Unpopular Science

Chapter 6

Mark Howard stopped the car amid the dark buildings. The place didn’t feel abandoned; it felt as if it was ignoring him.

So what did he do now? Which house was Roam’s anyway? He took out his mobile phone, feeling stupid, but there was no other way than to simply phone Roam and ask him to wave from his doorstep or something.

The phone turned to air in his hands. The car turned itself off and the lights went dark. There was something black and menacing standing outside the rental car, and for a second Mark Howard’s mind conjured an irrational riot of possibilities.

“Shut up. Don’t make another freaking sound. Isn’t it good enough that you had to wake the whole place up?”

“Remo,” Howard said. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Come on.”

Mark Howard felt himself extracted through the window of the little rental car like a cooked snail being I forked out of its buttery shell. His yelp was flattened behind a rough hand clamped over his face, and he struggled for a minute as the village melted away and he found himself in the desert.

Unexpectedly he was free and he crashed onto his feet. If he hadn’t landed on sand he might have snapped a bone.

“Ouch! That hurt!”

“Lower your voice,” Remo growled.

Howard glared at the village. “We’re a half mile away.”

“It’s the desert. Sound carries. You already woke up everybody in town with your racket and your lights.”

“I didn’t see anybody.”

“Yeah. They saw you and everybody was wondering who the fool was who didn’t know enough to douse his lights and turn off his car when he comes into a sleeping village.”

Mark Howard was getting his wind back. “Remo, look,” he said angrily. “I’ve got about a hundred reasons to be pissed off at you right now. You refuse to stay in communication with us, you ignore our messages, you make me come down to get you in person! You know how long I’ve been wandering around Arizona trying to find this place?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Go home.”

‘Tm not going home. I came here to give you a mission briefing.”

“A mission briefing?” Remo asked incredulously. “Listen, braniac, did you or the emperor in the ugly clothes ever stop to think about why I put up the Do Not Disturb sign?”

“We need—”

“It’s so I won’t be disturbed.”

“We have a situation that requires your involvement.”

Remo folded his arms on his chest, staring at the village. It wasn’t just that CURE was interrupting his vacation time; it was that Sun On Jo had been violated by this intrusion of Remo’s other world. “Junior, go tell Smitty I don’t want a mission briefing and I don’t want to be involved in any situation. I want to have some time. That’s all. Just a few days of peace and quiet.”

Mark Howard was fretting. “Do you know what we had to do? It was an intolerable breach in security to try to reach you through Mr. Roam.”

“Speaking of intolerable, go away.”

“Remo, we need you to do your job.”

“I’m not a doctor. Junior. I’m not on call one hundred percent of the time, okay?”

“Your contract says you are,” Howard replied. Remo rolled his eyes to the brilliant night sky.

“It does?”

“Yes.”

“So what?”

“So you’ll be in violation of your contract if you refuse this job.”

“In three or four days, I won’t refuse it. Come back then.”

Howard’s face became stony. “In four days the U.S. might not have a functional military.”

Remo waited. Howard waited, too, and he was deadly serious.

“Do we really need a functioning military?” Remo asked hopefully.

Howard said nothing.

“Aw, crap.”

Mark Howard was surprised to find several men gathered around his little rental car, which was sitting on its rear fender and leaning with its roof against an adobe wall, exposing its underside.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Howard barked. “You’re gonna scratch it all up!”

The gathered men turned to Mark Howard with faces like dark auburn sandstone, their features sharpened by the harsh blaze of a drop-cord light hooked to the underside of the car. They began to chuckle, a low grumble.

“What’s so funny?” Howard demanded.

‘You the prince we heard so much about?” asked the only young man in the group.

Mark Howard didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Got a message for Smitty,” said Winner Smith. “Will you take a message to Smitty for me?”

Mark Howard looked desperately at Remo, who was no help whatsoever.

“What’s the message?” Howard asked, as noncommittal as he could.

