The physics professor glanced at the papers. When he saw his own handwriting, alarm turned to bafflement.
"Yes, they're-" He looked at a few more. They were all in his writing. Many had been copied from the notebook he now clutched in his sweating hand. The notebook he swore he'd left on his desk and that Brandy Brand had conveniently found on the photocopier.
"Oh, my," Melvin said softly.
His flabby face was bewildered when he looked up at the woman sitting in his office. Melvin couldn't believe it. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time.
His fear returned when the man pulled a nickled revolver from the depths of Brandy's bag. The Russian stuck Brandy's gun into his belt.
"Who are you?" Professor Horowitz asked her, shocked.
The young woman screwed her mouth shut. With angry defiance she stared at the office wall.
"I don't have time for this now," the Russian snapped at Horowitz. "You are wanted at the site immediately. Call your campus police. Have them hold this woman until she can be transferred to local authorities."
He turned back to Brandy. For the first time something resembling a smile cracked his frozen features. "Once I have delivered the professor, I will enjoy questioning you personally."
Melvin Horowitz didn't like the sound of any of this.
With fading hope that he would ever succeed with the only romantic prospect to cross his path since his brief dalliance with a nearsighted Chinese exchange student his junior year at MIT, the physics professor hurried obediently to the office phone.
REMO WILLIAMS HAD SEEN a great many things during his time as America's official assassin. So much so that he had long assumed that he was immune to those things that might shock the faint of heart. But as this depressing day rolled on, he found the walls of casual certainty he had constructed for himself rapidly crumbling.
Remo had barely begun to come to terms with Anna's amazing return from the dead before having to cope with the reason she had come back into his life after all these years.
"Are you people nuts?" he demanded of Anna as they drove onto the campus of Barkley University.
"Russians have always been insane," Chiun observed from the back seat. "Ivan the Good was the only sane Russian, and look what it got him. Maligned by white historians with half-truths and baseless innuendos."
"Ivan the Terrible was mad," Anna said, peeved. She was trying to talk to Remo and didn't appreciate the old man's distraction.
"He had a right to be angry," Chiun sniffed. "Perhaps he knew what was in store for his nation. Tzar-hating fomenters running hither and thither, sticking their pointy beards into everyone else's bank accounts. Leave it to the Russians to find the only form of government more foolish than representative democracy. And need I remind you, Remo, that every moment we squander here, someone less deserving is acquiring the deed to the next Castle Sinanju? We should be back in the village of idiots, not this training ground."
"The party's over back there, Chiun," Remo said. "No stand-up comic wants to follow seven dead Russians and a riot. No Buffoon Aid benefit means no houses getting passed out. Not that there were any to begin with."
"This is your fault, woman," the old man accused Anna Chutesov. "You are not returned five minutes and you have already cost me my second beloved home in less than a month. I say we bind her by hand and foot and throw her on the next freighter bound for Istanbul. During Tzar Ivan's time they paid a high price for blond-haired blue-eyed slaves."
"No white slavery," Remo said firmly. "At least not until she's finished laying out this mess."
He turned to Anna, steering her back to the topic at hand. "What the hell is a particle-beam weapon?"
"It follows the same principle as a laser," Anna explained. "The beam produced is a stream of subatomic particles, which, when accelerated, is able to nearly reach the speed of light. It is like an invisible cannon with a destructive force unmatched on Earth."
"Sounds like science fiction to me," Remo grumbled.
"It is science fact," Anna said darkly. "In spite of problems early on in the development. At first the beam was bent and dissipated by Earth's magnetic field or disrupted by air molecules. But this was all eventually overcome. For our current dilemma, the worst breakthrough was miniaturization. The original design had a device two miles long, four miles wide and weighing more than five hundred tons. Thanks to the diligence of the scientific team that developed it, it was shrunk considerably. It could now be hidden in any building, wooded area or even on this campus."
"That's just swell," Remo said sourly. "Just because you people lose one dinky little cold war is no reason to let your whole country go to hell. How'd you let something like that fall into the hands of some whacked-out general?"
