Warren Murphy: Engines of Destruction

At the last moment, before the doors could shut, two familiar figures jumped aboard.

"Well looky, K.C. gal. There's our good buddies."

"Hi, y'all," K.C. said.

"Sorry there ain't a seat," Melvis said. "Everybody seems to be goin' our way."

"We don't mind standing," said Remo.

"Surprised to see you astride this beast, old-timer," Melvis told Chiun.

"Hush," said Chiun. "I am attempting to think like an elephant."

"Is that a fact?"

Melvis noticed Remo seemed to be doing the same thing.

They closed their eyes. And with a whine, the maglev train engaged.

They felt the lift. A forward bump. And crash! the car dropped back into the guideway. Smoke began pouring from floor vents. Somewhere an electrical short began sparking.

"What happened?" K.C. wailed.

"Off train. Off train," the suddenly frantic intercom voice said. "Marfunction. Off train, prease."

They evacuated the car the way salt leaves a shaker.

White-faced Nishitsu technicians scrambled into the car, wielding dry-chemical extinguishers. They began throwing foam and white chemical everywhere in their panic.

"What happened?" K.C. said, aghast. "Why didn't it go?"

Melvis looked over to Remo and Chiun.

Chiun winked. Melvis winked back.

"If I were writing that up, gal, I'd call it an act of God. Pure and simple."

K.C. melted into tears.

Melvis saw this and, taking her by the shoulders, turned her around. He lifted her head up by the chin.

"Gal, you gotta get this maglev stuff out of your pretty head. Maybe maglev will get going someday. Maybe not. But I know one thing. I hanker to hitch my caboose to your train."

"You think we're gauge-compatible?"

"If we ain't, we'll make some changes. I plumb adore you, and that's that. What do you say to a lashup?"

K.C. threw her arms around his neck, crying, "Melvis, when you talk that way, my boiler gets cooking like something unnatural. I am yours forever and ever!"

"K.C., you and me are a-goin' to honeymoon on the Texas beer train, riding over some of the most traction-motorfryin', coupler-knuckle-bustin' track in all of creation."

"Shucks, I ain't never made it on a train before."

"Your first time's always special."

Suddenly remembering they weren't alone, Melvis turned and gathered up a great big grin on his face. "You fellers hear? We're gettin' hitched."

But there was no sign of the pair.

"Well, four's company, anyhow," said Melvis. "Let's go feast our eyes on some real US. of A. locomotives."

On their way out they noticed a ruckus at the front of the maglev engine.

Someone had plunged a sword and a battle-ax into the nose of the engine-right through the four-moon Nishitsu corporate symbol.

Melvis recognized the ebony handle of the sword.

Flashing his NTSB ID card, he bulled his way through and took possession of the sword saying, "Nice of them boys to remember this here tanaka's NTSB evidence."

And tucking it under one arm, he offered K.C. the other and they strode off into the rest of their lives, grinning.

BACK AT FOLCROFT the Master of Sinanju surrendered the Nishitsu ronin's helmet with great ceremony.

"The dread foe is no more, O Emperor."

"Er, thank you," said Smith, gingerly examining the helmet for its expected contents. Finding none, he looked up quizzically.

"Chiun tossed it into a Dumpster," said Remo.

"The honor of my House is restored," Chiun said stiffly.

"Where is the rest of the samurai?" Remo asked.

Chiun flared. "Ronin! I give you the correct term, and you throw it away like the peel of a banana."

Smith cleared his throat. "Actually Remo is correct, Master Chiun. The samurai was unquestionably a Nishitsu corporate employee. Therefore, he was truly a samurai."

"Impossible. The clans have been scattered to the winds."

"Not so," said Smith. "Several modern Japanese companies are in fact descended from old samurai clans."

"What is this!"

"I have been researching Nishitsu in depth. Its owners trace their lineage back to the Nishi clan. One of their subsidiary brands uses the old clan badge as its corporate logo."

Chiun made two angry fists. "Then our work is undone."

Smith nodded. "Although this is the first time Nitshitsu has used their electronic technology against US. interests, you will recall the former head of Nishitsu was responsible for the vicious military attack on Yuma, Arizona, several years ago. This was explained away at the time as the work of single deranged mind."

"I never bought that," said Remo.

"Neither did I," said Smith. "But now the company has shown its true colors, we are obligated to discourage them from thinking they can strike at U.S. interests with impunity."

Chiun bowed. "We will be pleased to steal into occupied Japan to settle the scores of your house and ours."

"Little Father, Japan isn't occupied anymore."

"It is occupied by Japanese, is it not?"

"Touche," said Remo. A thought struck him. "One thing I still don't get. That cattle-car derailment a year ago. Was it just a coincidence that I happened to be in the area?"

"It would appear so," said Smith.

Remo grunted. "If I kept my eyes open, I might have run into Batsucker last year. A lot of lives might have been saved."

"It matters only that we have emerged triumphant," said Chiun. "Not when."

"So, where did you stash the body, Smitty?"

"The basement coal furnace."

Remo laughed. "Don't forget to stir the ashes before you throw them out."

"I will get back to you on this assignment, Remo," said Smith, looking uncomfortable.

"No problem," said Remo. "Chiun and I have an appointment with a box full of mystery."

IN THE FOLCROFT GYM Remo stood over the silver trunk with the lapis lazuli phoenixes.

"Okay, open it."

Chiun hesitated. "I have told you this box contains sloth and shame."

"Over and over."

Chiun fixed Remo with his thinning hazel gaze. "Your sloth and my shame."

"Never owned a sloth in my entire life. And what do you have to be ashamed of?"

"For as long as I have known the greatness in you, Remo Williams, I have filled this box with the leavings of your stubbornness, your indolence, your-"

"Did you say leaves? This box is full of freaking leaves?"

"No. I said leavings."

"Well, open it."

Chiun frowned deeply. Then, bending, he inserted a long fingernail into the lock and twisted it. The lock clicked. The lid loosened.

"Here it comes," said Remo.

"Once this lid is lifted, your shame will be visible even to my ancestors, who are your ancestors."

"I can take it."

Abruptly Chiun flung the lid upward. Stepping back, he covered his face with his sleeves, saying, "I cannot bear to look."

"Well, I can," said Remo. He knelt.

The box was chock-full. The contents looked like excelsior, except it was a dull white. Old rice and dirty glass shards came to mind next. But the material was none of these things.

Carefully Remo grabbed up a handful. "These look like-"

Yes.

"I don't believe it!"

"Yes. They are yours. Do not deny it."

"You've been saving my fingernail clippings?"

"Since the first time you refused my entreaties to do the correct thing," said Chiun.

"All these years?" Remo roared.

"And now even the great Masters in the Void know," Chiun lamented.

Remo looked at the box with a stunned expression. Chiun peered out from behind one sleeve.

"It is not too late, you know," he said hopefully.

"I am not growing my nails like yours."

"Then all my sacrifices have been in vain," Chiun said sadly, his silk-draperied arms dropping like silvery wings. His head hung low. His eyes sneaked a look up past his sparse fluttering lashes.

Digging into a pocket, Remo pulled out Chiun's broken nail, which he had been carrying since Mystic. "Whose shame is greater, yours or mine?" he asked.