“‘Rot in hell, you pale-faced son of a bitch,’” Winner said. “Got it?”

Howard’s brain was spinning.

“What’s the matter with the car?” Remo asked.

“Bent rim,” Sunny Joe Roam replied. “Oil leaking from somewhere. Suspension’s whacked out of joint. You’re about to lose this transmission.” Roam cast a benign gaze at Howard. ‘You went off the road, I guess. I told you not to come out here in the dark.”

“I tried to follow your directions,” Howard protested. “It would help if they had road signs out here. I bottomed out in a creek bed.”

There, were more chuckles from the men. “Road signs,” Winner said. “Why didn’t we think of that? I’m going to go write my congressman right away.”

“It’s not driveable, is it?” Remo said.

“Someday, who knows?” Sunny Joe said. “But not now.”

“Fine. We’ll take mine.”

Howard shimmied nervously into the precariously propped-up car and retrieved his bag as Remo quickly and quietly said goodbye to the men. Then, while Remo went into a nearby house, Mark stood there, trying to not look uncomfortable and failing miserably. It wasn’t that the Sun On Jos were trying to be unfriendly—except for the jerk who didn’t even look like a Native American—but it was clear to all present that Howard was an outsider and not necessarily a welcome one.

Remo emerged from the house with his luggage, which consisted of a sleeping mat rolled around some new, still-in-the-plastic shirts and pants exactly like the chinos and T-shirt he wore now.

“C’mon, Junior.”

Remo Williams couldn’t help notice that Mark wasn’t following him. He turned and saw the assistant director of CURE standing there with his jaw hanging all the way to the ground. Mark Howard was looking at Sunny Joe Roam’s house, where a small yellow lantern was illuminating the figure that stood in the doorway.

“’Bye, Daddy,” she called.

“’Bye, sweetheart,” Remo said, then he carried away Mark Howard over one shoulder.

“Put your tongue back in, Junior,” Remo growled.

“Sorry. You didn’t have to cart me off like a sick cat. I looked stupid enough as it was.”

“Letting you stand there drooling on yourself wouldn’t have raised your esteem on the rez,” Remo remarked.

“Sorry.”

Remo glanced over. Mark Howard’s cheeks were a flaming red.

“Chill, dude.”

“Remo, I didn’t know she was your daughter:”

“Now you know.”

“I feel like a stupid teenager who just got busted peeping on the girl next door.”

‘You’re not a teenager.”

“She just kind of caught me off guard, when I saw her standing there.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I was just kind of, overcome, I guess.”

“You’re rambling, Junior.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Remo could feel the red heat radiating from Howard’s face.

Ten minutes passed in silence.

“This is a little awkward,” Mark Howard finally said.

“Shut up.”

Howard was perplexed when they arrived in Yuma in amazingly quick time. “If you only knew how many hours it took me to get from the airport to the village. Next time I’ll rent something bigger, no matter how much it costs.” He patted the dashboard of Remo’s Ford SUV, which the commercials claimed had enough horsepower to pull frame houses off their foundations.

“Next time don’t come. That’s not advice but a threat, by the way. Where to?”

Howard gave him directions into the unimpressive Yuma airport, to a waiting jet, a sleek and shiny corporate charter.

“You rented this thing?” Remo said. “I guess you are in a hurry.”

“Glad you’re on board with the seriousness of the crisis,” Howard said as he rushed up the aircraft stairs and inside. Remo dawdled but was inside soon enough. The flight attendant was anxious, too. She secured the doors almost before Remo had his foot through the door. The aircraft started rolling.

“Hey, you’re violating IDA rules about me being in my seat with the back in an upright position,” Remo pointed out.

“Let’s get you in, then, before agents of the Food and Drug Administration come for a surprise inspection,” the flight attendant said, not even pretending to be friendly.

Remo didn’t resist as he was shoved into a seat and his belt was latched across his lap. With a brutal yank, the flight attendant tightened it further. Then she took the loose strap in both hands, braced her feet against the seat base, and put her entire body into the effort of dragging the belt as hard as she could.

