The commander in charge of a special intelligence detail appreciated this long friendship. He also appreciated the use of his lungs which Remo promised to leave in his body. Considering that the way Remo was stretching his ribs, losing the lungs was a distinct possibility. The commander made every effort to figure out what Remo was talking about.
Since Remo was never good at explaining technical matters, this was not easy. It sounded like the sky was opening up for some reason. Then the commander, in great pain, recognized what Remo was looking for. The Jodrell Bank telescope fellows had tracked something. Remo brought the naval officer along. It was becoming crowded in the back seat. In the entire crowd no one could tell him why they were not willingly cooperating with their best ally.
"Well, sir, if you didn't use violence we would be significantly more cooperative." This from Winstead-Jones, who had told the others about being dragged outside the car.
"I didn't use it till you weren't," said Remo. The car was very comfortable. The Jodrell Bank fellows, as they were called, were surprisingly cooperative. Strangely, they were the only ones not part of the British defense establishment.
Yes, they had tracked the beam. Somewhere west. Probably America. They were delighted to explain the details of the tracking. Basically one could tell precisely where the ozone shield was penetrated, and thus determine precisely where the unfiltered rays landed by the angle of the sun in relation to the earth.
Remo knew where they had landed in England early that morning. That was why he was here. The Jodrell Bank fellows knew a little more. The unfiltered rays had penetrated above the fishing village of Malden.
Remo returned to the car with the good news. No one was moving. Everyone knew someone should have left the car for help against the brutal American but the problem had been who. They had ordered the driver to do just that. The driver said his orders were to stay at the wheel, so the little piece of defense establishment was waiting for Remo.
"Hello. Good to see you back," said the colonel. The station chief stayed conscious as a way of greeting and the commander breathed.
"We're going to Malden," said Remo cheerfully.
"Oh, so you found it," said the colonel. "You won't need us then."
"You knew everything I was looking for. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Orders."
"From whom?"
"You know, those people who always give orders and then aren't there when the blood begins to flow, I would say."
"But we're allies," said Remo. "This thing threatens the whole world."
"Orders don't have to make sense. If they made sense anyone could obey them. The real test of a soldier is following orders no matter how unfounded they are in common sense."
On the way to Malden Remo tried to find out who had ordered them not to be cooperative. Did they know something he didn't know?
"It's intelligence, old man. No one trusts anyone else," said the station chief.
"I trust you," said Remo.
"Then who ordered you here?"
"You wouldn't understand," said Remo. "But take my word for it, the world is going to go up. Even with your separate departments."
Remo noticed a radio telephone near the driver's leg. He wondered if he could use it. The driver explained it was very simple. The problem was whether to talk over a very open line. If they didn't get that thing penetrating the ozone shield, there wouldn't be any reason for secrecy. He used the radiophone into which the whole world could listen.
"Open line, Smitty," said Remo when he heard Smith answer.
"Okay. Go ahead."
"Located source."
"Good."
"It's definitely the east coast."
"We already knew that. Could you be a bit more specific? The east coast is larger than most countries."
"That's what I have so far."
"Yes, well. Good. Thank you. I take it there will be more."
"Soonest."
"Good luck. Don't worry about open lines. Anything you get. Anything."
"Right," said Remo. It was the first time he had ever heard Smith's voice crack.
In Malden, everybody seemed to know everybody else's business. It was a small quaint village and yes, there was an experiment going on, some people thought by their own government.
In a small field, white-frocked technicians examined cages. Everyone but Remo looked at the field. Remo's training had given his instinct the full power others had stifled. And the main part of that power was a sense of danger. It was not the field he looked at.
It was the sky itself that seemed to say, "Man, your time has come." In the gray gloom of clouds choked with industrial char, a small, perfect sapphire-blue circle was closing. It was not the blue of sky, but closer to neon, yet without its harshness. It was as though a blue gem had been electrified by the sun, and then its light sprinkled into a small circle in the sky. Remo watched this circle close as the driver pointed to the field and said:
"That's it."
It was its beauty that alarmed Remo. He had seen great jewels and felt the fire that other men longed for, even though he had never longed for it. He remembered one of Chiun's early lessons. Like so many teachings then, he was not to understand it until much later. But Chiun had said that things in nature of great beauty were often the ones to watch most closely.
"The weak disguise themselves in dull colors of the ground. But the deadly flaunt themselves to attract victims."
"Yeah. What about a butterfly?" Remo had said.
"When you see the most beautiful butterfly in the world, stop. Do not touch. Touch nothing you are attracted to touch."
"Sounds like a dull life."
"Do you think I am talking about your entertainment?"
"Sure," Remo had said. "I don't know what you are talking about."
"Yes," Chiun had said. "You don't."
Years later, Remo had realized Chiun was teaching him how to think. Something was beautiful for a reason. Something was attractive for a reason. Often the most venomous things cloaked themselves in glory to attract their victims. Yet in the sky, what Remo saw was not something that intended its beauty as a lure, but the awesome indifference of the universe. It could end millions of lives without caring or even intending to, because in its basic atomic logic, life did not matter. Remo looked at the beautiful blue closing ring and thought of these things as the security officer kept repeating that the field he wanted was in front of him.
"Okay," said Remo to the car full of British security personnel. "Don't move."
"How can we?" said the Navy commander. His uniform had lost one of the fifteen medals he had earned by never going to sea. "I haven't felt my legs for an hour."
The field smelled of burning. This little patch of England was not green, but flecked with dead dried grass, pale white as though someone had left it in a desert for an afternoon. Several cages on metal tables held the blackened bodies of animals. Remo could smell the sweet sticky odor of burned flesh. Nothing moved in the cages. A few people in white coats stood around the tables, filling in forms. One of the white-coated workers gathered the dead grass. Another was packaging the earth into beakers and then sealing them in plastic. One of them banged his watch.