Chiun remained frozen in place, a single sandal toe on the top step of the hidden staircase. He seemed to be waiting for his pupil to say something more.
"No," the old man agreed slowly, after Remo's silence had gone on more than a questioning heartbeat. "I cannot. Nor can I stop you if you choose to tag along on this misadventure of your creation. But I am going."
With that he floated like a wraith down the dark stairs.
Remo watched his bald head descend.
There was something in the moment that had just passed. Something small yet momentous. But for Remo it was like wrestling a shadow. He just couldn't grab on.
And then it was gone.
Shucking off a bout of momentary confusion, Remo's face steeled. With certain steps he hurried down the stairs after the Master of Sinanju.
ANNA WAS TICKING off the seconds in her head.
It had been two minutes since Feyodov's man announced the countdown. That meant there were only three left.
The world had not yet learned the truth of any of this. All the proof she needed was the fact that Barkley was not yet a radioactive crater. She would not have thought it possible but, remarkably, cooler heads were prevailing.
But the fact that no missiles had yet been launched would soon matter not. It would all be over once Feyodov shot down another American space shuttle. At that point the simmering pot would boil over.
If she could only find a way to stop him.
She glanced over her shoulder. The instant she did so, the men guarding her raised their rifles a hair. She turned away. "Idiots," Anna muttered.
It was hopeless. Her weapon was gone. There was no way she could overpower the two black market men. All she could do was sit and wait for the end to come.
As she continued to count the seconds, her busy mind heard something down the far end of the tunnel.
It was hard to distinguish over the constant hum that filled the air. It was a sort of brittle crack-crack-crack. Like the snapping of dry kindling.
When she looked back she saw one of Feyodov's black market men running down the tunnel.
No. Not running. To run one needed functioning legs. Since his were knotted up to his pelvis in a flesh-and-bone imitation of a Christmas bow, it would have been impossible for the man to run. His feet dangled loose in the air.
Screaming as he flew down the tunnel, the man slammed with bone-pulverizing ferocity into one of the soldiers guarding Anna. The twisted bundle of arms and legs bounced off a workstation and collapsed in a deflating heap on the metal flooring.
"Strong routine, but weak on the dismount," a familiar voice called from down the corridor. "I'd give it a six-point-five. What does the North Korean judge think?"
"Hurry up, blockhead," came the squeaky reply. The remaining guard was pulling his rifle high and twisting for the voices at the dark end of the tunnel. Anna didn't give him a chance to shoot.
As the man pivoted, she jumped on the first soldier's dropped gun. In a heartbeat she had the rifle up. With an explosive crack she sent a single bullet into the man's back.
The black marketer was sprawling face-first on the decking when Remo and Chiun appeared. Although Remo seemed unaffected by their surroundings, a hint of strain touched the Master of Sinanju's wrinkled face. He flounced beside his pupil like a fussy bird.
"What'd you do that for?" Remo groused at Anna as he glanced down at the body.
Anna hefted the gun. "Granted it is not as efficient as your plan of hurling crippled bodies around the room," she said blandly, "but the results are the same."
"Not really," Remo said. "Case in point."
He pointed down an adjacent tunnel. Even as his finger was unfurling, Oleg Shevtrinko came running into view brandishing an automatic pistol. His eyes went wide when he saw Remo and Chiun, wider still when he saw the bodies of his three compatriots on the floor. The Russian cursed hotly.
"See what I mean?" Remo said to Anna, unmindful of Oleg's gun. "Those boom noises always attract more boom noises."
Wincing at the pain in his bandaged shoulder, the black marketer whipped his gun up. Before Oleg could pull the trigger, Anna Chutesov fired.
The bullet struck Oleg hard in the center of his bulletproof vest. The wind punched from his lungs, the Russian fell back onto the floor. His gun clattered away.
"Stop doing that," Remo complained.
As he spoke to Anna, he felt a gentle touch on his bare forearm.
"Remo," the Master of Sinanju interrupted tensely.
