Unlike the rest, Lavrenty carried no gun. With one bare knuckle, he tapped twice on the driver's-side door.
A startled grunt came from inside. Fingers fumbled the lock and the door popped open.
The face that appeared looked ill.
Ivan Kerbabaev's head was wrapped in bandages. A big wad of blood-soaked gauze was plastered to the spot where his nose should have been. Lavrenty noted that there was no bump beneath. The bandages ran below Ivan's eyes, tied sloppily at the back of his head.
Ivan hitched the cotton dressing up around his right ear as he climbed down to the cold street.
"Are all your men here?" Zhirinsky's aide mumbled.
Speaking obviously caused him pain. When Ivan winced, the twitching caused his bloody bandages to bunch.
"My men are all around you," Skachkov said, uninterested in Ivan's discomfort.
A wave of his hand brought the other commandos out of hiding. They had been lurking along the shadowed walls of the nearby buildings. At his signal, they faded up out of the darkness on either side of the road, stepping into the cold amber light cast by the streetlamps.
"What about the bissing ben?" Ivan said, struggling with the words.
"Not yet," Lavrenty said. "And those sent after Comrade Zhirinsky's...souvenirs have not reported in yet, either. However, I am not concerned. No doubt it is a communications problem. They understand the plan and where they need to be. They will arrive before the night is over."
"Berry well," Ivan said. He seemed more concerned with his own pain than with the missing men. "The rest of our men will be arriving from Russia soon. You will be coordinating with dem when dey land."
Lavrenty's spine stiffened. "Do not call them 'our' men," he said. "My men are here. Whatever else may come, they are inferior to us."
Ivan seemed not interested in the least in the whitehaired man's disdainful words. He was shifting his bandages at his ears once more. He squinted at the fresh pain.
Lavrenry exhaled impatience at the pathetic little man.
"Is the warhead armed?" he spit.
Ivan's shaking hand scurried to his face. He cast a frightened eye back along the length of the truck. The tarpaulins continued to rattle in the wind.
"Yes," he said uncertainly. "I will contact the media as soon as your positions are secure."
As he spoke, a fresh gust of wind grabbed the scrap of paper under the truck's wiper, slapping it angrily against the glass. Lavrenty's face puckered in annoyance.
"What is that?" he asked. Reaching up, he plucked the paper free.
"A parking ticket," Ivan replied. "Comrade Zhirinsky did not give me any change for the meter." At their leader's name, Ivan winced once more. Offering a fresh look of disgust, Lavrenty wadded up the ticket, throwing it to the street. The wind took it, sweeping it off down the road, away from the trailer and its radioactive cargo.
Chapter 26
Anna Chutesov's helicopter whipped over plains of snow. With whining purpose it screamed toward Fairbanks. In the back Remo's expression was dark.
"Who's watching your nuclear secrets over there, Bill Richardson?" he snapped at Anna. "With all you've got invested in that bum-twaddle program of yours, you'd think you'd at least lock your bombs in a KGB closet somewhere like you did with Hitler's brain."
"Crime is rampant in Russia," Anna explained, her own face grave. "Anything can be had for a price."
"You've got a lot to learn about selective control of criminals," Remo grumbled. "The trick is to cave to them on all the small stuff. That way the medium stuff looks big and they stay away completely from the really big stuff. That's the American way."
Anna's expression grew bland. "Thank you, but Russia will handle Russia's crime problems," she said dryly.
"Whizbang job so far, Anna," Remo said. "And at least when our Mafia talks kilos, you know they're measuring cocaine, not tons."
"There is no record of a warhead being stolen from any of our bases."
"Yeah, and the black market's just so good about filling out all the proper forms," he said sarcastically. "And maybe they didn't need to take a whole one. The way things are going over there, maybe they built one from spare parts."
Anna frowned. "There is some record of Boris Feyodov's group being interested in certain technical items. Some could have been used to construct a bomb."
"Could have been?" Remo said. "Anna, Feyodov was the guy who smuggled a Russian particle-beam weapon into California piece by piece, remember?"
She ignored his acid tone. "As I told you, they had been working together."
