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five shooting days."
"Take?"
"I am giving the literal translation. Is 'take' a movie term?"
"Yes. But a take is a good scene. One they'll use. I can't imagine what they
could mean by taking Yuma. I know they'll be filming in the city later on, but
that can't be it."
"I will gladly listen to your translation," Chiun told her coolly.
"Don't be silly. Someone just made a mistake. This is a four-week
production."
"They have rice for nearly six months."
"Says who?"
"Says I. Just now." Chiun tapped another rice-paper strip. "According to this,
they have rice for six months. Twice the amount they believe they will
require."
"Well, there you go. The other thing must be wrong, then. They wouldn't have a
six-month supply of rice for a five-day shoot, now, would they?"
"They would not have such a supply of rice for a four-month shooting schedule
either," Chiun said slowly. "Why do they call it a shooting schedule?"
"You've heard of shooting a picture?"
"I have heard of taking a picture. Is that the 'take' they meant?"
"No. When they film, they call it shooting a movie. Therefore, shooting
schedule. Wait a minute. You should know that! You're a film correspondent."
"I know it now," Chiun said, turning abruptly. "I would like to see their rice
supply."
"Why, for Pete's sake?"
Before the Master of Sinanju could reply, a Japanese crewman leapt into the
trailer.
"What you do here?" he barked. "Off rimits!"
"Oh, we were just looking for Jiro," Sheryl said.
"Off rimits!" the Japanese repeated spitefully.
"I don't think he speaks English," Sheryl whispered.
"Allow me to answer this," Chiun said. He lapsed into guttural Japanese. The
other man's face quirked in astonishment. He grabbed for the Master of
Sinanju. Chiun sidestepped the thrust. The Japanese kept going. He fell on his
face. He bounced to his feet and made another move toward the tiny Korean.
"You cut this out, both of you!" Sheryl said, getting between the two of them.
"This here's Mr. Chiun. He's with Star File magazine. You behave yourself "
The Japanese pushed her aside roughly and lunged at Chiun.
Smiling, Chiun spoke a simple, pungent word in Japanese. "Yogore." His
opponent howled and lunged. The Japanese went sailing past him, his feet
tripping on the RV's steps. They scrambled for footing, but to no avail. He
fell facedown into the gritty sand.
Calmly the Master of Sinanju walked down his legs, over his back, and stepped
off his head to alight on the sand. He turned.
"Why do you loiter?" he asked Sheryl. "He will be awake soon."
Sheryl looked around. There was no one in sight. "I'm with you," she said as
she stepped over the man. As they slipped to the cluster of tents, Sheryl said
in a tight voice, "You know, sometimes the atmosphere around here is so tense
you can break off pieces and chew them instead of gum. If this is how these
folks make movies, God help us if they ever take over our movie companies. I,
for one, will be looking for a new line of work, thank you."
The food-provision tent faced the busy food-service truck. Chiun and Sheryl
ducked behind it.
"How are we going to get in?" Sheryl asked, feeling the coarse fabric.
"You will stand guard?"
"Sure as shootin'."
After Sheryl had turned her head, the Master of Sinanju plunged a fingernail
into the cloth and slashed downward so swiftly the rip sound was compressed
into a rude bark. He masked it by feigning a cough.
"What's the matter, poor thing?" Sheryl asked. "Inhale some sand?"
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"Behold," Chiun said, pointing to the cloth. At first Sheryl couldn't see what
he was talking about, but when Chiun touched the fabric, a vertical slit
appeared as if by magic.
"Well, how about that?" she said. "Must be our lucky day. "
For the long tear exactly followed the line where a white stripe joined an
orange one. Chiun held the tent open for her.
"Must be a defect in the workmanship," Sheryl said when Chiun joined her
inside the cool tent.
" 'Workmanship' is not in the Japanese vocabulary," Chiun sniffed. He walked
around the tent. It was crammed with burlap sacks. lie touched one, and felt
the hard-packed rice grains give like gravel.
"There is enough rice here to maintain many men for many months," he said
gravely.
"There you go. What'd I tell you?"
"More than four weeks' supply. More than four months. Depending on the numbers
of persons involved, perhaps nearly six months."
"So, they're prepared. Like the Boy Scouts. Films do run beyond their shooting
schedules."
"It is not good that Bronzini leads them."
"Why not?"
"In his earlier existence, he was a dangerous man," Chiun mused. "He aspired
to conquer the known world. Many suffered, not the least of which was my
village in Korea. There was no work for as long as he massed his forces and
conquered empires."
"Look, I'm going to ask this straight out because it's starting to drive me
crazy, but you aren't from the Enquirer, by any chance, are you?"
"No. I am here officially from Star File magazine, although if the truth be
known, I am a poet. In fact, I am thinking of writing of my experiences here
in Ung poetry. The short form, of course. Regrettably, Star File magazine does
not publish two thousand-page issues. I am thinking of calling it Chiun Among
the Yumans. Perhaps I will consent to sell the movie rights now that I have
contacts in this industry."
"Look, we really shouldn't be here. Especially if we're going to be talking
this trash. Let's skedaddle."
"I have seen what I wish. Now I must speak with Remo. "
"Okay, great. Let's find him."
None of the A. D.'s could locate Remo, although their walkie-talkies crackled
messages all over the location area. Finally the word came back.
"Remo gone to Ruke," the A.D. informed them, and walked away.
"Okay," Sheryl told Chiun. "You speak Japanese. You translate."
"Is there a place known as Luke near here?" Chiun asked.
"Luke? Sure, Luke Air Force Range. That must be it. Remo and Sunny Joe
probably went there to do preproduction on the parachute drop they got set for
tomorrow. If you don't mind waiting till tomorrow, we can watch them film
it."
"Perhaps I should speak to the Greekling," Chiun said.
"The which?"
"Bronzini."
"He's Italian."
"Now. Before, he was a Greekling."
"Which movie was that?"
"When he was Alexander."
"I have a crackerjack idea," Sheryl said suddenly. "Let's get out of this sun.
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