The corners of her mouth twisted, as if Feyodov's corruption were somehow a personal affront. "Boris Feyodov is no longer a general," Anna said thinly. "He was disgraced more than a year ago. It was after his dishonorable discharge that he further sullied his uniform by joining the black market."
"Big whoop there," Remo said. "Isn't a Russian in the black market like a Kennedy in a cocktail lounge? The world's in shock when they're not shaking down Shoeshine Boy for booze and quarters."
Anna's tone grew frosty. "I am not in the black market," she said, insulted.
"No, but you are hiding something," Remo replied absently. He drummed his fingers on the door handle.
As she drove, Anna shot him a glance. "What do you mean?" she asked innocently.
Anna did her best to conceal it. In fact, she did a lot better than most. But as Remo had suspected, when she spoke her body stiffened slightly and her voice rose just a hair.
"Definitely hiding something," Remo nodded. "Wouldn't you say so, Little Father?"
"She is a Russian, she is a female and she lied to us for the last ten years by pretending to be dead," Chiun said, his tone flat. "Forgive me, Remo, if I do not express grave disappointment that she would continue to deceive."
Anna's fingers had tensed on the wheel.
"Relax," Remo said. "You're a good liar, Anna, but we're better-" He paused, tipping his head to consider. "We're just better, and let's leave it at that."
In the back Chiun harrumphed quiet approval at his pupil's description. He continued to stare out the window.
Anna was relieved when Remo didn't probe further.
"So what are we doing here?" Remo asked. He looked out at the college students who were walking along the sidewalk.
They were passing by the dorms at the edge of the campus. Vines clung to the big brick buildings. Although nothing in California ever seemed old to him, this place appeared to have some sense of history to it.
"If Feyodov smuggled the device to Barkley, as I suspect he has, he still would not have the technical skills to reassemble and fire it," Anna explained. "He would need individuals possessed with knowledge in physics, engineering and computer sciences."
Remo snorted. "Good luck finding anyone here who can do any of that stuff," he said.
"Why do you say that?" she asked. "This is one of the most famous universities in your country."
"Fame doesn't equal good, Anna," Remo said. "Anyone who's ever seen a Jim Carrey movie knows that. Community colleges laugh at Barkley's curriculum. They're the folks who pioneered challenging courses like Touching Yourself 101, Crapping on Canvas and Why It's Art, and Introduction to Why White People Suck."
Chiun quickly chimed in from the back seat. "If I did not know you were trying to be clever with that last one, I would have the female stop at the office of admissions," the Master of Sinanju said. "It would do you both good to expand your minds."
As she drove, Anna punched an angry fist against the steering wheel. "If those SVR idiots had been able to collect Koskolov quietly instead of shooting him dead, we would already have Feyodov by now instead of having to waste our time searching for him," she muttered.
"Yeah, Russian hit teams just aren't as trustworthy as they used to b
e," Remo droned. "And maybe this General Fabio doesn't need any outside help. He could have brought the original team over here with him."
Anna shook her head angrily. "Feyodov had the team scientists executed fifteen years ago."
Remo's brow sank. "Why?"
This time Anna felt the tension clutch her body. She shook her head, annoyed at her own lack of total control.
"That is a state secret," she said. "But I can tell you that the weapon was constructed at the Sary Shagan base, which was under Feyodov's command at the time. It was test fired once, and it did work. What's more, a recent audit of equipment found that much has been looted from the base, including the weapon in question. And Feyodov was seen a great deal in the area, as well as near here. Given the fact that there have been three satellites destroyed in the past two days, I have concluded he is using the weapon. Most likely, for a client. As far as the client's purpose, I do not know. Feyodov's motivation is an easier thing to determine. He is largely inspired by greed."
Remo crossed his arms, exhaling angrily. "Anyone else here miss the days when Russian generals were in it for the boots and the chicks and that whole world-domination thing?" he grumbled. "Now they're all having sword fights over who's got the bigger IRA."