When Remo looked down, he saw that the look of exertion on his teacher's face had grown worse. "Right," Remo nodded, turning on his heel. "Let's get you out of here. We can sort out why you pulled this Anna-against-the-world crapola once this place is toast."
Anna shook her head. "Wait," she insisted.
"No time to fart around," Remo said tightly. His senses were focused on the far end of the corridor. The tunnel arced around in the distance, making the end invisible. Somewhere far along was the Huitzilopochtli statue. Between there and here Remo sensed about two dozen more men. After Anna's two gunshots, some of the closest black market men had started to move in their direction.
"We cannot go," Anna insisted. "Feyodov plans to fire the weapon again."
"All the more reason for me and Chiun to get as far away as possible," Remo said. He grabbed her by the arm.
"You don't understand!" she pleaded. "He is going to destroy another space shuttle!"
This got Remo's attention.
"Dammit, what's with this guy?" Remo growled. "How much time we got?"
"Under two minutes," Anna urged. "And if we do not stop it, the global ramifications will be catastrophic."
"My worries go bigger than that," Remo said. He cast a concerned eye at the Master of Sinanju. The old man was growing more haggard by the second. The very air seemed to be draining the life from him.
"You two get out of here," Remo said. "I'll take-"
He was shocked when he was interrupted.
Remo thought his senses had been working at peak. But apparently his body, like Chiun's, had begun to fall victim to the subtle disruptions in the air around them. He realized that the instant the pack of gun-wielding Russians charged into view at the far end of the tunnel.
He thought the tunnel had been longer, thought they had more time. Before Remo could reorient himself, before he could shout a warning to Chiun, before he could even utter a single word, the Russians fired.
And the tunnel flashed to explosive life with the deadly crackle of automatic-weapons fire.
Chapter 31
To Boris Feyodov the distant gunshots were just so much background noise. He was standing over a computer console, his dark eyes glued to the screen. The tunnel ended directly beside him. The high walls of the Huitzilopochtli statue rose grandly into the blue sky.
"Is it done?" the former general demanded. Seated at the control console, Professor Melvin Horowitz nodded. "It's synched with the NASA countdown and locked in to autofire forty seconds after the shuttle lifts off."
Feyodov glanced up the dark tunnel.
The shooting had intensified. Obviously, his men were encountering some resistance.
The two Sinanju masters. It had to be them. Up until now fate had finally been kind enough to supply him with all the tools and targets for his great act of vengeance.
"Can it be undone?" Feyodov demanded.
"It'd be tricky to do fast," the Barkley professor replied. "But I think I could do it."
Feyodov looked rapidly around the area. As Horowitz studied the monitor, the general quickly stooped. His fingers wrapped around a length of half-moon steel piping that encased the thick cables running along the edge of the tunnel. Picking up the five-foot-long section of pipe, he hauled back. With a triumphant grunt he bashed the hunk of steel viciously into the back of Melvin Horowitz's head.
Blood splattered across the monitor. Horowitz slumped forward, toppling sideways out of his chair. Feyodov didn't even s
eem aware of what he had done. The pipe slipped from his fingers, clanging to the metal floor. His gaze was locked on the red-flecked computer screen.
Eyes ever alert, the former general watched as the digital timer flashed rapidly down to zero.
BEFORE THE BULLETS even started flying, Remo knew his body was out of whack. Not wanting to give opportunity to error, he grabbed the first protective shield he could find. Fortunately, it was a bulletproof Kevlar vest. Unfortunately for its owner, it was still wrapped around his body.
"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" screamed Oleg Shevtrinko as his black market compatriots trained their weapons at him.
The men down the tunnel didn't seem to hear him. They continued firing, trying to hit the target beyond their confederate. Bullets thudded into Oleg.
"Ow! Ow! Stop it! Stop shooting me!" Oleg yelled as round after round pounded into his chest. Remo held the squirming Russian at arm's length like a knight's shield at the Crusades.
"Excelsior!" he yelled as he charged down the tunnel.
