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It was for some radioanimatronic project."
"It was for Sam Beasley," said Remo.
"Yeah. That's who I work for."
"No, I mean it was for Uncle Sam Beasley himself."
The tanned face looked doubtful. "But he's dead."
"I wish," said Remo as the Master of Sinanju pulled the prisoner from the cell
by the front of his peach jumpsuit.
"Your name?" Remo asked.
"Rod Cheatwood."
"Make you a deal-you tell us everything you know, and we'll get you back to
the good old U.S.A."
"EUD," hissed Dominique. "You must say EUD while in my country. It is the
law."
"Stuff it," Remo told her. To Rod, he said, "How about it?"
"Done deal."
"That was quick. Whatever happened to company loyalty?"
"Are you kidding? You think I'd stack my neck out for those ducking bastards?
They mugged me the minute I walked through their front door."
"Okay, let's go," said Remo.
"I wish you would have waited another hour," Rod said as they called for the
elevator.
"Why?" asked Chiun.
"They're showing the finale of 'Star Trek: the Next Generation' this
afternoon."
"You can catch that anytime," said Remo.
"I keep trying to, but it never happens."
"It would only be in French," said Remo. "Only Jerry Lewis movies work in
French."
"Jairy est Dieu, " sighed Dominique before being yanked bodily into the
elevator.
Chapter 28
Commander Luc Crocq of the French Foreign Ugion forces surrounding Euro
Beasley was confident in his men and materiel. They had encircled the park
with a ring of steel. The tanks and APCs sat snout to rump and rump to snout
all around the place of defilement. Commander Crocq considered it a defilement
because although he had nothing against American culture in particular, he was
a lifelong fan of Coulommiers cheese, which was made in this very area. That
many of the farms that produced this cheese among cheeses were razed to
prepare the land for the Euro Beasley park was in Commander Crocq's eyes the
desecration of desecrations.
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Secretly he hoped for word to roll in and raze Euro Beasley from the face of
France.
But no such order had come. All was quiet since the last attempt to close the
ring of steel had been met with a pinkish radiance that took the fighting piss
out of his legionnaires.
There had been an altercation in which a French army helicopter had descended
into the park, only to lift off again later. Nothing more was known about this
operation, but Crocq suspected DGSE involvement.
All the commander understood was that he was to hold his ring of steel in
place, tightly and without faltering, so that none could exit the hellish
enclave of American junk culture.
He did not expect a wave of forces sneaking up from his rear to wash over his
ring of steel and retake the park. The objective was not to defend Euro
Beasley, Commander Crocq later pointed out to the military board of review. If
they had wanted him to defend the park from external threats, as well, should
that not have been included in his orders?
So pleaded Commander Crocq in vain before they court-martialed him.
There were many other reasons Commander Crocq was not responsible for what
later transpired.
First there were crowds. They came by auto, by truck-even by metro line. The
terminus of the A RER train line was called Parc Euro Beasley. Daytrippers who
came to sample the place of cultural perfidy employed it. Although the park
was under cultural quarantine, still they came to look, to gawk, perhaps to
catch a glimpse of Mongo or Dingbat or one of the others who dwelled here no
more.
It was a festive time, so when men dressed as soldiers of Napoleon III began
to appear among the growing crowd, it was not a cause for concern, never mind
interest. And since all attention was focused inward, not outward, just as his
orders dictated, Commander Crocq was completely oblivious to the increasing
preponderance of soldiers dressed in the fashion of a bygone century.
That is, until they attacked.
THEY CAME SCREAMING unintelligible sounds. Not curses, not imprecations, not
defiance. Just sheer bloodcurdling noise.
This arrested the attention of all in the awkward moment when they came
pouring over ring of steel in waves of blue and gray.
They carried no guns, no rifles, no pistols. To that, Commander Crocq swore to
his dying day.
But when they poured under the ring of steel, the ring of steel lay helpless.
Multiton tanks and APCs could not move as fast as a man. Not from a cold
start. Not when parked snout to rump and vice versa.
"Defend your positions!" Commander Crocq cried. Too late. Their position had
already been overrun. Soldiers of the past, including fez-hatted Zouaves not
seen since the 1800s, poured into the gates of Euro Beasley.
"Fire at will!" Commander Crocq sputtered when he realized his line had been [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]