"Horses, move backward. Back. And you there. Clean up the droppings. Don't litter the tundra. Bunch of dirty dogs. Back."
A warrior dismounted, and quickly gathered a loose plop of goo in a skin.
"You didn't have to use your hands. We may be eating supper with you. On second thought, if you've only got yak meat, we'll do without. I'm looking for someone."
"Whom, Skirah, do you seek?"
"He calls himself Mr. Arieson and I think he should be around here."
"Arieson?"
"Thick neck. Beard. Blazing eyes. Hard to put a spear through. Probably impossible."
"Oh, you mean our friend Kakak."
"White?" asked Remo.
"What else is the color of ugly dead flesh?" asked Huak.
"Do you want to stay on that horse or would you like to blend in with the tundra?" said Remo.
"I did not mean to dishonor your color, Skirah. Come with us and take your glorious bride spirit with you. Our encampment is not far away."
"Ride ahead and clear the horses out. I don't want to be downwind from you guys."
"As you say, Skirah," said Huak to Remo.
"Who is Skirah?" asked Anna.
"One of their spirits. Maybe the way they pronounce Sinanju."
"I think I understand. Religion, spirits, and gods are the way people explain to themselves what they don't understand. So when Genghis Khan died at the hands of Sinanju, they explained it away as a bad spirit. And it had to be a great bad spirit because Genghis Khan was great. It's all logical. Everything in the world is logical, except we don't always understand the logic right away. Don't you think?"
"We're walking behind eight hundred horses, and you're thinking about rational explanations for myths?" asked Remo.
"What should I be thinking about?"
"Where you're stepping," said Remo.
Anna felt a sudden warm moistness up around the calf of her boot. She realized Remo could be brilliant at times.
But there was something far more sinister on the tundra. As they approached the encampment, great gaping cracks appeared around them, parallel paths chewing up the frost-white earth, churning up frozen blackness underneath. Something had passed here very recently, and it used treads. Tanks.
But the Mongols of the horde did not use tanks, at least not to Anna's knowledge. With modern equipment like that, these horsemen-invincible in the frozen wastes of Siberia-could theoretically overrun Europe, something they could not do with Genghis Khan.
Then again, the family that had stopped him was back again. He might stop them before they broke out.
Unless, thought Anna, the treads were not made by Mongol-driven tanks at all. Maybe it is something worse.
And as soon as they saw the encampment, Anna knew the worst had happened. Walking freely among the Mongols were Russian soldiers and officers. Thousands of them. She saw them with their arms around the shoulders of the Mongols, and vice versa.
That meant the prohibition against whites was not universal. The Russian soldiers had somehow earned the friendship of the Mongols, and considering the Mongol mentality and the military mentality, she was fairly certain how it happened.
"Remo, ask the leader why they are friendly with Russians now."
She heard Remo call out to the backs of the hundreds of horsemen and one of them turned around and galloped back. She heard Remo ask questions in that strange tongue and saw many hand motions on the part of the Mongol.
Remo translated as the Mongol spoke.
"There was a great battle, not in numbers but in spirit. The whites showed they did not fear death. They only feared dishonor. They showed a love of battle and a love of war."
Anna nodded. It was all coming together now. Remo continued:
"They did not fight as whites ordinarily do, to steal something, to protect something, or just to save their miserable lives. They fought for the honor of fighting. These are the first whites who understood war."
"He mentioned that name for Arieson. Kakak."
"No," said Remo. "That is their name for war. Mr. Arieson, I guess quite logically, means war."
"That's the only thing he seems to mean," said Anna. So elements of the Russian army had joined the Mongol horde. And she was fairly certain how they would pull off this war with America. And they just might win it, even without the use of nuclear weapons.
They could pour over the Bering Strait supported by ships from the Vladivostok naval station that had sailed north. It would not be easy, but since America always suspected an attack against Europe and not its own borders, then they could be taken by surprise. What forces did America have to oppose the Russians? Nothing but what was in Alaska, and the trek up through Canada would be almost as long as Russia's trek to its borders. They could battle down through Canada, and with the spirit of these soldiers, they could just as well win.
What was she thinking? Was she insane? Was she so marrow-deep a Russian that she thought they would win something by conquering America?
How could they occupy a country of two hundred and forty million, moving their forces not only through Siberian transit but down across Canada as well? They would also have to conquer Canada. And should that even be possible, should moving the troops be as easy as moving from Minsk to Pinsk, why on earth would they think that occupying America would do them any good? To be free of a competitor with nuclear weapons? There would surely be another, and if Russia should attain its age-old dream of conquering the world, anyone who knew how men traditionally ran things had to understand that the world would have to split up into two camps and there could just as easily be a war between Russia East and Russia West.
No, this had to be stopped here. This had to be stopped now. And she was grateful that the man beside her, this glorious, handsome, wonderful anachronism, was the only man to do it.
As for Mr. Arieson, she was sure there was a logical explanation for this creature that had not occurred to Remo or his rather intelligent superior, Harold W. Smith.