“Snug enough, sir?”

“I do use the lower extremities, you know,” Remo pointed out.

She came close, her eyes on fire. “Liar!”

Then she stood, smiled and asked a stunned Mark Howard if he would like anything. Maybe a refreshing beverage?

“Just water.” Howard asked worriedly. “Miss?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know this gentleman?”

“Oh, yes, sir, he has flown with us in the past,” she said, her smile brightening to a thousand watts. “He’s a manipulative bastard who uses women then throws them into the garbage heap.”

She went to get his water.

“Happens all the time,” Remo explained.

The aircraft was stopped on the tarmac awaiting the go-ahead for takeoff, and yet the flight attendant still managed to stumble and spill the large plastic cup of water she was bringing Howard. She was disappointed that Remo had somehow, without her noticing, moved to another seat, and the water missed him.

“I’ll get you another, sir.”

“This is fine,” Howard insisted as he took the half- emptied water bottle from her hand. “I don’t need a cup.”

She simmered at Remo and took her seat in the galley.

“Now you know why I hate flight attendants,” Remo said.

“Maybe you should treat them with a little more respect.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking. Maybe you have the time to intercourse the flight crew of every commercial aircraft in the North American commercial fleets—I don’t. Let’s talk. Junior.”

Mark Howard felt his stomach drop as the aircraft left the ground and muscled its way skyward. “I’m sorry, Remo. How many times can I say it.”

“Huh? Junior, you never once said you were sorry about any of this.”

“Any of what?”

“Hello? Nice Remo taking a nice vacation, mean old Mark come and make nice Remo leave?”

“I’m not sorry about that!”

“What I want to know is, where in my contract does it say that you get to call and demand my services whenever you feel like it?”

Howard rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Remo, I don’t know where and if I told you section and paragraph it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. I do know there is a 24/7 clause in the contract.”

Remo looked suspicious. “What’s a 24/7 clause?”

“Just what it sounds like. It means you’ll be available 24/7.”

“Is that some sort of code for ‘all the time’?”

Howard sighed. “You know, twenty-four hours in a day, seven days a week.”

“This one of Smitty’s sneaky word tricks?”

“It’s a pretty common term.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s internet vernacular.”

“Figures.”

“Can we talk about the mission now?”

“Any other internet vernacular in the contract? I want to know what other unpleasant obligations I have.”

“I don’t have a copy of your contract on me,” Howard exclaimed. “Why is every conversation with you like arguing with a smart parrot?”

Remo grinned and sat back in his seat. “Could be worse. Could be Chiun.”

“Chiun is not worse! Chiun is not as egotistical.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Chiun is not as arrogant.”

“He’s the emperor of arrogance.”

“But he’s a grown-up, Remo. Maybe that’s what makes the difference.”

“I think I’ll throw a snit now and give you the silent treatment all the way to New York.”

“We’re going to Morocco.”

“Aw, crap.”

Mark endured the silent treatment only so long before he said, “Look, Remo, I know I made an idiot of myself in Arizona.”

Remo said nothing.

“I was just looking at her. I mean, I saw her, and she sort of took my breath away. I feel bad about it.”

Remo shook his head. “You don’t feel bad about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I was over it before we left the village. You’re the one who won’t let it drop.”

“Oh.” Mark Howard looked at Remo seriously and said, “But you know I would never even try to—you know.”

“What? Take Freya to the movies?”

“Yes. I could never take her to the movies. There’s a hundred reasons why it wouldn’t work, even if I wanted it to.”

‘Which you don’t,” Remo added.

“’Course not. CURE security would never allow it. Not to mention the distance between Rye and Yuma, and who knows if she would have any interest in me at all anyway, even if I did have an interest in her? Then there’s the cultural differences.” Mark stopped. “What kind of a cultural background does she have? Freya’s not a Native American name.”

