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"It seems so, Director."
"Damn. They're supposed to be our trip wire. They're no good to us now. Get
the Florida regiment out there."
"Yes, Director."
Uncle Sam Beasley turned his attention back to the damaged control board where
a Beasley technician was laboring.
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"Aren't we back on-line yet?" he asked gruffly.
"The Hotpink button is enabled."
"I need offensive colors, damn it. What if the fucking Foreign Legion come
parachuting back in?"
"Hotpink had the least damage."
"When I want excuses, I'll ask a vice president. Now, get to work."
"Yes, Director."
Bob Beasley spoke up. "Director, we have intruders on Main Street, U S.A."
Uncle Sam Beasley moved to the screen in question. He saw two men walking
calmly down the cobbled street, one white, the other Asian. Both wore lead
masks over their eyes that didn't seem to slow them down.
"Those are the ones!" he howled.
"The ones who interfered at Third Crater?"
"Third Crater, my pink ass. They interfered at Second Bay of Pigs! Must work
for the government. Order them empurpled."
"Uncle Sam-"
"Call me Director when we're on an operation."
"Director, you know how risky empurpling a subject can be. Purple combines the
effects of red and blue. Anything could happen, especially with opponents as
dangerous as them."
"Empurple their asses!"
"At once, Director." And snapping a switch, Bob Beasley leaned into a console
mike and said, "Two intruders in Zone 12. Empurple them. Repeat, empurple
them. And don't forget to mask first."
REMO WILLIAMS RAN THROUGH a world of darkness. Although his sight was blocked
by a lead shield, he was not by any means blind.
His nose detected scent molecules too faint for the ordinary human nose, his
hearing picked up the steady pounding of the Master of Sinanju's heartbeat and
pumping lungs beside him and his bare skin received a multiplicity of
sensations-nearby body heat, draft eddies and the negative pressure of large,
stationary buildings.
All of which combined to make Remo a running radar dish.
A wall of heartbeats converged on the unseen road ahead of him.
"Masks down, men!" a voice shouted.
"Here we go, Little Father."
And as they raced forward, their sensitive ears detected the tiny closing
clicks of relays signifying hypercolor lasers were being brought to bear upon
them.
Fixing the position of the forest of heartbeats, Remo calculated angles of
attack. He went for the rotator cuffs, jamming them with stiffened fingers,
puncturing flesh and muscle.
Men howled and gave way. The plastic clatter of hypercolor laser units
dropping to the cobbles came distinctly. Remo and Chiun crushed them underfoot
wherever they could.
The first wave of attackers fell back.
"THE FLORIDA SUNSHINE Guerrillas have been thrown back, Director," Bob Beasley
shouted.
"Those pansies!" Uncle Sam Beasley scowled. "What's wrong with them?"
"Well, they are blind."
"So are those two pains-in-the-rear!"
"Being blind doesn't seem to bother them."
"Look at them turn tail like scared little mice. I expect more from my
employees."
"They were complaining about the pay a while back."
"Don't they know they work for Sam Beasley, the greatest private company ever
to export good old American fun?"
"We pound it into them at the monthly pep drills, but I don't think it
motivates them as much as better wages would."
"Greedy bastards. Okay, turn out my elite musketeers."
"Director, as long as those two have their eyes shielded, we can't stop them
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with extraordinary means."
"Then shoot them!"
"We didn't bring any guns. Couldn't risk them not getting through French
customs."
Uncle Sam Beasley stared up at the screen and saw the two people he most hated
in the world approach the Sorcerer's Chateau, blind yet unchallenged and
seemingly unstoppable. His exposed eye scrunched up like an agate in a fist.
"There's gotta be some way to kill 'em," he snarled.
"We could lead them into a trap."
"What traps do we have here?"
"Not much. All Beasley offensive capability is topside. We never planned for a
Utilicanard penetration."
"Don't call it that. God, I hate these sissy French words. Where did they
dredge them up?"
"Same place we did. From the Latin."
"I want solutions, you sycophant. Not language lessons."
"There is the LOX chamber."
"We have a deli down here?"
"Not that kind of LOX. Liquid Oxygen. We use it to create faux steam clouds
for the Mesozoic Park volcanoes. It's nasty, subfreezing stuff. A cloud of it
will cause your skin to crack off in sheets."
"Hey, I like that."
"We'll have to decoy them in."
Uncle Sam Beasley turned to address a trio of his loyal musketeers, who had
entered the control room in Union blue, their mouse-eared forage caps carried
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