"Now that we're alone," he said, grinning, "would you gentlemen care to see the projections I've worked up for Operation Bronto Burger?"
The man with the cigar nodded.
"We are now entering phase two," King said, extending a telescoping pointer. He tapped red points on a map of the nation. "Phase two envisions a six-month, twelve-city tour of our Brontosaurus. During which time we anticipate moving over six million units on our all-beef monster burger tie-in promotion."
King removed the map placard and exposed one showing graphs and cost projections.
"Once that target volume has been achieved, our subject dinosaur will be returned here and phase three will begin."
He removed the graph placard. The next one showed an Apatosaur, with its body separated into segments, each segment indicating its gross weight.
"After the beast is discreetly but humanely euthanized, the carcass will be rendered and the meat frozen for a one-year period of bereavement. After that, phase four.
"My office will then issue press releases announcing that the meat has been preserved in the interest of science and has been scientifically determined to be edible. Everybody with me so far? Good."
King shifted to the other easel, removing a blank placard. Under it was a mockup of a billboard showing a man sitting on the fender of a Ferrari, a blonde in a silvery evening dress draped over him. Both were trying to take a bite out of the same hamburger.
"We will market our deluxe Bronto Burger as a special one-time-only offer at five thousand dollars and ninety-nine cents per quarter-pound burger," King said. "Soft drinks and fries extra."
The board nodded in unison. King went to the next placard, which showed a family picnic. The adults were wearing Burger Triumph crowns and the children played with plastic dinosaurs. Everyone had a hamburger.
"For the downscale market, bronto-meat-flavored extract will be laced into our regular monster burgers at ten ninety-nine per unit. We will play up the unique taste, the novelty, and the once-in-a-lifetime offer. Only one burger to a customer. And toys for the kiddies, of course. Our estimated gross is seventy million."
"Sounds doable so far, King. But how does the Bronto Burger taste?"
"We don't know. Yet."
"What if the public won't go for it?"
"What if it tastes like snake meat?"
King grinned broadly. "Remember our unofficial motto, 'The public's curiosity is stronger than its stomach.' Just in case, a no-refunds policy will be strictly enforced."
"The animal looks mighty sick. How do you know he'll survive the tour?"
"I've got that covered," King said, collapsing his pointer. "Unless she's quit in a huff, Nancy Derringer will keep him healthy if she has to donate her own blood to do it. Best of all, she doesn't suspect us. In fact, no one will ever suspect us, because of the fake attacks we arranged. After they're through serving as an honor guard, the Burger Berets will be quietly disbanded. And the so-called African environmentalists will catch all the flak. In short, the operation is foolproof."
The man with the cigar exhaled a slow, thoughtful cloud of aromatic smoke. "King my boy, proceed with confidence. The board is behind you."
"You don't know what that means to me, sir. Ever since kindergarten, I've ached for a shot at the big time."
The board filed out. After the elevator had closed on them, Skip King, beaming like an altar boy at his first communion, turned to the Apatosaur and blew it a kiss.
"See you later, you gorgeous seventy-million-dollar rack of reptile!"
As King walked off, a forlorn harrooo followed him. And the Apatosaur's head settled to the ground, eyes slowly closing.
Chapter 20
Nancy Derringer had called everyone she knew. Her lawyer. Her friends at the International Colloquium of Cryptozoologists. Everyone. Her lawyer had been blunt.
"If I sue Burger Triumph, they'll have me for lunch. Sorry."
Her colleagues were more sympathetic.
"We'll picket."
"We'll help you kidnap the dinosaur."
"We'll do anything!"
In other words, long on enthusiasm, but short on practicality. That was typical cryptozoologist thinking. Since the Colloquium was not so much an organization as a loose interdisciplinary alliance, there was no muscle behind their expressions of support.
In her furnished apartment provided by Burger Triumph for the duration of her term of service, Nancy fumed and fought back hot tears.
"How could I have been such a fool?" she said bitterly.
A rapping at the door brought her off the sofa.
"Who is it?" she called through the door.
"Remo."
Nancy threw open the door. And there he was. Lean and casual in a crisp white T-shirt, but somehow as exciting as if he wore Navy dress whites.
"You don't know what it means for me to see a friendly face right now," she said with relief. "Come in, please."
"Nice place," Remo said, looking around.
"It's bought and paid for-just like me," Nancy said ruefully. She shut the door and clapped her hands once softly. "So--what brings you back into my life so soon?"
"I hear the bronto was attacked after we left you."
"How did you know that? As far as I know, the company was able to keep a tight lid on it."
"Let's just say that somebody told somebody who told me."
"Have it your way. It was the Congress for a Green Africa again. The Berets beat them back. Old Jack must be the luckiest reptile on earth. He came out without a scratch." Nancy folded her arms and dropped onto the sofa, her face clouding over. "I wish I could say the same." Her voice was a hair from cracking.
Remo's face grew concerned. "You okay?"
"I wasn't fired, but let's say I've been put in ice. Now I'm trying to figure out how to worm my way back into the board's good graces before Old Jack goes the way of his ancestors. He needs hour-by-hour monitoring, and there's no one on staff who's qualified."
"Why do I smell gunpowder?" Remo said suddenly.
Nancy looked up. "Do you?"