Remo understood the world of the extent of the human body. Smith understood things mostly in the great world of technology, but no one yet had brought common rational sense to Mr. Arieson.
It was she who had been able to understand that for some reason, Remo and his surrogate father, Chiun, were immune to Arieson's blandishments. It was she who understood that the only reason Remo felt he had failed was that he had not enjoyed the total victory Sinanju was used to.
And it was going to be Anna Chutesov who would figure out what Mr. Arieson's real weaknesses were. She had never failed with any other man. There was no reason to start failing now.
And yet, Anna was not prepared for what she saw.
Riding on a little pony was a man so apparently powerful that power became a handsomeness the like of which she had never seen. His presence almost took her breath away. His beard seemed a perfect accessory for his strong jaw and muscled neck. His eyes had a glow of infinity to them. And he wore a simple Russian soldier's helmet, making it more glorious by his presence underneath it than any helmet on any soldier she had ever seen. She understood now why men could feel a glorious call to battle in his presence, and she hadn't even spoken to him vet.
"Here comes the spoilsport, men. Here he comes, sauntering after the fine cavalry. Come on, ruin it all for everyone."
This from Mr. Arieson, the voice carrying over a thousand tents and filling the slight valley in this wasteland.
"Look, already the horses are clearing out just because he doesn't want them. Glad to see you're here, Remo. You're not going to get me, but here you come nevertheless, empty-handed, despite the deal your father made."
"I see you don't mind the smell of horses," Remo called out. The entire camp stopped to look at the two men facing each other, taunting each other.
"Have you ever smelled a battlefield two days after? The rotting bodies would make you pass out."
"So why are you trying to start a war?" Remo called out. He made sure Anna was to the sid
e as he walked steadily toward Arieson.
"Who said I didn't like the smell? I love it. I said you'd pass out. I'd roll around in it and make sure people built statues there so they wouldn't remember how horrible it was, and think they really accomplished something."
A tank commander, hearing Mr. Arieson yell insults at the lone stranger, thought he would do a favor for this man who had given him the gift of heroism by running over the skinny white man who seemed not to need heavy winter clothes. He turned his massive ground-chewing machine toward the man and drove. He heard Mr. Arieson call out that it wouldn't do any good, that it never had, but the man now filled with the true spirit of battle was ready to die trying.
He charged his behemoth down on the thin figure and the man didn't bother to dodge, but like a bullfighter stepped to the side, cleaved off a tread barehanded, then cleaved off the other tread as the tank spun helplessly around.
The tank commander, enraged at losing his armorplated chariot, stormed out with his sidearm and a knife, and promptly found out what they tasted like as the thin stranger stuffed them down his throat and kept walking.
"See, it won't do anyone any good," called out Arieson. "That is an assassin. No soldier there. A Sinanju assassin. No glory there. Death in the night. Highest bidder gets the service. No courage in that man. Doesn't even fight fear. Uses it. No courage there, assassin."
"Is that true, Remo? Is that what is different?" said Anna.
"I have fear. I just use it. He's right."
"Look, let's talk to Mr. Arieson."
"I don't want to talk. I want to nail him."
"Have you tried talking?"
"You can't talk with a man who loves the smell of rotting bodies."
"But you haven't, have you?"
"I'll kill him, then I'll talk to him," said Remo, thinking that since his body blows had proved ineffective he might try hurling a soldier or two at Arieson's head and see what that produced.
"Very bright, Remo. Are you good at talking to the dead?"
"I mean when he's dead he won't be a problem anymore."
"You haven't succeeded yet. Just let me talk to him."
"Don't make it too long," said Remo.
"Why don't you fight some people while you're waiting?" said Anna.
"Are you being sarcastic?"
"Partly, but I want to understand his reactions to you. They're very interesting."
Close to Arieson, Anna sensed an inner laughter at everything that went on, almost as though he cared but didn't care. Several soldiers issued a challenge to Remo. Arieson called out that it wouldn't do any good, that the soldiers would die against Sinanju, that by the evening their commanders would be dead, and they would no longer be an army.
Sinanju had done this countless times throughout history.
"Were you there?" asked Anna.
"If you want to undress and dance for my glory, fine. But ask me questions?"
"Why not?" asked Anna.
"You just did it again."
"You made a deal with Remo's surrogate father. Perhaps I can help you make a deal with Remo."
"How do you deal with someone who is Sinanju and doesn't respect what he's dealing with?"
Remo cleaved Russian commandos with a back hand so slow it looked as though the hand itself was drawn out of his body. The soldiers went in separate directions, heads going one way, legs another. Anna turned away from the slaughter.
"No fair fight from Sinanju," called out Arieson. "Bunch of assassins."
"So Remo has some form of power over you," said Anna.
"Not over me. Over what I want to do. He gets in the way. These Sinanju boys have been doing that for centuries."
"And you've been around for centuries," said Anna. Arieson's strong legs seemed to caress the fat belly of the little horse. She wondered if the horse enjoyed it. She wondered if she would enjoy it. What was it about this man that so stimulated sexual desire in her? Remo did the same thing to her, but for a good reason. She had known the wonders he could deliver. All she knew about Arieson was that he could transform ordinary soldiers into valiant warriors.