“No, she didn’t join the Sun On Jos until she was I twelvish. Before that she was the daughter of Norse princess and the avatar of Hindu deity.”

Howard said, “Okay, I deserve that.”

“Deserve what? That’s the truth.”

“You’re trying to demonstrate how you feel about me checking out your daughter.”

Remo smirked. “Wrong, Junior. It’s not like that. I’m not going to go roughing up guys who get interested in Freya. She’s as intelligent as she is beautiful, and she’s got good instincts. She can take care of herself and she sure as shitting can make her own good decisions.”

Howard nodded. “Do you, you know, have a father-daughter relationship?”

“With our history?” Remo asked. “Not too much. Sunny Joe might be a different story.”

“Sunny Joe’s like you,” Mark said. “He wouldn’t dream of telling Freya how to run her life. It’s not his way. That’s what I picked up from him, anyway.”

“You pegged him.”

“And Freya?”

Remo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared down. Instead of the floor he saw the goldenhaired image of Freya catching a coyote in her hands in the Arizona desert.

“Freya is Sun On Jo,” Remo said. “She’s all the best of Sun On Jo ways rolled up into one human being.”

Mark smiled, shrugged a little. “I haven’t a clue what Sun On Jo is all about, so I don’t really know what it says about her.”

“She’s taken to heart everything Sunny Joe Roam had to teach her. I guess Sunny Joe’s really her father.” Remo thought about his own words and felt…what? Lonely? Saddened? Yes, he felt sad.

Mark got down to business. “I’ve got to warn you, Remo, Dr. Smith is unhappy.”

“Smitty and happy are like matter and antimatter. They can’t exist in the same room together.”

“No, Remo,” Mark said, “I mean he’s really angry. Like I’ve never seen him before. And you’re the one he’s mad at.”

“Because I took time off? He’s out of line.”

“Just warning you.” Mark Howard flipped open his laptop and dialed a satellite connection into Folcroft’s secure system, and a moment later the cabin of the aircraft was treated to the lemony voice of Dr. Harold W. Smith through the laptop speakers.

“Is Remo with you, Mark?”

“I’m here and I’m not in the mood for your crap.”

“Remo, do you know what trouble you’ve caused?”

“Didn’t you hear the part about the crap?”

“Military components have been sold on the black market. A CIA agent is dead. You could have prevented these things from happening.”

“Bulldookey.”

“That’s just the start, Remo. You’ve been getting out.. of hand lately. You flagrantly compromise the security of CURE.”

“Do not.”

“You’ve been raking up huge, frivolous expenses.”

“You’re making that up.”

“And you’re doing a bad job.”

“Remember what I said at the start of this phone call? Your crap. Not in the mood.”

“I don’t care if you’re in the mood or not, I want you to be aware just how poorly—”

“What happens when I do this?” Remo asked Mark, slapping the laptop computer closed. It latched with a click.

“Remo!” Howard exclaimed. “You disconnected Dr. Smith.”

“Really? That’s exactly what I wanted to do. See, I know how to work a computer.”

Mark Howard quickly opened the unit and didn’t have to dial into Folcroft, because the line was ringing in.

“Remo, I do not appreciate this disrespect,” Smith said insistently.

“I don’t appreciate being treated like your errand boy.”

“You have an obligation—”

“I have a life. Not much of one outside of CURE, but it is a little tiny one. How did that fit into this whole thing?”

“Not at all,” Smith intoned angrily.

“That’s what I thought,” Remo said and closed the computer again, so fast Mark Howard couldn’t begin to stop him.

“Remo!” He opened it swiftly.

“Take a letter, Junior.”

“What?” The computer made a distinctly insistent and lemony beeping.

“Answer that, Junior, and I’ll turn the computer off again, permanently.”

Mark heard it in Remo’s voice—this was not any I kind of kidding around. “I can’t ignore Dr. Smith.”

“‘Dear Dr. Emperor Smitty.’ Type it exactly as I say it, Junior.”

Mark Howard sighed and typed.

