His eyes trained with laserlike focus on the display, Chiun pushed his way past Remo. Slender fingers scooped up one of the small models.
The toy was divided into three stages. When Chiun pulled at it, two of the stages separated. When he pushed them together, they clicked back into a single unit.
Behind the desk, Zipp finally turned his nose away from Remo's ID, nodding acceptance.
"Welcome to NASA, gentlemen," he said. Standing, Zipp extended his hand. He offered a smile so strained it looked as if his underwear was six sizes too small.
Chiun ignored the administrator. He was too busy studying the rocket in his hand.
"Yeah, yeah," Remo said, interested in neither Zipp nor his offered hand. "Where do you keep your vans?"
There was a flicker at the far edges of Zipp's painful smile. "Vans?" he asked. "I think you're mistaking us for General Motors, son. We're your space agency. We don't do vans, we do shuttles, rockets and satellites."
"Look, Flash Gordon," Remo said to Codwin, "I saw the size of this joint on the way in. Unless you pinheads zoom around here in portable jetpacks, you've got to use cars to get around. Where are they, and are there any missing?"
Zipp bristled at his words. "You sure you're FBI?" he questioned suspiciously.
"We're from the less tactful branch," Remo explained. "We're the part that uses toy rockets for suppositories when we don't get the answers we want."
Zipp glanced at the Master of Sinanju. The old man had just removed the nose cone of his rocket. Chiun blew on the module, simulating wind, as he lowered the capsule for splashdown in an invisible sea.
"You gentlemen are making it difficult for me to be polite," Codwin warned.
"Look, I've met three of your vans so far," Remo said. "One blew up on me, one caused that highway pileup yesterday and the third one almost ran me off the road as it left a multiple-murder scene last night. We tracked its plate to here. Polite went out the window the minute those loons in the first van tried to barbecue me. Now what's the deal?"
Zipp's smile collapsed. "I was afraid of this," he said in somber tones as he sat back in his chair. He steepled his fingers under his razor-sharp nose. "A couple of our vehicles have turned up missing recently. I ordered an investigation. At the faster, better, cheaper NASA we do not tolerate any wastefulness when it comes to taxpayer dollars."
When Remo snorted at that, Zipp bit his tongue. "No matter what anyone might think," Codwin said, barely containing the acid in his tone, "NASA has undergone some severe belt tightening these past two decades. These days Congress is so cheap when it comes to our budget we can't afford to lose any equipment at all. Even vans."
Beside Remo, Chiun let out a whooshing sound. Guided by a sure hand, his rocket strafed the armada that was arranged for launch on Zipp's immaculate white desk. Most of the other toy models failed to survive the attack. As those few that remained upright teetered like wobbly bowling pins, the NASA administrator jumped across the desk, sweeping up the rolling rockets in both arms. A few clunked to the floor.
"I keep those here as souvenirs," he snarled at the Master of Sinanju. "Why don't you just take that one."
"They are free?" Chiun asked craftily.
"Sure," Zipp barked. "Take it."
Bending at the waist, the old Asian snatched up two of the rockets that had fallen to the floor. These disappeared inside the folds of his kimono. The first remained clutched in his hand. Spinning from the desk, he began flying it around the room. It attacked the fronds of a potted plant that sagged near a bookcase in the corner.
"You sure he's with the FBI, too?" Zipp asked.
As he spoke, another rocket tipped out of the pile in his arms, dropping to the gray carpet.
"He meets the Bureau's quota for odd-couple pairing." Remo nodded. "I had my choice between him, the superskeptical female doctor who never believes my crazy theories or the black guy who's always two weeks from retirement."
"Huh," Codwin grunted. His eyes still trained on Chiun, he drew the models across the desk, dumping most of them into a half-empty drawer. "If that's all, I have work to do. Space doesn't explore itself, you know."
"Actually, there's something else," Remo said. He dug in his pocket, removing the envelope he'd picked up at the Roadkill. Taking out one of the larger black fragments, he dropped it in Zipp's callused palm. "You have any idea what this could be?" he asked.
Codwin studied the jagged object carefully. When he touched the surface with an exploratory finger, a gunmetal-gray eyebrow rose on his lined forehead. "Where did you get this?" Zipp asked.
Remo hesitated. Even after the previous day's news reports, he was uncomfortable admitting his mission. "It was left at a crime scene," he said.
"Hmm," Zipp said, handing the fragment back to Remo. "We're not exactly a forensics lab here, but we're not lacking in brilliant scientists. I think I've got someone here who might be able to help you." He stabbed a finger on his intercom. "Mitzi, I'm bringing my guests down to see Dr. Graham. Tell him they've got some stuff they've collected from a crime scene they'd like to have examined."
When he looked up at Remo there was a glint of something new in his pale blue eyes. A kind of knowing smugness. His tightly smiling mouth displayed a line of barracuda teeth.
"Come with me," the NASA head offered.
Chapter 18
"By the way, Zipp Codwin's the name."
They had crossed the broad expanse of a tarmac to enter another big building on the Canaveral grounds. The NASA head let his famous name hang heavy in the air between them.
As they walked, Remo was supremely disinterested. "Blame your parents," he said, not looking Zipp's way.
The eyes beneath the steel-gray hair darkened. "Zipp Codwin," Zipp Codwin pressed. He pointed at his own chest. "The Zipp Codwin."
Remo glanced at Chiun. The Master of Sinanju was keeping pace with both men.
"Don't look at me," the old man said, his eyes downcast. He was studying a tiny window in his plastic rocket. "I do not even know what a Dipp Codpiece is."
"You ain't alone," Remo muttered.
"You don't remember me," Codwin growled, his painful smile collapsing to a more comfortable scowl. "Damn that whole shuttle program. Kids around the country remember the name of some blown-up schoolteacher who wasn't anything more than a piece of glorified luggage, but they don't know the names of the real pioneers who built the whole damn program."
"Okay, Piss-" Remo began.
"That's Zipp," Zipp interrupted coldly.
"Whatever," Remo said dismissively. "I get the drift. You were some kind of astronaut when the moon was still in diapers. Now let's just aim your rocket boosters into the current century where you can help the nice men who don't give a crap in a hat what your life story is."
Zipp's scowl grew so tight it threatened to cave in on itself like a collapsing dwarf star.
"Son, there used to be a time when folks'd go ass over knickers at the chance to meet a bona fide spaceman."
"We're thrilled," Remo said, deadpan. "Aren't we, Little Father?"
Chiun wasn't even listening. Plastic rocket in hand, he was soaring skyward. "Whoosh," the elderly Korean said.
"I suppose I shouldn't keep getting ticked that folks don't remember me," Zipp muttered. "It's been thirty damn years since we've done anything significant around here." He instantly regretted speaking the words aloud. "Not that we're not still important," he quickly amended. "It's just that our purpose has changed over the years."
"I'll say," Remo agreed. "You've changed from an extravagant waste of money that used to do stuff once in a while to an extravagant waste of money that doesn't do anything at all ever. NASA's just a black hole the government shovels tax dollars into."
"That isn't true," Codwin insisted hotly. "NASA is a vital and, I might add, underfunded agency. And thanks to me, you can be certain that your tax dollars are wisely spent."