Warren Murphy: Engines of Destruction

That and the fact they played it so clumsily. Everyone knew the perfect baseball game was one fought to a draw.

The sixth man in line had a booming, twangy voice that brought Furio out of his reverie.

"Hilly. Name's Cupper. Melvis O. And I'm a right big fan."

The face looked familiar. Then Furio noticed the black letters stenciled on the crown of the white cowboy hat.

NTSB.

I have seen this man before, was his first thought.

His second was I have seen this man in Nebraska only yesterday. And the blood in his veins turned to ice.

"You wish autograph?" he said, steadying himself.

"Sure."

And the NTSB man who should not have been there plucked an eight-by-ten glossy from the stack and laid it before him.

"What is name again?" Furio asked, silver ink pen poised over his own naked face.

"Like I said, Cupper. Melvis O. The O's for Orvis."

A girlish voice suddenly squealed, "Melvis! Is that you?"

Melvis Cupper heard the voice he ached to hear and swallowed hard as his legs got all rubbery.

"K.C.?"

It was her, all right, sashaying up in her hiphugging dungarees and Casey Jones cap. She hadn't changed a lick. That seemed like a right proper opening line, so Melvis availed himself of it.

"You ain't changed a lick."

"Shucks, Melvis. It's only been a day. What did you expect? Wrinkles?" She had her hands on her hips and a skeptical look on her oval face.

"What I expected is what I'm seeing," Melvis said. "K.C. gal, I came all this way to see you" He thrust out a hand, saying, "Here."

"K.C.'s eyes flew wide." Is this what I see?"

"Dang straight. It's the nose herald off an old Chicago ern F-unit. I just bought it. Thought it had your name all over it."

She was hugging the nose herald to her bosom as she said, "Oh, Melvis. I don't know what to say."

"Then let me do the talkin', K.C., I know you think I'm the lowest thing this side of the Red River and a ball-hog to boot from the way I got short with you back in Cornhusker territory, but I can change."

"Melvis, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm talkie' about a lash-up. You and me. Engine and coal car. Rolling inseparable down the main line of life."

"Shucks, Melvis. I don't rightly know what to say."

"Then say yes."

"Will you take a ride in a maglev train with me while I think about it?"

"That's a hard thing for me to do, bein' a confirmed steel-wheeler like I am," Melvis muttered.

"Well, either you can or you can't."

"One second. Let me say goodbye to my good Jap buddy, Batsuka."

But when Melvis looked back to the booth, Furio Batsuka was gone. So was his security entourage.

And Melvis was suddenly aware of all the disgruntled people milling about. One glance from K.C.'s Conrail blue eyes, and everyone else in the universe faded into the background again. The corners of his grin were nipping at his earlobes.

FURIO BATSUKA didn't understand what was going on, but he could take no chances. While the two Americans were busy with their crazy courtship talk, he had his security team usher him out of the pavilion and back into the waiting company limousine.

The limo roared back to the hotel. In the back he punched up a long-distance number on the cell phone.

"Moshi moshi."

"There is a problem," Furio said quickly. "I think my cover has been blown."

The voice of Kozo Nishitsu at the other end became low and furious.

REMO FOUND the Master of Sinanju regaling a group of children with tales of the Kyong-Ji Line.

"There you are," Remo said. "Come on. Get a move on. Batsucker's due any second."

Chiun laid his long-nailed hands on the heads of two boys, saying, "Remember always-Korean steam is the most noble and pure steam of all."

They waved him goodbye, calling him Uncle Chiun.

"Batsucker's not going to be armored up, so this should be a piece of cake," Remo told Chiun as they moved through the crowd.

"It is time for the reckoning that has waited since the days of Kang."

"I thought you were off that ghost-ronin kick?"

"We fight the Nishi clan. There is no doubt of this. Take your katana, Remo."

Accepting the paper-wrapped blade, Remo led the way, Chiun following determinedly.

At the pavilion entrance, they were met by two stiff-faced Japanese greeters.

"You have heard of magrev?" one asked.

"We danced this dippy dance already," Remo said.

"One side, jokebare!" Chiun hissed.

"Senjin!" spat one greeter.

"Chanko!" snarled another.

At that, Chiun stripped his katana of its butcher paper camouflage and sliced their neckties off at the knot.

Faces whitening, the pair stepped aside.

"What's a jokebare?" asked Remo as they ducked into the Nishitsu pavilion.

"The worst thing you can call a Nihonjinwa, " spat Chiun.

Inside, Remo and Chiun found the autograph booth empty and a number of baseball and rail fans jostling about.

Remo collared one. "Where's Batsuka?"

"Ran off. Hardly gave six autographs. I tell you, these ball players have just got too big for their durn britches."

"Come on, Little Father. Something's wrong."

Moving in the direction indicated, they got barely twenty feet when they ran into Melvis Cupper and K. C. Crockett, walking arm in arm.

"Look, Remo! " squeaked Chiun. "It is Melvis and K.C. reunited."

"What are you two doing here?" Remo asked.

"I came to make amends," Melvis said. "We're on our way to ride the maglev, poisonous as that thought may be to a true-blue wheel-and-rail man like myself."

K.C. jabbed him in the ribs, saying, "Watch your mouth, Melvis. Remember that you are on probation."

"Sorry, K.C. What about you two fellas?"

"We're looking for Furio Batsuka," said Remo.

"Hell, you just missed him. I was just talkin' to him, turned my back a minute and he'd lit out slick as greased lightning."

"He saw you?" Remo asked sharply.

"Sure. Walked right up and introduced myself proper."

"Damn. He must have recognized you."

"What's that again?"

"Forget it," said Remo, hurrying on.

THE PAVILION REAR-EXIT door was open, and Remo and Chiun went through it.

Two husky security men with earphones were standing with hands down, clasping wrists in what Remo recognized as the semiofficial bodyguard stance.

"Where's Batsucker?" Remo demanded.

"Are you with Nishitsu?" one asked in impeccable English.

"Are you?" Chiun countered.

"Yes."

"Good," said Remo, taking one by the neck and the other by the throat. "Listen carefully, I'm looking for Furio Batsucker and I am in a very violent rush"

"His name Batsuka," the second man said thickly.

"Thank you for the elocution lesson." And Remo squeezed.

The one whose throat was caught developed a new coloration while the one Remo had by the neck heard the distant sound of his cervical vertebrae grinding.

Both suddenly changed allegiance.

"Hotel. Limo," one gurgled.

"Denver Hirton. That way," the other wheezed, pointing.

"I could use your car keys."

They couldn't get their hands into their pockets fast enough. Remo picked the set with the Mercedes key ring because he was in a Mercedes mood. Then he squeezed their necks to clamp off the last, sluggish blood flow to the brain. They made a sleepy pile.

"Much obliged," said Remo.

The Master of Sinanju pointedly stepped on their faces as he walked over them.

Soon they were burning rubber out of the parking lot.

IN HIS HOTEL ROOM Furio Batsuka was talking into the portable cell phone he had carried up from the limousine.

"Leave Denver immediately," the shogun was saying from distant Japan.

"Hai. "

"Do not drive or fly. And above all, do not go by rail."

"There is only one other path," he breathed.