King shook off the clutching hand.
"Relax baby," he said. "Skip King knows what he's doing." He took an AR-15 away from a Burger Beret, dashed out the glass in the window, and shouting, "Have it your way!" opened fire.
There was immediate return fire and Nancy dived to the floor.
For a firefight, it went on a long time.
The Burger Berets laid down covering fire. Return fire was sporadic. Nancy hugged the floor, face cradled in her crossed arms to protect it against flying glass and splinters.
The popping of the AR-15s filled the car, and she was forced to clap her hands over her ears. They were still sensitive from the abuse they had taken after King had fired his trank gun in her ear.
"Okay!" King shouted. "Get ready to jump. I'll cover you."
The Burger Berets piled out, shooting.
"Don't worry, Nancy, I'll protect you!"
"Jackass!" Nancy spat. "Who's going to protect Jack!"
"Don't sweat it. God looks out for fools and dinosaurs."
The firing came in percussive waves. King emptied two clips and was ramming a fresh one home when the car door was thrown open and a deep basso voice said in slightly Oxford-flavored English, "You are all prisoners of the Congress for a Green Africa."
Nancy looked up.
A wide-faced black man with a curly black beard was smiling at them with his teeth and menacing them with the muzzle of his machine pistol.
Nancy decided the weapon canceled out the teeth and lifted her hand at the elbows, saying, "We surrender."
"Speak for yourself," King said defiantly. "I may want to tough this out."
"If you don't shoot that idiot," Nancy said in a bitter voice. "I want the privilege."
King looked from Nancy to the black man to Nancy again and lay down his weapon.
"A seasoned jungle fighter can tell when he's outflanked," he grumbled, throwing up his hands. "I choose to live to fight another day."
Nancy spoke up. "Somebody please tell me that Old Jack is safe."
"You mean mokele m'bembe?" asked the basso voice.
Nancy looked startled. "Mokele m'bembe is what they call Jack in Gabon."
"And I am from Gabon, come to claim mokele m'bembe for my country."
Chapter 8
Harold W. Smith was explaining the painstaking selection process that resulted in the acquisition of a castle for the Master of Sinanju while he attempted to get the morsels of steamed rice to his mouth with the silver chopsticks provided.
The rice kept falling back, and he succeeded only in getting three or four grains to his tongue each time, and then only because the stuff had a sticky consistency.
"There were several operational considerations beyond simply satisfying the Master of Sinanju," Smith was saying.
"Where does simple come in?" Remo growled, poking at his duck, which he had already pronounced as too greasy. Chiun had countered that the cook should not complain about his own cooking, but should strive for perfection. "Simple is a nice clapboard house with a white picket fence. Simple is not a castle."
"Remo, eat your duck," Chiun said.
"It's greasy."
"The cook was inferior. Continue, Emperor Smith."
"A city large enough for the two of you to blend in was of paramount importance," Smith said. "Small town people tend to be too sensitive to those who do not fit in, and would be apt to snoop."
"Couldn't have us kill every old lady who came to peer through our venetian blinds," Remo grumbled, taking up his bowl of rice. He began eating with his fingers because it would annoy the Master of Sinanju.
"You are eating like a Chinaman," Chiun said, nose wrinkling.
"So I'm eating like a Chinaman. Sue me."
Smith continued. "Proximity to a major airport is critical, of course. You must be able to move on a moment's notice."
"If the world depends on us getting through Boston traffic in less than a day, I'd say the world has a grim prognosis."
Chiun said, "We will walk to the airport if necessary, Emperor Smith. For our gratitude knows no bounds."
"There is public transportation," Smith said. "Another consideration."
"I can see the headlines now," Remo said through a mouthful of rice, knowing it would make Chiun complain about his manners, " 'SUBWAY PASSENGER REFUSES TO GIVE UP SEAT FOR KOREAN MAN; TRAIN PULLS INTO STATION WITH ALL ABOARD DEAD.'"
"Remo, do not speak with your mouth full."
"So, today I'm a Chinaman."
"Today, you are a Chinaman and a Thai. Thais talk with their mouths full. This is why they do not wear beards which might catch expelled rice grains."
"Maybe I'll grow a beard," Remo muttered.
"You have too much unsightly facial hair to grow a proper beard," said Chiun, stroking the thin tendril of hair clinging to his tiny chin. "Do not pay him any heed, Emperor Smith," he confided in Smith. "Remo is in a cranky mood because he will have to sleep indoors tonight, for his moat is not yet ready."
"Har de har har har," Remo said, swallowing.
"Additionally," Smith said doggedly, "I took the demographic makeup of the local population into consideration."
"I have no objection to dwelling among Demographs," Chiun said loftily. "As long as there are an equal number of Republicrats to keep their spendthrift tendencies in line."
Smith set down his rice, giving up.