"Huh?"
"B'wana King is wondering if the board will go for the monkey burger idea."
By the time they clicked into the dock turnaround area, the cranes were swinging into place.
A reviewing stand was set up, covered in purple-and-orange bunting-the Gondwanaland national colors, chosen by throwing darts at a paper rainbow. And attired in a purple-and-orange general's uniform and cocked leopard-skin hat was president of the twentieth century, Oburu Sese Kuku Nebendu wa za Banga.
The train nudged the rotting kapok-wood bumper that marked the terminus of Gondwanaland's only national rail line, and stopped. The engineer blew a long last whistle blast.
And Skip King leaped from his seat and said, "Okay, let's go! Camera crew-do your stuff. Half of you record the transfer. The other half have ceremony duty."
"I'd better check the ship," Nancy said. "It has to be a suitable environment, or I must veto the transfer."
King scowled. "I need you at the ceremony."
"And Old Jack needs me to look out for his welfare."
Skip King drew himself up to his full five-foot-six-inch height. "We're in civilization, now," he said levelly. "Where there is a natural pecking order and men run things. I let you get a little out of bounds back in the bush, but all that's over with now. I won't speak of it if you don't."
"I intend to submit a fully detailed report of your pompous behavior to the board once we're in the States. And if you don't want to have to explain a dead Apatosaurus, I suggest you keep your pecking order-not to mention your pecker-out of my project responsibilities."
King's neck turned red. The color crept up to his face. He bared his teeth in something that was not a smile.
Then Remo said, "Or you can go a few rounds with Chiun and me."
The red went out of Skip King's face so fast someone might have turned on a spigot.
"Okay," he said grudgingly. "Do your check. But I want you up on that podium when the president gives his speech."
"Thank you," Nancy said frostily.
A Captain Relish escorted them down to the docks. He was very polite and kept a respectful distance.
Nancy had expected a large freighter, possibly a container ship or even a small oil tanker.
There were ships tied up along the wharfs. But nothing large enough to float a forty-foot dinosaur.
Sitting just off the beach in the calm tidal water was a gleaming white shape that looked like a crashed 747. It resembled an airliner, but the wings were snubbed off close to the wing roots. There were no engine nacelles. But mounted high in front of the swept-back tail were two large propellers set on a single shaft.
The spine of the craft lay open to the blazing sun in two sections, and lines from great cranes dangled into them.
Remo asked. "What is that?"
"It is obvious," sniffed Chiun. "A crashed plane."
"No," said Captain Relish. "It's an ekranoplane."
They looked at him.
"It's a wingship, a wing-in-ground craft, or ekranoplane as the Russians call it."
"What do the Russians have to do with this?" Remo asked.
"They devised this baby for landing troops on foreign soil. It flies like a hovercraft, but much faster and with a bigger payload. The way it works is the tail props start her moving along the water like a boat, then those two Kuznetsov turbofans mounted on the nose ahead of the wing there blast air under the wingroots, creating lift. She skims along the deck slick as you please. Isn't that great?"
They all stared at him some more. And Remo asked, "Wouldn't it be simpler to fly like a plane?"
"Not because of the ground effect," said Captain Relish. "You see, when a plane flies high, wingtip vortices are created, producing drag. Slows the craft down. Remove the ends of the wings and fly close to the ground, and the problem is solved. When the Soviet Union went belly up, they decided to rent the monster out. This model is called Orlyonok, or Little Eagle."
"Let me see if I have this straight," Remo said. "You cut the wings off so it will fly better?"
"You got it," said Captain Relish, grinning proudly.
Remo turned to Nancy. "You should get together with him."
"Why?"
"Because you two obviously have a lot in common. What he said makes about as much sense as feathers on a Triceratops."
Nancy made her voice firm. "I am not-repeat not-authorizing that we fly Old Jack to America," she told Captain Relish. "And that's final."
"Dr. Derringer, you don't understand-"
"I understand plenty. You tell that jerk King that's my decision. And it's final."
"Uh-oh. Too late."
Nancy looked where Remo was pointing.
Two cranes were at work, carefully hoisting the dinosaur off the flatcar. The body lifted quivering, the head and tail hanging limp as if dead. The forked tongue protruded.
"Those idiots! They haven't secured the head and tail."
"I guess they're in a rush," said Captain Relish. "I hear the natives are restless."
Working in unison, the crane bore the great Halloween bulk closer and closer.
Nancy turned to Remo and Chiun.
"I need your help."
"Name it," said Remo.
"Yes," added Chiun. "Name it and a price will be determined later."
Remo winked as if to say, "Don't worry about it."