The Mongols were avoiding the fight with Remo. Only the Russians kept coming on at him. She did not like to see this kind of killing. For the soldiers it was some form of glory. But she knew Remo might not even be thinking about what was going on except to be concentrating on the form of the blow to keep in good practice.
"What do you want, Mr. Arieson?"
"What does Remo want?" asked Arieson.
"The treasure of Sinanju," said Anna. The words were out almost immediately, but she knew she was right. Everything else had been a stalemate.
"Oh, that. The greedy rewards for murder."
"You made a deal with Chiun. Maybe I can broker a deal with Remo. I know he wants the treasure."
Anna heard something roll nearby. She hoped it wasn't a head.
She turned to Remo.
"Will you stop that, Remo?" she yelled.
"I didn't start anything. They're coming at me," Remo called back.
"Well, just stop it," she said, and turned away so she wouldn't see what would happen to three burly tankers who had now grabbed large steel wrenches and were going to try to beat the slim stranger with the thick wrists.
"I didn't start it," said Remo. "They were coming at me."
He was by her side now, looking up at Arieson. "Do you want the treasure of Sinanju?" asked Arieson.
"I do."
"What will you give me for it? Will you make the same deal as Chiun?"
"No," said Remo. "But I'm going to get the Premier and end this horde forever. We should have done it at the fringes of Europe when we took care of your boy Genghis Khan. Should have done the job right."
"Leave my horde alone. I've felt at home here more than with any other army."
"I don't want my country to be in a war with Russia."
"All right. All right. I'll go. There won't be a war. Will that make you happy?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, if that's your horrible price. You can have it this time. But I warn you, you can't stop me forever, especially now that I know you want the treasure of Sinanju."
"Do you know where it is?" asked Remo.
"Of course I do."
"How?" asked Remo.
"Ah," said Arieson, and it sounded like all the winds over all the deserts and all the battlefields that had ever been. And he sat no more on the Mongol pony before them. The pony whinnied and then scampered away, only to be brought quickly to rein by a young Mongol horseman in this forbidden encampment in the Siberian wasteland.
There was a silence all around them. Something important was no longer there, and neither Remo nor Anna knew what it was. Something seemed to go out of the Russian soldiers. There was no more bounce or joy or comradeship with the Mongols. They seemed like a bunch of men in uniforms stuck in a cold inhospitable place they would like to escape.
Only the Mongols seemed to stay the same, as a priest called out that Mr. Arieson remained in their hearts always.
"Anna, Anna," came the voice from a yak tent. A handsome bald-headed man wearing an ill-fitting Russian soldier's uniform was waving to Anna and Remo.
Remo recognized the face from the newspapers. It was the Russian Premier. "Anna, what are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" she answered.
"We are about to launch the greatest campaign in Russian history. Read this," he said. It was a piece of parchment with the Communist-party insignia on it.
Anna knew what it was. These things had not been seen for centuries, not since the advent of the sneak attack.
It was a declaration of war against America and it bore the Premier's signature. Arieson had gotten to the head of the Communist party as well as the soldiers. Here was a man who should have known better. He had lost his entire family in the great patriotic war in which Russia had defeated the lunacy of Nazi Germany.
Anna tore it up.
"What are you
doing?"
"It's all over."
"It can't be. I was going to conquer America," said the Premier.
"Excuse me," said Remo. He stepped in between Anna and the Premier, and with limited power and maximum palm exposure slapped the Premier hard, like a giant towel whacking water. The Premier's eyes teared momentarily, then a silly smile appeared on his face. He sniffled back the sudden nosebleed.
"Friendship always between the glorious freedom-loving American people and their allies, the glorious Russian people enjoying the fruits and luxuries of socialism," said the Premier.
The Russian soldiers, getting back to normal, now began to fear the Mongols again, and the Mongols, sensing it, began closing in. But Remo called out that his protection was upon them, and so he, Anna, and the Premier, with the defecting army units, made their way that day out of the special tribal encampments reserved for the notorious horde of Genghis Khan.
Harold W. Smith received word from his Russian contact, Anna Cliutesov, that the danger of imminent war was now over. But according to the pattern of this new force, it would reappear again. This he had to stress.
"Yes, but we're learning more about him, Mr. Smith. We are learning Remo has something he wants."
"And what's that?"
"Remo and Sinanju have been in his way for centuries."
"But he, whatever he is, whoever he is, is still around."
"Ah, but Mr. Smith, you are missing the most salient point. So is Sinanju."
In Anna's apartment they made love on a fur rug, with the apartment dark, with the quiet lights of Moscow beaming in the near distance, their bodies becoming one, until Anna with delirious joy shrieked the completion of her ecstasy.
"You're wonderful, Remo,"
"Fair. My mind's elsewhere," said Remo.
"You didn't have to tell me that."
"I don't mean to insult you, but lovemaking is part of my skills. Sometimes they're good and sometimes they're fair, just like other strokes. It doesn't mean I don't care."
An Old Fashioned War td-68 Page 16