“‘Please refer to my previously stated conditions for continuing this conversation.”’

“What previously stated conditions?” Mark demanded.

“It’s not to you. You don’t need to know.”

“If I don’t understand. I’m sure Dr. Smith won’t.”

“Fine. ‘Conditions are as follows.’ Type that. ‘Conditions are as follows. Dr. Smith will give Remo no crap and Remo defines what is crap. Otherwise Remo gets off the plane.’”

“You can’t get off…”

“Send it.”

Mark sent it. A few minutes later an email came back. “Will discuss only the current assignment.”

“I don’t trust him, but I’ll give him another chance.” It was a cold, cold Dr. Smith who came back on-line when Mark reconnected.

“This is the situation, Remo, as of this moment.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m here,” Remo said.

“Good.”

Remo could almost feel the unspoken sarcastic comment that was something like, “I thought maybe you got off the plane.” Let the old fart stew.

“There has been a number of thefts in recent months that defy explanation. The targets have all been research labs for U.S. defense industries.”

“Explain ‘defy explanation,”’ Remo said.

“I will. In four recent cases research labs in the southwestern United States have been burgled.”

“Burgled?”

“Burgled. Defenses penetrated by an individual with rather startling capabilities. These are among the most highly secure laboratories anywhere, designed to be j impenetrable by an army or even a skilled special- forces unit. Still, someone broke into each of them and made off with valuable military technology.”

“How?”

“We think we have a partial answer to that,” Smith said. His voice had ceased being icy and was now simply frosty. “Here’s how it happened. Mark?”

Mark typed on the computer and quickly brought a computer-generated graphic onto the wide screen. The pale yellow map had light brown broken lines for the state borders of Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Utah and Colorado. There was a red dot in each state for the capital city, but there was nothing for the Sun On Jo reservation. Remo was already wishing he was back there. He felt cheated.

“What’s with the slide show?” he asked. “I don’t usually get the whole secret-agent briefing.”

“One reason, we have time,” Smith said dryly. “For another, it is pertinent, as you’ll see. Mark?”

“Mark?” Remo echoed.

Mark shot Remo a dark look and fiddled with the keys of the computer, bringing up a small blinking star. “This was three weeks ago. A technology firm was hit about ten miles south of Flagstaff. The laboratory was ransacked and the company mainframes were destroyed. One hard drive was stolen, as well as test materials. Then the lab was burned to the ground.”

“Somebody really hated that lab, I guess,” Remo said.

“Someone was very determined to steal the technology the firm was developing for the U.S. military, and they were also determined to be sure no one else would have it. They left no usable electronic or hard files.”

Remo frowned. “Didn’t they make backup copies? You know, like on a floppy disc?”

“First of all, Remo” Smith said sourly, “the amount of data the company generated would not fit onto ten thousand floppy discs. The company did make remote backups of their data, but their data generation was dynamic. The material they were developing was actually being formulated using a software that combined attributes of various chemicals and their deposition technologies and measuring the theoretical results.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The software was the real marvel,” Mark explained. “The software was what was creating the materials for the military. A software copy and a six-day-old data dump were stored off-site. The problem was that the hardware to run the software is unique and will have to be rebuilt before the software can be run again.”

“I understand perfectly,” Remo said. “So what?”

“The materials being developed by the firm were for stealth paint,” Smith said.

“Stealth paint? To make your split-level invisible to radar?”

“To make just about anything invisible to radar, lidar, infrared, you name it,” Mark explained. “It was just about perfected. The thief knew the right moment to strike. He got the coating and he left the research firm incapable of recreating its own technology for the immediate future.”

“The thief also took the only test batch of the material. The older samples were poured out and ruined in the fire,” Smith said. “We believe the thief then used the material as a coating when he next penetrated two military laboratories in rapid succession in a high-security complex near Phoenix.”

