They circled around to wait patiently by the hatch while it was unlocked and thrown open.
Colonel Mustard poked his head out.
"Greetings," said Chiun.
"Miss us?" asked Remo.
Colonel Mustard grew round of eye and mouth and pulled the hatch back with both hands.
Remo caught the door edge. Mustard pulled harder. Remo gave a casual yank and the colonel landed in the sand, face first.
Skip King barged up to the door, demanding, "What is going on here?"
"Welcome wagon," Remo sang out.
King let out a shriek and stumbled back into the craft.
Nancy Derringer showed up next. "How on earth did you two-" She saw the purple-bereted figure sprawled on the beach and changed her question. "What is he supposed to be?"
"Colonel Mustard, in the sand, with egg on his face," Remo said.
"Funny."
"How's the Bronto?"
"Apatosaur. And he's sleeping like a little lamb."
"Some lamb."
Nancy looked around. "That's odd."
"What is?"
"I don't see any press."
"I wouldn't complain," Remo said.
"I'm not. It's just that I've come to expect the glare of hot lights every time I turn around."
"No press," King shouted from within the craft. His voice held a nervous tremble. "We're in a press blackout."
"Why?" Remo called back.
"We don't want the public to see Old Jack until we're ready to unveil him."
"Where are we anyway?" Remo asked Nancy.
"Dover, Delaware, home of the globe-girdling Burger Triumph Corporation." She looked to the beached ekranoplane. "This is the part that worries me most. Offloading Old Jack and transporting him through the city. We've already subjected him to enough strain as it is."
Remo noticed two barge-mounted cranes standing off in the harbor.
"Here we go again."
"Yes, and I'm worried those cranes aren't up to the job."
"Excuse us a minute," Remo said, motioning Chiun away. The two consulted for some moments and returned.
"We have an idea," announced Remo.
"Yes?"
"But it's not likely to make too many people happy."
"Will it insure Old Jack's survival?"
"Guaranteed."
"Then I don't care. Just tell me what I have to do."
"Take a short nap," said Remo.
"Excuse me?"
But before Nancy could hear the reply, steely fingers had her by the neck and squeezed down on her spine. She heard a faint click, and when she woke up an unknown period of time later, she was sitting in one of the comfortable ekranoplane passenger seats, surrounded by other expedition members, who snored and grunted in their chairs.
Except Skip King, who for some reason was on his knees with his face jammed under his seat flotation cushion.
Nancy felt very sleepy and her memory was hazy.
Then the howl of metal under stress caused her to jump bolt upright. It seemed to be coming from the cargo bay. Nancy leapt to the door. It was closed, dogged shut. She tried to undog it. The wheel seemed to have been welded immobile.
Rushing back, she jumped to the main exit door.
The locking lever refused to budge, and from the rear of the plane came more howls of metallic complaint.
The wingship had a double deck, like a jumbo jet. She raced up the spiral steps to the observation deck. The pilot and copilot were asleep in the cockpit, but aft of it was an observation bubble. Nancy mounted the short carpeted steps and stared out.
"Oh God!"
The tail of the plane was off. It had fallen backward and was canted to one side. Between the dismembered tail and the passenger and wing area, there was no plane. Just hull plates and the exposed ribs of the mainframe, which had fallen away from the naked keel.
The Apatosaur was slumbering on the open air platform that had been the enclosed cargo bay floor, its black-andorange skin shining in the moonlight. It seemed undamaged by the incredible explosion-for what else could it be?-that had blown open the cargo hold.
Then an airframe rib moved and fell into the sand. Nancy shifted position to see what had brought it down.
And there was Remo, casually placing a foot on the next rib. He set his weight on it. Nancy judged he couldn't weigh much more that one hundred fifty-five pounds, but the rib snapped off like a dry branch.