Chiun and Anna followed close behind. Weaving and ducking, Remo harvested bullets from the air like autumn fruit. By the time they reached the group of Russians, Oleg's organs had been pounded to jelly.
Remo tossed the dead man unceremoniously to the floor. Like twin hurricanes of unbridled fury, he and the Master of Sinanju fell on the group of suddenly panicking Russians.
Beefy shoulders yielded arms. Thick necks surrendered heads. In seconds a grisly pile of twitching appendages was mounded on the cool steel floor.
Remo finished the last black market soldier with a heel to the jaw that sent the man's head spinning like a lead ball on the elongated end of his elasticized neck.
As the body fell, he twirled to the Master of Sinanju.
Chiun stood ankle deep in body parts.
The old man seemed no worse than he'd been a few moments before. But given his reaction the previous day, there was no telling how strongly he'd be affected if he was standing this close to the weapon when it discharged.
It would be easier if he just got out of there, but there was no sense wasting time arguing.
"We better do this fast," Remo said.
He hadn't taken a single step when a thought occurred to him. Glancing around, he saw only the Master of Sinanju and the stack of Russian bodies. There was no one else in sight.
When he looked back to Chiun, his deep-set eyes held a glint of fresh concern.
"Where's Anna?" Remo asked warily.
WHEN ANNA ROUNDED the corner she saw the lone figure standing anxiously over a distant computer monitor.
So entranced was he with the action on the screen that Boris Feyodov didn't even notice her. The body of Professor Melvin Horowitz lay at his feet.
Anna had never been one to shrink from doing that which was necessary. With Remo and Chiun undoubtedly closing in behind, she would have to act quickly.
Raising her rifle to shoulder level, she fired. Down the tunnel the former Red Army general didn't have time to react to the sound before the bullet struck.
It bit straight through the arm, burying deep inside his rib cage. The single shot sent him sprawling. He fell into the arc of white sunlight that spilled into the tunnel from the open top of the Huitzilopochtli statue.
Feyodov instinctively began crawling across the patch of light, out into the open-air safety of the stone statue. With wild eyes he looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Anna Chutesov approaching, his face grew more panicked. He braced a hand against his side to staunch the flow of blood.
"It is too late!" the general cried, still crawling.
Tables and consoles prevented Anna from getting another clear shot. She hurried after him, gun raised. Far along, Feyodov pulled his hand away from the wound.
Blood. His blood.
A new look of deep fear flooding his sagging features, he flopped out into the hollow of the massive statue.
Anna would have continued after him if not for the strong hand that suddenly latched on to her elbow. Wheeling, she found Remo and Chiun standing behind her.
"Let's do this fast," Remo pressed.
"That was Feyodov," Anna insisted, struggling to break free of his grip. "I cannot let him escape."
"Dammit, Anna, stop making friends and help out here," Remo snapped. "He's not going anywhere. And you're the one who keeps saying the whole world's gonna go kerplooey."
The urgency of his words hit hard. The fight draining from her, she hurried over to the last console. Bracing her gun against it, she slipped into Melvin Horowitz's seat.
"The system is locked to fire," Anna announced after a cursory examination.
On the screen the counter flew below the sixty-second mark. Nearby television screens displayed images of the space shuttle on its Florida launch pad. "Pull the plug," Remo commanded.
"It isn't a hair dryer with a cord plugged into the wall. To dismantle it would take time we do not have."
As Anna's mind raced desperately for a solution, Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju.
Sweat had broken out across the old man's forehead.
Anna's earlier assessment had been right. Because of his advanced age, the Korean was feeling the effects worse than Remo. Not that the younger Master of Sinanju was immune. Remo doubted either of them could survive if they were this close to the weapon when it discharged.
"You better get out of here, Little Father," Remo insisted. "Anna and I will take it from here."
"If it cannot be stopped, there is no point in any of us staying," Chiun replied.