“Okay,” Remo said, hoping to hurry all this along. “The thefts were for missile guidance systems. Old systems, outdated by current U.S. state-of-the-art but decades ahead of the systems used by most global militaries,” Mark said. “They’ve got a lot of black market value. The last theft took place a week ago.”

The screen lit up with a marker in south central New Mexico.

“This time the thief targeted a research lab operated at White Sands,” Mark said.

“Wasn’t the Air Force being especially careful after the first three thefts?” Remo asked. “Who did this, anyway? Who could get into a military base, let alone a top- secret compound, without being noticed? I could. Chiun could. I don’t know who else could.”

Remo realized he was fibbing. He did know who else could. Freya could, if what he had witnessed in recent days was any indication.

“Hey, they weren’t doing any testing on animals, were they?” Remo added.

“What?” Mark said.

“Forget it.”

“Interesting that you should mention yourself and Chiun,” Smith said in a droll voice. “We’ve got some video from the surveillance at White Sands. Mark?”

“Mark?” Remo added.

Mark made an effort to ignore Remo as he brought a video onto the screen. It was a dark concrete lot, a small drift of sand swelling over it in a steady breeze. “White Sands. We tapped into their security system and found three conditions of security tape from the time of the theft. This is unaltered tape, and yet we see no sign of the intruder.”

“Because he’s covered in stealth paint?” Remo asked.

“Watch,” Mark said.

Remo spotted the movement. It was a flash of a tiny, whirling blade and it moved outside of the chain-link fence that towered out of sight on the screen. It moved up, over and down, and the flicker was enough to attract the attention of the motion-sensitive camera. It targeted the spot, turning to bring the movement to the center of the frame.

“The camera automatically switches to thermal, senses nothing,” Mark said. The image became green with bright spots, showing just a faint glimmer of something beyond the fence. “Then it switches to a white negative view, and finally back to normal vision. Sound and laser landscape measurement systems are also at work. They sense nothing.”

“There’s something there,” Remo protested. He could see it, although the limitations of the video recording made it indefinable.

“According to the algorithms driving the security system, there’s nothing,” Smith said. “It watched the same spot for two hours and there was no further movement Not so much as the rising and falling of a breathing human being.”

“Then this, after two hours,” Mark said. He touched a key and the camera was still on the same spot on the fence, although Remo could see a shifting of the stars in the background to prove time had passed. The camera jerked abruptly to the right, falling upon a tiny mechanical device that hopped across the concrete and froze against the fence.

“The camera decided later this was a rabbit.”

“Looks like the toy from a Happy Meal.”

“While the camera was distracted, the fence cut-out was opened and closed,” Smith said.

The camera panned back to the fence, where the opening was now slightly askew. There was nothing behind it now. Remo had to admit that whatever went through it had moved skillfully.

“The second kind of tape we saw was deliberately distorted,” Mark said, bringing up a view from within a hallway that was suddenly a sea of swimming monochrome shades. “Lasers polarize the lens. A similar sound-obstructing technology erases the sound before the security picks it up. The third kind of video we downloaded was when the intruder deliberately revealed itself.”

The next scene was in another hallway, with a door to the outside. The lens polarization was there, then gone, just long enough to show the strangest thing Remo had seen in a long time.

It was a black place in the shape of a bulky foot, and the ankle disappeared into an orange silk kimono. “Come on. You’re joking.”

“We’re not joking.”

“It looked like the elephant man in a bad geisha costume.”

“It was an armored or mechanically enhanced human in a kimono,” Smith said. “The kimono was put there for our benefit.”

“What do you mean? Somebody wants us to think Chiun is responsible?”

“Not if they know anything about Master Chiun,” Smith said. “The intruders used all kinds of techniques Chiun would never use. We think they deliberately revealed tins as way of attracting our attention.”

“Why?”

“To get us involved.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why,” Smith retorted. ‘It’s enough to know they have an awareness of Chiun’s existence. If they’re aware of Chiun, they may be aware of CURE. If they’re aware of CURE, then CURE must shut itself down.”

“Now I get the picture.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Smith said.