"Perfect," Remo said. "We're probably flying smack-dab into ground zero."
He glanced at the Master of Sinanju. "We can set down anytime, Little Father," he said. "No sense both of us getting fried."
The old man shook his head. "It is your destiny to face the renegade Master," he intoned solemnly. "Knowing you, you would become distracted by his night tigers and allow him to get away. Or worse. I cannot allow five thousand years of Sinanju history to end because of your flitting mind."
In spite of the words, they both knew the truth. Chiun was worried for Remo. Remo turned back to Anna.
"By the sounds of it, our work's cut out for us," he said. "According to Smith, they took over all the public buildings during the night. Once they took the city hall, their mouthpiece let everyone know about the loose nuke. Smitty had the Army base evacuated out beyond the city limits when they threatened to set it off."
"He would not explode the boom if he wishes to keep this city as a prize," Chiun observed.
"I'm thinking that the nice man who eats people's faces might not be that easy to predict," Remo said. "And we've got a city full of people to worry about up there."
"Not long ago you were willing to sacrifice another city," Chiun suggested. He was looking out the window.
"Those people weren't mine," Remo said, his voice low.
Anna frowned. "I thought your people were in Sinanju."
"They are," Chiun insisted.
"Look, the fact is, I've got people there, people here. I've even got some stashed away on an Indian reservation. I'm up to my armpits in people. Right now I'm an American, and it's my job to protect the people in Fairbanks."
The Master of Sinanju's gaze was still directed out the side window. His hazel eyes narrowed.
"Tell me, Remo, for I have lost track," Chiun said. "Of all the many groups of people it is your duty to protect, which are the ones who are about to shoot us from the sky?"
As the old Korean spoke, there came a frantic shout from Anna's pilot. She darted to the cockpit even as Remo crowded the window beside the Master of Sinanju.
Two Navy F-14 fighters had appeared off the port side of the helicopter. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw two more through the opposite window. Their distance made them almost seem to match the Kamov's slower speed.
"Since they haven't figured out in Sinanju how to bang two rocks together to make fire, I'd say it's my American people," Remo said aridly. "I'd better go talk to them. One earful of Anna's accent and we'll be riding the rest of the way to town on the nose of a Sidewinder missile."
WHILE THE TOMCATS didn't shoot them down, they did force the Kamov to land a dozen miles outside of Fairbanks.
When Remo, Chiun and Anna climbed down to the snow, a hundred M-16 barrels were there to greet them.
A sea of U.S. Army soldiers surrounded the helicopter. The entire population of Fort Wainwright was bivouacked along the sides of Route 3.
"Why isn't anyone ever happy to see us?" Remo groused.
Digging in his pocket, he waved his bogus CIA ID over his head like a lit road flare until it attracted the attention of an Army Colonel. The man was in his early fifties, with a sour disposition and a face bitten raw with cold. The name Hawkins was stitched to his heavy coat.
"What were you doing in a Russian helicopter?" Colonel Hawkins demanded as he inspected Remo's ID.
"Mostly I was being irritated," Remo r
eplied. "But until you guys showed up, it was pretty much just at the Russian limit-one-weapon-of-mass-destructionper-crazy-man policy. Now, would you be a dear and let us take off? I've got World War III to stop."
"The Russians and Americans at war is the least of our worries," Chiun insisted. "Do not forget the curse of Wang."
"Sorry, sir," Colonel Hawkins said to Remo even as he eyed the old Korean. "There's a no-fly zone around Fairbanks. Orders from above. If you're not sanctioned by them to land, you won't get in in one piece."
"They have air support?" Anna asked.
Eyes widening, the Colonel took a step back. "She's a Russkie," he said. His hand dropped to his side arm.
"She's with us," Remo explained, uninterested. To Chiun he said, "And don't call it the curse of Wang. Makes it sound like we're out Viagra shopping."
The Colonel looked from Remo to Anna to the wrinkled face of the Master of Sinanju. When he looked back to Remo, he was shaking his head.
"You guys can't be for real," Hawkins said. Remo was no longer paying attention to him. "We need transportation," he said to the others.