It was true. Remo nodded agreement, turning to Anna. "He's right," he said. "Let's amscray." Anna had been looking desperately around the area. From where she sat she had a partial view of the statue's wide interior. A sliver of blue sky was visible at the top. Near it, something glimmered with reflected light.
She spun excitedly to Remo.
"The mirrors!" she announced. Breathlessly, she pointed up to the very top of the slender tower that stretched up from the floor at the center of the stone statue. "Shatter them and the beam will be unfocused."
Picking up the thread, Remo looked up the tower. "Done," he said. He whirled to the Master of Sinanju. "Get Anna out of here, Little Father. I'll see you on the other side."
Anna was about to object when she felt a firm hand grab her around the waist. In a trice she was up on the Master of Sinanju's shoulder and the old man was bounding back into the depths of the long tunnel.
Alone, Remo raced out into the belly of Huitzilopochtli.
As he flew across the floor, his internal clock told him there were only forty-nine seconds remaining. Boris Feyodov had made it as far as Zen Bower's body. His breathing ragged, the general lay next to the ice cream man's corpse. Blood gurgled from between his dying lips.
At Remo's appearance, Feyodov's eyes rolled open.
"You come to me at last," the old general coughed. Wincing in pain, he pressed his hand more firmly against his bleeding side. His pale fingers were already stained red.
"Love to chitchat with the suicidal general," Remo said as he flew past, "but I've got work to do."
A long access ladder ran up the side of the slender tower. Remo began scurrying rapidly up the metal rungs.
As Remo flew up the four-story tower, Feyodov's weak voice trailed after him.
"Work? You were supposed to work for me. You and the old one," the general called. "You never came. But she did. Thanks to you she took the last scraps of my life." His tone grew cryptic. "And she took even more from you."
Remo found that he was forced to concentrate more than usual during his ascent. Staving off lightheadedness, he was doing his best to ignore the ramblings of the dying man.
The ladder ended at a circular platform. By the time Remo reached it, only thirty seconds remained. The cupped mirrors that focused the energy of the particle stream were aimed into the eastern sky.
"Ask her about the Institute," Feyodov called. "Ask her about Mactep. Ask her about
what she-" he paused for a pained gasp "-what she... stole from you."
It was the intensity with which the words were spoken. From the top of the tower platform, Remo glanced down.
Far below, a thin smile touched the general's ashen lips. Pink froth bubbled from between them. No time to ask.
Remo was about to shatter the thick mirrors when another thought occurred to him.
With two swift swats he cracked the mirrors from their swivel bases and repositioned them, each aimed in a different direction. His work done, he leaped from the platform over to the uppermost metal catwalk that rimmed the interior of the big statue. He scrambled up the inner wall of the statue, disappearing over the edge.
At the bottom of the hollow interior, Boris Feyodov watched Remo slip from sight.
Whatever the young one had done to forestall Feyodov's revenge, it was too late. It would come. Perhaps not this day and not as he had expected it to, but it was inevitable. The men from Sinanju didn't know it, but one way or another the former Red Army general would have some small vengeance.
A smile still on his lips, General Boris Feyodov closed his weary eyes. And when the death he had feared for so many years finally came to claim the old soldier, it was like welcoming an old friend.
Chapter 32
Brandy Brand was standing anxiously on the sidewalk at the edge of the Barkley common when she saw Remo pop like a jack-in-the-box from out of Huitzilopochtli's stone head.
His descent was so rapid that at first she thought he was falling. He was halfway down the face when Chiun appeared from the door of the city hall. Anna Chutesov was flung over the old man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Remo touched ground even as Chiun was darting down the steps. Racing full out, the two men met on the common. Side by side they tore across the grass toward Brandy.
The four bomb-filled duffel bags were at Brandy's feet. After Chiun had dropped Anna next to the FBI agent, the two men scooped up the bags, one in each hand.
"Bombs away, Little Father," Remo said tightly. "But I didn't set the timers yet," Brandy insisted. Remo and Chiun ignored her. Hauling back, they hurled their bundles high into the California sky. The four bags became specks of black in the vast blue backdrop.
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