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pronouncement. Instead he said, "What's that for?"
Grom brandished a stainless-steel canister: It had been a part of the special
package delivered for him just that afternoon at the mountaintop restaurant.
It looked like a can of Pledge without the label. He shot the agent in the
face.
Hope this works, Greg Grom thought. Before long he was spritzing everybody on
the bus and issuing orders. He had never used the stuff in aerosol form
before, and he wasn't one hundred percent sure it would work. Also, he had
never used this specific formula. Who knew what it would do?
Soon twenty-three employees and hirelings of the United States Protectorate of
Union Island piled from the bus and ran screaming in different directions. All
the security agents jumped off with a hooded figure held hostage, their guns
pointed at the figure's head. The bus jerked into motion, heedlessly rolling
over dead Hogs.
CHIUN STOOD with his hands inside the sleeves of his kimono, which fluttered
in the diesel fumes coming from the tour bus's tailpipe. "It is the
prerogative of the Reigning Master of Sinanju to determine our next course of
action."
"Of course it is," Remo said in exasperation. "You go after the bus, I'll get
the hostage. Then we both go round up the civilians. Unless you have a better
plan."
"I will do as you ask," Chiun said agreeably.
Remo bolted after the Feds, muttering. "Why am I not surprised that this is
the one time you're going to let me make up strategy?"
He stooped as he ran and picked up a pair of rocks, then let them fly after
the trio of agents. They never saw the rocks coming, and they never got the
chance to fire their guns at their captive. Both awoke hours later in the
Pigeon Fudge Lutheran Hospital with huge headaches and no memory of what had
happened after lunch at that nice restaurant up in the mountains.
Remo pulled the hood off their hostage and found himself staring at a young
woman named Betsy Shak, assistant in the Union Island budgeting department.
She kept walking until Remo pulled her to a stop. Then she just stood there,
smiling slightly, eyes closed and snoring. "Ah, crap!" Remo exploded.
Even that didn't wake up Betsy Shak.
REMO AND CHIUN INTERSECTED seconds later, both sprinting at speeds that would
have broken Olympic records.
"Any luck, Little Father?"
"No one was on the bus except the driver, who was under the delusion that he
was hauling a trailer filled with ripe hogs to a sausage factory in Wauconda,
Illinois. He called me Good Buddy Mao."
Remo's heart sank. "Oh, no."
"I did not kill him," Chiun said. "But he will not make such a mistake a
second time."
"The hostage was a ruse. Let's assemble the civilians," Remo said. "Any one of
them could be our guilty party."
"A lunatic round-up. I am honored to be a part of your great undertaking."
Chiun sped away like an arrow shot. Remo went in the other direction,
muttering. "Two dozen maniacs running loose in a city designed by nutcases,
and my only help comes from the sun source of all oddballs," he complained to
no one in particular. "I need a vacation."
It was at about that moment that he jumped the ten-foot security fence around
Olly Outlander's Old Tyme Opry hotel and found himself face-to-face with a
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billboard that said, Why Not Take ALL Your Vacations in Pigeon Fudge,
Tennessee? See Our Luxurious Condominiums-Models Now Open!
The realty office had a pink-and-purple seismosaurus, bigger than a toolshed,
squatting in one corner of the parking lot.
A handful of the bus people had run pell-mell in this direction, but Remo
couldn't see any of them anywhere. The seismosaurus grinned inanely.
Remo Williams, the man who was created the Destroyer, felt his blood boil. "I
have had just about enough of you." He snatched the thing off the ground and
brought it down. Hard.
He felt better, but as he raced down the street in search of bus people there
were more grinning dinosaurs everywhere he looked. Remo knew they were
laughing at him.
Chapter 28
Eileen Mikulka had made up her mind about something. She was up until the wee
hours of the morning mulling it over, but when she finally came to a decision
she felt such a surge of joy and relief that she knew it was the right thing
to do.
Eileen Mikulka was going to confront Dr. Harold W. Smith and give him a piece
of her mind.
She had never done such a thing, but there was a time for everything. She
couldn't stand by and let Dr. Smith fire Mark Howard, no matter how serious
his transgression.
And how bad could it be, whatever Mark had done? There hadn't been any sign of
trouble. Mrs. Mikulka considered herself as intimately involved in the
operations of the place as Director Smith himself. Even if he made the
decisions and set the procedures, Mrs. Mikulka communicated his edicts and
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