"Actually, comrade, there may be a slight problem." Ivan hated to admit it, but he feared the repercussions if he did not. His eyes were fixed squarely on his employer's sharp teeth. "The Kosygin Brigade has not reported in."
Black eyes narrowed. "Where were they last located?"
"Near Kakwik," Ivan explained. "There was not enough room to airlift them out with the rest. They were to be collected tomorrow."
Zhirinsky's next word was a hiss. "Skachkov?" he asked.
"He was not with them, comrade," Ivan promised. The brief flash of concern faded. "Is it a communication problem?" he suggested.
"There was some snow in that region of the Alyeska Republic," Ivan said, visibly relieved at his employer's calm acceptance. "The storm could have affected communications."
All remaining tension drained from Zhirinsky's bushy eyebrows. "Then that is what happened," he insisted. "Given their abilities, there is no other explanation." He frowned as he took a seat at one of the desks. "I do not like the fact that the Americans are ignoring us. Contact Skachkov. Tell him to purge another village. If they will not evacuate our property willingly, we will remove them one by one."
Ivan almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to leave the office. He couldn't use an office phone to call. The Moscow telephone company could rarely get them to work. He'd have to run around the corner to Arby's.
He was bounding out into the hallway when Zhirinsky's voice boomed behind him.
"Ivan!" the ultranationalist bellowed.
When the terrified young man turned, the former Russian senator was thoughtfully stroking his bushy mustache.
"Tell him to save the noses," he commanded. There was a hungry look in his demented eyes.
As Ivan left, shuddering, Vladimir Zhirinsky bowed his graying head and began sorting through the day's mail.
Chapter 18
The ground flew by beneath the belly of the racing Kamov, a blanket of soothing white stretching off to the horizon.
Remo, Chiun and Anna were in the back of the helicopter. The two Masters of Sinanju were side by side. Anna sat across from them.
"What the hell's a Zhirinsky?" Remo was asking Anna.
"He is an ultranationalist," she explained. "He was a senator in my country at one time. He is also one of many who would like nothing better than to see a return to the old Soviet totalitarian system."
"So much for my first guess," Remo said. "I thought it was one of those shitty kerosene-powered Eastern European cars with the bicycle tires. So where'd these guys of his get Sinanju training?"
"It is not Sinanju," Chiun interjected firmly. "Whatever it is they possess was not given them by a true Master and is therefore false. Since it is not Sinanju, it is less than Sinanju. These are no different than the thieving ninjas or Sherpas or all the others who would steal embers from the flame that is the true Sun Source."
"Sherpas?" Remo asked.
"Not now," Chiun intoned. "Your prostitute is about to speak."
"These men do have a Master," Anna said, ignoring the old man. "Lavrenty Skachkov is the most skilled of them all. He has guided the training of the rest of the men, who look on him with awe. They even call him Mactep. 'Master.'"
Chiun's face grew concerned. "This is true?" he demanded of Anna.
She nodded. "Skachkov is a true danger," she said. "He is not like the rest. I caution you to be very careful if you encounter him."
Remo's brow furrowed. "That Mactep thing sounds familiar," he said. "Where did I hear that word before?" He snapped his fingers. "I know. That whacko general with the death wish in California. Fraidykov."
"Yes," Anna said, nodding. "He apparently mentioned the word to you before he died. I told you that it was the name of the program General Feyodov led that was intended to bring Sinanju to Russia."
"Yeah, but you said it was just to get me and Chiun to work for you. And that was years ago. You didn't say anything about any other recruits."
"I am afraid I was not completely truthful with you," Anna admitted. In her blue eyes was a hint of genuine shame.
"There's a surprise," Remo said with a scowl. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected any more. This from a woman who managed to make a full recovery from being dead for thirteen years."
"Forget her," Chiun said in Korean. "We have a danger far greater here."
"What danger?" Remo asked. "These guys are no great shakes. We just took out ten of them without breaking a sweat."
"Did you not hear the woman?" Chiun insisted. "Or did you forget so soon the prophecy of Wang? 'Of Sinanju, yet not of Sinanju.' And what are these night tigers if not an army of death? We must beware this Master, Remo."
"I don't know, Little Father," Remo said. "I figured the false Master would be Korean, not Russian. After all, just saying you're a Master of Sinanju doesn't automatically make you a Master of Sinanju."
"That is not entirely true, either," Chiun said, his lips pulled tight, as if relating some painful truth.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Remo asked, noting the sudden stiff posture his teacher had affected.
"It means listen to this woman's advice," the Master of Sinanju said. "We must both exercise great caution, for the future of the line of the Great Wang rests on both our shoulders. And it is you who must ultimately face the false Master alone."
"Who says?" Remo asked.
"It was part of Wang's prophecy. I may assist you to remove his night tigers, but the Master must be dealt with by the youngest of the line. That is you."
Remo exhaled. "No pressure there," he muttered to himself. He turned his attention back to Anna.
"What was that all about?" she asked. Since she could not speak Korean, she had been unable to follow their conversation.
"Same old, same old," Remo sighed. "Last train for sanity's already left Removille, and I'm not on it. So where'd these soldier guys learn their moves?"
She looked from one man to the other, her brow knotted, before answering.
"In Moscow there is a training facility," Anna replied. "For more than a decade men have been recruited. Skachkov was one of the earliest. He, like many of the others, was a former athlete. Those who showed natural physical abilities were enrolled in the program."
"That's the what, but not the who," Remo said. "Someone had to have trained Scratchcop, right? If he's the almighty false Master, who taught him?"
Chiun also seemed interested in her response. "That is something you will have to ask him," Anna said.
There was a hint of vagueness in her tone. Although Remo missed it, Chiun did not.
Before she had even finished, Remo was turning to Chiun. "Nuihc was dead ages before this."
"Do not speak that name to me," Chiun said, his face fouling at the mention of his traitorous nephew and former pupil.
"I'm just saying we can eliminate him is all," Remo said. "The Dutchman might not be out of the equation, though." He glanced at Anna. "You said ten years, right?"
"Perhaps a few more," she admitted.
"The time frame fits," Remo said. "He could have hired out to Feyodov to train this Scratch guy before that last time we beat him."
"It is possible," Chiun replied. He was studying Anna Chutesov through narrowed eyes.
"Only explanation," Remo insisted. "Unless you've got another undead Master of Sinanju stashed up your sleeve, it'd have to be him. So let me guess," he said to Anna. "These guys along with Zhirwhosie were with Feyodov in the black market. But when we bumped off their sugar-daddy general a couple days ago they all snapped. Am I close?"
"Zhirinsky had been dealing with Feyodov and others in the black market a great deal lately," Anna admitted carefully. As she spoke, she stared out the helicopter's side window. The dark sky and light ground formed a fuzzy, perpetual twilight. "The SVR was interested in his transactions," she continued. "He has been receiving a great many donations lately from others with political leanings like his own. He was spending the money on a rather exotic collection of black-market items. Some feared he might be staging a coup to take back the Russian government for the hard-liners."