"That vehicle will do," Anna announced, pointing to a nearby Land Rover. It was parked amid a sea of Army trucks and jeeps on the snow-lined highway.
As the three of them hurried over to the truck, the Colonel jogged to keep up.
"That's mine," Colonel Hawkins said. "And just where exactly do you think you're going?"
Remo ignored the question. "Keys," he said, sticking out his hand.
"What?" the Colonel said. "No way. CIA or not, you're gonna need some kind of authorization for this."
"Chiun, you want to show the nice man our authorization?" Remo asked.
Colonel Hawkins saw a flash of movement in the direction of the old Asian. At least he thought he saw something. In the next moment the Colonel suddenly gave less concern to what he might have seen than to what he actually felt.
A bony hand clamped on to his ankle. Before Hawkins knew what was happening, he was being lifted off the road and the world was spinning up on end.
Holding the soldier upside down, the Master of Sinanju shook him until the Land Rover's keys slipped out of the man's pocket. They landed with a jangle in the powdery snow. Along with his wallet, comb, dog tags and automatic.
As Remo fished the keys from the snow, Chiun stuck Hawkins deep into a snowdrift until only his frantically kicking legs were visible.
"We'll try not to scratch it," Remo promised the Colonel's boots as the three of them piled in.
As soldiers began to dig out the Colonel, the Land Rover's engine roared to life. Squealing tires threw a stream of dirty snow back across the struggling men as the vehicle pulled away from the shoulder.
Flying away from the tent city, the Land Rover tore off up the lonely stretch of highway toward Fairbanks.
VLADIMIR ZHIRINSKY WAITED in ankle-deep snow. Through the wispy white blanket peeked the hardpacked, blue-tinged surface of a glacier. Frozen wind churned the choppy black surface of the Bering Strait. Whitecaps raged against the towering glacier wall. Zhirinsky's destiny waited three miles away.
The ultranationalist was unbothered by the cold. Proud, bare Russian face mocked the desolate howling wind.
"Comrade?"
Zhirinsky glanced to the voice.
A soldier stood at his elbow, greatcoat collar drawn up tightly around his neck. Mucous dribbled from his nostrils, freezing on his chapped upper lip.
Zhirinsky stared hungrily at the man's runny nose. The soldier pushed up one shoulder so that his nose was hidden behind his collar. "It is Comrade Kerbabaev," he said, his voice muffled. He handed over the portable radio he was carrying before retreating to a safe distance.
"Speak," the ultranationalist commanded.
Ivan's every word sounded as if it were causing him excruciating pain.
"Skachkov and his men have secured the city," the scratchy voice said over the radio. "I have also shown their city leaders the nuclear device. The Army is staying away. They have agreed to an air corridor to allow you entry to the city. You may come over anytime." Zhirinsky's black eyes glinted.
"Before I reclaim Russia's property, I want the infestation removed," he said, his voice a low growl.
"Comrade?" Ivan asked, confused.
"The Americans. I want them gone," Zhirinsky said, the fire of long-smoldering rage swelling within him. "They are a disease. A poison. They pollute the world with their notions of freedom. They have corrupted Russia, corroding the will of a once mighty nation. I do not want to see a single American face when I set foot in Zhirinskygrad."
A pause on the line during which the only sound was that of the wind.
"Do you want them dead?" Ivan asked.
Beneath his great mustache, Zhirinsky's thick lips thinned. "All in good time. Once the Soviet Union has retaken its rightful position as superpower, we will deal with all of America. For now, expel them from my city."
Ivan tried to strike up a reasonable tone. "We did not expel the Poles or the Czechs or the Romanians," he said. "And with the American population gone, our position here will be weakened."
Zhirinsky's voice grew cold. "Do not make me question your loyalty, Comrade Kerbabaev," he growled.
The threat hung heavy in the cold air.
"No, sir, comrade sir," Ivan whimpered. "I will tell Skachkov to begin an evacuation."
Zhirinsky snapped off the radio, tossing it back to the runny-nosed soldier.