“Junior, play back the leg scene,” Remo said. The image had frozen as the door shut. Remo watched the three seconds of tape play out. “Again, Junior, but this time don’t stop the tape.”

Mark ran the tape again, and kept the tape rolling after the bizarre, kimono-clad foot was gone and the door closed itself. The opaque glass clearly showed a bulky figure outside, pausing for a moment, then walking out of the view. “What just happened?”

“He used a microwave device to override the biometrics security system,” Mark explained. “Stolen technology, but stolen years ago. Half the world has it now.”

“That’s a weird suit he’s wearing.”

“Some sort of an armored housing covered in stealth paint,” Smith explained. “Remo, do you realize how dangerously exposed CURE is now?”

“I have news for you, Smitty. CURE has been dangerously exposed for a long time,” Remo said. “Lots of people know Chiun. Half the world leaders know there’s a Master of Sinanju. They always have.”

“And your friends on the Sun On Jo reservation?” Smith asked sharply.

“They’ve known about Sinanju longer than you have, Smitty,” Remo said. “Face it—you’re a latecorner.”

“They know much more than about the existence of a Master of Sinanju—they know me!” Smith exhorted. ‘There was one young man who knew me by name, by voice!”

Remo furled his brow. “Hey, Smitty, take a deep breath. In. Out. You talking about the jerk on the phone? That’s just Winston.”

“Winston?”

“Yeah. He’s a got a real attitude.”

“Winston?”

“Who’s Winston?” Mark asked.

“Let’s move on,” Smith stated, voice wavering slightly. “Mark, explain to Remo what was stolen from White Sands.”

“Uh,” Mark said, eyes darting back and forth between the screen and Remo, who shrugged. “Okay. You’ve heard of JDAM? The Joint Direct Attack Munitions is an inexpensive computer and tail-fin component that is retrofitted to free-fall bombs and turns them into smart bombs. They can then be guided with a high degree of precision to their targets. White Sands was developing a technology with a similar objective. It’s called Guidance Device, Autonomous, Multifunctional.”

“G-D-A-M?” Remo spelled.

“Yes.”

“Guh-DAM?”

“Gee-DAM,” Smith said impatiently.

“Gee-DAM is similar in concept to JDAM,” Mark added. “It’s a small chip with a high degree of electronic intelligence combined with a military GPS and other positional sensors, like a barometer, compass, even a tiny ultrasonic acoustical send/receive combination for positioning solid objects.”

“For missiles?” Remo asked.

‘Tor anything but,” Mark said. “Anything.”

“Like a car?”

“Sure, a car, but think smaller. The U.S. is developing spy planes the size of hummingbirds and ground- based insertion devices no bigger than a mouse. The Gee-DAM will serve as a one-size-fits-all guidance system for all of those devices—it can get any mobile machine from point A to point B virtually autonomously, and with an auxiliary set of instructions programmed in that are specific to the device.”

“It’s extremely powerful technology,” Smith added.

“Sounds like something you buy in a little plastic bag at RadioShack,” Remo said.

“Losing it could seriously disable the military superiority of the United States,” Smith said. “One man has died already, trying to get it back for us. The item was offered for sale at an international arms bazaar yesterday and a CIA operative was on the scene to make an offer. He was found dead twelve hours ago. I’d like you to pick up where he left off. Obviously someone wants CURE on the scene. We’ll just have to satisfy them.”

“But I can’t help but notice that we’re flying away from the one part of the country where the burgles happened,” Remo pointed out.

“After you pick up Master Chiun, you’re heading to Morocco,” Smith stated. “That’s where the bazaar was held. With luck, you’ll be attacked.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean by whoever is trying to attract our attention. Your first task will be to find out who knows what and how they learned it. Until we know that much, we’re adrift. If our cover is compromised irreversibly, we’ll initiate shutdown.”

Smith was somber. Mark wore a distant, serious expression.

“Gee-DAM!” Remo exclaimed.