Anna's face was grave. "That is not his only motivation, Remo," she said. "But it is the simplest. The rest goes to his psychological makeup, which is too lengthy to get into right now. Suffice to say that Feyodov is a deeply disturbed man. And he has stolen the means to throw mankind back into the technological dark ages."
"Don't you think you're overstating it?" Remo sighed. "Even if you're right, what's a couple of satellites? Just have NASA launch a few more."
"They cost millions, some billions of your dollars," Anna said. "No one could afford to put any more in orbit if they are just going to be destroyed once they get there."
"Still don't see how my life'll change one jot," Remo muttered.
Anna shook her head, amazed. "Do you have any idea how much the human race relies on space-based technology today?"
"Gonna take a wild stab and say too much," Remo said.
"Hear, hear," Chiun echoed.
Anna nodded seriously. "You are correct. Telecommunications, computer networks, national defense, entertainment, scientific research. Even something as simple as weather forecasting could be affected."
"Don't like to talk on the phone, TV sucks since they took Gunsmoke off and since when can the weathermen do anything more than make the sports guy look bright by comparison?"
Anna simply couldn't believe his attitude. She gave up trying to convince him of the seriousness of the situation. "You have changed since last I knew you," she said quietly.
Remo nodded. "Unlike you, I haven't been dead." As soon as he spoke, he reconsidered. "Well, maybe once or twice. But never for ten years at a stretch. Guess I've just learned not to sweat the small stuff so much."
At this Chiun snorted. "Please, Remo," the old man chided. "Unlike your other conquests, this one was never a fool. He has changed," he told Anna. "He has accepted who and what he is. He knows his place in the universe and no longer feels the need to be something that he is not. But in spite of all this, he will always feel the need to redress the wrongs of the world. It is a curse that I fear he will carry to the grave." His voice dropped low and he focused all attention on Remo, concluding darkly, "And he owes it all to his own big, blubbery, careless mouth." Brow dropping low over accusing hazel orbs, he sank back in his seat.
"What is he talking about?" Anna asked.
"Long story," Remo said. "Short version, I pissed off some gods in Africa."
"Ah," Anna said, nodding. She had heard such fanciful tales from the two men before.
As they wended their way through the campus, Remo looked back out the window at the passing students. All at once he sat up straighter in his seat.
There was a young boy standing alone on the sidewalk. He couldn't have been more than six. A knot of coarse black hair capped his head. As they approached, his flat Korean face was barely visible in profile.
Remo seemed about to speak when the boy turned. As soon as he saw the boy's full face, the tension drained from Remo's body. Almost at the same time the boy ran over to a young woman. Hand in hand the two walked off across the grass.
Behind the wheel Anna noted Remo's interest in the boy. "What is it?" she asked.
Remo frowned. "Nothing," he grunted, tearing his eyes away from the mother and child. "Lot of Asians at this school." He stared glumly out at the road ahead.
There was an awkward moment of silence during which the Russian agent fidgeted uncomfortably. "I do not see a wedding band," Anna announced all at once, regretting the words as soon as she spoke them. For an instant she turned a bland eye from the road.
"Yeah, and you don't see a feathered boa, either," Remo said. "There's a parking space." Swallowing the embarrassment she felt for her blurted observation, Anna kept her mouth screwed tightly shut as she pulled into the space in the student parking lot.
They left the rental car and followed a winding, tree-lined path into the main quad of Barkley University. Since the first building they came upon was the mathematics center, Anna decided they should start there.
The three of them were climbing the broad front stairs when the main door burst open. A young woman who looked a little too old to be a student was being carted out into the sunlight, flanked on either side by campus police officers. The two men began dragging the girl down the stairs.
"Let me go!" she yelled.
The woman was struggling desperately to pull free. The group was halfway down the stairs when her frantic, darting eyes fell on the three individuals coming up the steps. Shocked hope sprang full on her panicked face.
"Remo!" the girl cried.
