"We'd better check in," Remo told Chiun. "Come on."
They reentered the control room. Remo went to the satellite telephone and punched in the country code for the U.S.A. and then Smith's contact number.
"Smitty, we just did Beasley."
"You just did the fiend Beasley," said Chiun, hovering curiously over the slumped form of Uncle Sam Beasley, who stared ceilingward with his good eye and gurgled like a clogged sink drain. His chest rose and fell more and more slowly with each breath.
"And the French have just leafleted the park. They've given us two hours to surrender or they nuke it."
"Nuke?"
"Nuke."
"You say Beasley is dead?"
"Well, he's still breathing, but his heart is dead and his brain is sure to follow."
"Have you accounted for the Beasley operatives?"
"Not all of them."
"Remo, it would be best if there were no survivors to tell any tales."
"Hope that doesn't include Chiun and me."
"You have less than two hours to take care of business and evacuate the park."
"Gotcha. We're in motion."
Hanging up, Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju, who still regarded Uncle Sam Beasley curiously.
"He is not yet dead," said Chiun.
"He's got a mechanical heart. He's not going to die like an ordinary guy. Besides, I figure by stopping his heart, I'm not really killing him. I just broke a machine part. If that kills him, fine. He should have packed a spare."
"He looks so pitiful," Dominique said. "An old man."
"Don't let that fool you," warned Remo. "Now, let's get to work."
Remo started to turn away, his eyes clinging to the seamed features of Uncle Sam Beasley, once a hero of young America and now a broken travesty of himself.
"Finish me...." Beasley croaked.
"Finish yourself," said Remo. His eyes were fixed on the one gray orb that was rolling up into the heavy lid, when from behind the white Mongo Mouse eye patch came a tiny click.
The warning was enough. Shutting his eyes, Remo started backing away, certain that Chiun would follow suit. Too late.
From behind the patch came a burst of Supergreen.
THE MASTER of SINANJU heard the click, and while his pupil moved backward to protect himself from the unknown danger, he moved forward to meet it head on.
The seated figure was slumped against the console.
The Master of Sinanju, his right hand forming the sharp point of a spear, moved in for the kill ....
WHEN HE AWOKE, Remo first checked his internal clock. Over one hundred minutes had passed. Then he sat up and looked around.
The Master of Sinanju lay facedown. So did Dominique and the hypercolor technician. They had emptied their stomachs on the stainless-steel floor.
Uncle Sam Beasley sat slumped forward, his neck in his lap. The stump was red and raw and showed a cross section of sheared vertebrae and biological plumbing.
There was no sign of his head. But the hypercolor technician was dead. Lying facedown, he had choked on his own vomit.
Remo went to the Master of Sinanju and shook him gently awake. "Get up, Little Father. We were scammed."
Chiun blinked awake. He snapped to his feet like a tornado rearing up. "The fiend tricked us," Chiun said. "There was a false eye behind the patch."
"Yeah. We never suspected a spare."
"But he was too slow. I removed his head before the terrible color could whelm me."
"Well, he's dead for sure this time. And we have less than an hour to get the hell out of here before the bomb falls."
Chiun looked around worriedly.
"Where is the head?"
"Head?"
"Yes. I removed the fiend's head. Now it is nowhere to be seen."
"Forget the head," said Remo, lifting Dominique across his shoulders. "Let's save our behinds."
"The body is here, so the head must also be here."
"Look, you see the body. It's dead. So the head is dead. Now, let's shake a leg."
Reluctantly the Master of Sinanju followed his pupil from the control room.
"If we can get to the car, we might be able to outrun the blast," Remo said.
"The French would not destroy such a place as this."
"Don't count on it," said Remo.
They ran through the attractions, their legs carrying them in floating fashion that ate up the yards.