voice, he said, "Thanks. You just made it easy for me."
Remo's palm drove out, smacking Uncle Sam once over the mechanical heart, and it gulped twice. And with a gurgle it ceased all function.
Uncle Sam shuddered on his feet, a long hiss coming out of his slack mouth. He fell back, struck the console and slid to the floor.
He was still breathing, but with a dead heart that was just a matter of time.
Blindly, Remo turned to the other individual in the room. "Who're you?"
"Laser technician. I'm just here to do my job."
"Your job," Remo told him, "is over."
The flutter of skirts up the corridor brought Remo to the door.
"Chiun! I'm in here."
"Remo, Remo, look! Read this."
"Is it safe to take my mask off?"
"Oui," said Dominique Parillaud.
"No," said Chiun.
"Well, which is it?"
"Look, look!"
Remo lifted the lead shield. Chiun thrust a white sheet of paper into his hand. Remo took it, glanced at the side with writing, frowned and turned it around. No matter how he turned it, he couldn't read it.
"French?"
"Oui. It is a warning from ze army air force. Zey say if all American nationals do not surrender within two hours, zis park will be-how you say? -frappe. "
"Frappe? You mean frapped?"
"Non, I mean, oh what is ze word for what you barbarians did to Hiroshima?"
"Nuked?"
"Oui. "
"The French are willing to nuke Euro Beasley?"