"Start the engines!" Zhirinsky commanded. Across the plain, men scrambled aboard two dozen waiting Hind gunship helicopters. As the engines coughed to life, Zhirinsky strode off toward them, eager to finally rendezvous with history.
THEY MET the first evacuees six miles out from Fairbanks. To Remo the trudging line of men and women was a vision out of some war-torn European country.
The people were wrapped in multiple layers of clothing. Some dragged duffel bags, suitcases-whatever they could carry. Farther down the road some luggage had already been abandoned. Weeping children cried freezing tears.
Remo pulled his borrowed Land Rover to a stop near a Fairbanks police department deputy. The haggard man was helping to shepherd the people along.
"What the hell's this?" Remo demanded, flashing his ID.
"We've been ordered to empty the town," the officer said.
Remo pulled his head back in the window. "How Fiddler on the Roof can you get?" he asked Anna and Chiun.
Powering up the window, he tapped the gas.
Mobs choked the road for miles into town. For much of the way the Land Rover had to crawl. It was only when they were a mile from town that the last stragglers slipped behind and the road opened up once more. Almost at once they spotted the roadblock. Soldiers in white patrolled a barricade of stolen cars. "More friends of yours," Remo said to Anna.
In the back of the truck, Anna studied the men as Remo sped toward them.
"Their masks," she said. "They've changed their masks." As she spoke she fumbled in the pocket of her parka, pulling out a pair of small binoculars.
Instead of the ski masks the other commandos had worn, these men wore simple white hoods, their faces exposed. Their light, centered stances telegraphed basic Sinanju.
"Are there any more than the four I see?" Anna demanded.
"Don't know," Remo said. "Depends on which four you see."
"That is all of them," Chiun answered thinly.
"Good," Anna said, pocketing her binoculars. "You are safe, for none of them is Skachkov." Chiun's prophecy and Anna's obsession over this one commando were finally getting to Remo.
"How good is this guy?" he muttered.
"Just be careful, Remo," Anna stressed.
When he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw a look of genuine concern on Anna's pale face.
"Whatever," he grumbled. "Just stay in the car. Chiun and I will take care of these guys."
The soldiers didn't seem very concerned about a lone vehicle approaching their conqu
ered town. One had been talking on a stolen cell phone as Remo's truck approached. He continued his conversation as the Land Rover stopped, a blandly arrogant eye directed toward the intruders.
Only when Remo and Chiun emerged did the soldier with the phone suddenly grow interested. As the other three commandos raised their weapons, the fourth man spoke in rushed, almost reverent tones into his phone.
"What gives?" Remo asked as he swung his door shut.
As he and his pupil walked over to the men at the barricade, the Master of Sinanju cocked an ear.
"He says he recognizes you," Chiun replied. The instant he said it, the old Asian's face registered surprise.
"What?" Remo asked, noting his teacher's expression.
"He claims to know me, as well."
"Just like the one in the camp," Remo mused. "And one of the guys in that village called me Master just before I pulled his plug. Gotta be Purcell. He told them about us."
"He did not tell them everything," Chiun intoned ominously. "For he obviously did not warn them of the penalty for stealing from the House of Sinanju." Shoving in front of his pupil, he flounced over to the commandos. "Attention, thieves!" he proclaimed. "Being Russian and, thus, used to having everything of value stripped from you all your wretched lives, including gold, dignity and sobriety, you no doubt knew that this day of atonement would come the moment you first chose to steal from Sinanju. Now, although you deserve no mercy, mercy shall be granted nonetheless. I promise you, your deaths will be swift. The line forms here. No shoving."
He folded his arms imperiously over his narrow chest.
Before him, the four Russians didn't know what to make of the strange little man. The soldier on the phone was whispering into the mouthpiece when he spotted something beyond Remo and Chiun. His eyes widened.
Hissing a few final words, he stuffed the phone away.
Remo had sensed Anna exiting the truck. Before he could tell her to get back inside, the men had raised their guns to her. A single shot cracked the cold air.
The bullet fired from Anna's automatic caught the soldier with the cell phone in the chest. He flopped back onto the hood of a Dodge that was part of their barricade.
By Eminent Domain td-124 Page 17