Surprised to hear his name, Remo glanced at the student as she passed by. When he got a good look at her face, he blinked. His eyes darted to the Master of Sinanju. Chiun's own brow had knotted in recognition.
"Don't just stand there, get me loose!" Brandy Brand shot back over her shoulder as the campus security guards hauled her down the stairs.
Remo shook his head. "It never rains..." he muttered.
Spinning from Anna and Chiun, he bounded back down to the foot of the stairs.
"Who is she?" Anna asked the Master of Sinanju. She tried to hide her look of thin displeasure as she studied the very, very young woman Remo was running after.
Chiun shrugged indifferently. "Remo has met so many comely, youthful females since he discarded you like a worn-out sandal that it has been difficult for me to keep track," he offered. A single careful eye looked Anna's way.
With an impatient hiss, Anna glanced down the stairs.
When the guards hit the sidewalk, they found Remo barring their path.
"Okay, Barney and Andy," he said. "Your choice. You wanna let her go the easy way or the hard way?"
The campus security guards didn't have guns. One of them drew his billy club. When he tried to hit Remo with it, Remo split the nightstick up the middle and jammed both halves up the man's nostrils.
"They always pick the hard way," Remo said as the two men staggered away.
He turned his full attention to Brandy Brand. "Okay, what are you doing here?" he asked.
But she had already spun away from him. Without so much as a thank-you, she raced back up the stairs. Remo followed her, shrugging confusion to Anna and Chiun as they ascended. With Brandy in the lead, the four of them hurried through the big glass-and-chrome door and into the cool interior of the building.
Inside they raced down the hallway.
"Who is she?" Anna demanded of Remo as they ran.
As soon as Anna spoke, Brandy stopped dead. Her head snapped around, her eyes shocked.
"You're Russian," she accused.
"Yes," Anna admitted. She quickly held up a hand. "I suspect, however, that we are on the same side here. You are a government agent of some sort?"
Br
andy shook her head. Before she could issue any denials, Remo jumped in.
"Her name's Buffy something-or-other," he supplied. "She's with the FBI. Or maybe it was the CIA. Anyway, it's one of those dipwaddle agencies that's always poncing around making messes I've got to clean up. She helped me out a couple years back." To Brandy he said, "And, yes, Anna's Russian, but it's like a mole or a wooden leg. For the sake of politeness we try not to mention it. And apparently we're all here to stop what's going on. Whatever the hell that is."
Brandy clenched her jaw tightly as she considered his words. Finally, she shook her head violently. "I don't have time for this," she barked. "I'm FBI, not CIA and it's not Buffy anymore, it's Brandy."
She turned and ran. The others followed.
The door to Professor Horowitz's office was locked. At Brandy's urging, Remo popped it open with the flat of his palm. The four of them slipped inside.
Her knapsack sat on the professor's desk. Brandy went straight for it, tearing it open. As she expected, all of the papers were gone. She dug around at the bottom, tearing up a Velcro strap that looked like part of the seam. Wrapped tightly in a small hand towel was a second revolver. Brandy pulled the weapon out, glancing at Anna.
"Since the Cold War ended, you people have gotten sloppy," she said to Anna.
Brandy pulled out a hip holster. Hooking it on to the belt of her skirt, she slipped the revolver inside. Anna didn't hear her. The Russian agent had stepped over to a cork message board that was fastened to the wall. Thumbtacked in the center was a crude drawing.
"My God, I was right," she whispered. Frowning, Remo looked at the doodle. What appeared to be a long tunnel led to something that looked like an upright mechanical claw gripping a large cylinder. Pencil rays shot into the sky. On the side of an exploding satellite, Dr. Melvin Horowitz had drawn a smiley face.
"Yep," Remo nodded. "Looks like the peaceniks have got themselves a death ray. If I cared, I'd probably be wondering right about now what they plan to do with it."
Anna shot him a baleful glance.
"Tell me again how apathetic you are, Remo, when you have to communicate with two tin cans on a string," she said, turning full attention back to the drawing.
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