"Remember, we keep one for questioning this time," Remo warned as the two men fell.
He slapped a gun barrel up into a soldier's chin. It sprang like the first spring dandelion from the top of the man's head.
"It is your turn," the Master of Sinanju replied, tossing aside a pair of kidneys. The man to whom the kidneys belonged fell to the snow, a gaping hole in his lower back.
"Sez who?" A pulverizing forearm sheered the top clean off a soldier's head. The bucket of noses he carried spilled to the snow.
"Do you recall who saved one for questioning several months ago on another of Emperor Smith's errands?" the old man asked indignantly.
Remo couldn't recall. "No," he admitted.
"In that case it is definitely your turn," Chiun concluded. With that, he swirled away in a flurry of kimono skirts.
"I think I've been had," Remo said as he wheeled into the next tight group of four Russians.
They aimed their guns at Remo's chest and fired. He danced around the blast, coming up beside the startled men.
"Eenie, meenie, miney, moe. One of you has got to go," Remo sang.
His hand flashed forward and he tapped one commando dead center in the forehead. Behind thick goggles, Moe's eyes rolled back in his head. Before the other three knew what had happened, Remo had picked up the unconscious soldier and thrown him behind the pile of snowmobile chassis.
Eenie, Meenie and Miney swirled to Remo. There was a grunt of muffled Russian from beneath one ski mask.
"Mactep," the man breathed fearfully.
Remo had already been exercising greater caution with these soldiers. But with mention of the Russian word for "Master," his senses tripped higher.
Straining alertness, he tried to detect any concealed signs of life or stealthy movements in the area, anticipating the approach of Chiun's false Master of legend.
None was evident. In fact, as the soldiers raised their guns once more-now in shaking hands-their goggles were aimed squarely on Remo.
"Maybe they just know quality work when they see it," Remo mused with a shrug.
Before the men could fire, he smacked the barrels of the two on either side. Already squeezing their triggers, the two outside men blasted the man in the middle to ribbons even as they were mowing each other down in the cross fire.
As this latest trio was falling, Remo skipped on to the rest, the promise of doom writ large on his cruel face.
ANNA WAS KNEELING in the cold snow, her pistol still clasped tightly in her hand. She was forced to scramble out of the way when the soldier Remo had knocked unconscious came sliding back to join her.
Moe slid to a stop, a soft mound of snow gathering like a pillow beneath his head.
Tearing her eyes from the battle in the street, she crawled cautiously over to the man. When she saw he didn't stir, she sat her gun on her thigh and-very delicately-tugged off his ski mask and goggles.
The soldier had black wiry hair and harsh features. When she saw that it was not Skachkov, her face grew darkly disappointed.
Behind Anna, the crack of bones rose from the street. Remo and Chiun would be finished soon.
She dropped the mask to the snow, picking up her gun once more. She cast one last look over the unconscious man in the snow.
"I am sorry, Yuri," she whispered softly.
Jaw determined, she raised her automatic to the face of the slumbering man.
REMO WAS in the process of disarming his last soldier. As the armless man fell screaming to the snow, Remo finished him with a sharp toe to the bridge of the nose.
He twirled on the Master of Sinanju. Chiun, too, had only one soldier left. The commando was lunging at the old Korean, knife in hand.
"Have you saved one?" Chiun asked tersely as he dodged the sharp blade.
Remo nodded even as he tossed away the arms of his final soldier. "We're covered this time. The rest are baggage."
Chiun nodded sharply. "I have enough luggage," the old Asian sniffed.
Long-nailed hands raked the last startled Russian's throat. The man died not with a scream, but with a gurgle.
The two Masters of Sinanju were turning from the last Russian body when they heard the crack of a single gunshot. It came from where Remo had left Anna and the soldier he'd saved.
Fearing the worst, the two men raced back down the street, ducking around the pile of scrap metal. They found Anna climbing to her feet, gun still in hand. Lying in the snow was the man Remo had kept for questioning. A gaping bullet hole decorated the dead soldier's forehead.
As they rounded the snowmobile heap, something near the corner of the adjacent house caught the Master of Sinanju's eye. Leaving Remo's side, the old man padded beyond Anna, stopping a few yards away. Remo stopped before the Russian agent.
"Dammit, Anna, what did you do that for?" Remo complained, waving a hand at the soldier's body.
"Forgive me, but are we not here to stop them?" Anna asked blandly. She dusted snow from her knees.
"Yeah, but I wanted to question that one. Why do you think I tossed him over here?"
Her face grew impatient. "If, Remo, your secret code involves flinging bodies, you two are constantly sending messages. What is the key? The way they fly through the air, or the way in which they land?"
"Har-de-har-har," Remo scowled. Hands on his hips, he looked down at the dead man. "This is just peachy. Next time you wanna help, count to ten and then don't."
"We haven't the time for this," Anna said, shaking her head. "Did any of these men offer any great resistance?"
Remo sighed. "No. Same as the last batch. Couple of moves here and there. That's it."
She seemed grimly satisfied. "Then it is unlikely any of them was Skachkov. He is better than the rest by far. Nevertheless, I had better make certain."
Turning, she headed out to the street where the Russian soldiers lay.
Remo glanced one last time at the dead man before spinning away in disgust. It was then that he spied the Master of Sinanju standing alone in the snow. The old man was peering down at something near his feet.
Puzzled, Remo walked over to his teacher. Before he'd even reached the tiny Korean, he saw what the Master of Sinanju was looking at.
A small body lay in the snow. It was a young girl, no more than nine years old.
Remo saw by the way the body was positioned that the child was the victim of a Sinanju floater stroke. It had been sloppily executed, but was effective just the same.
Chiun's face was unflinching. He stared down at the young girl with eyes of hazel stone. Remo's own expression mirrored that of his teacher. They stood there for a moment, side by side. Neither man said a word.
It was Remo who broke the silence.
"We're getting the guy who's behind this, Little Father," Remo vowed quietly. His tone was enough to chill the already frigid air.
No more words were needed. With sad and steely resolve, the only two true Masters of Sinanju slowly turned away from the tiny body.
Chapter 23
The Hind might as well have been purchased from a junk dealer. When it was delivered, it had been rusted and moss covered, with rotten wiring and missing seats. The parts needed to restore the helicopter to its former military specifications had taken forever to acquire on the black market. But acquire them he did.
The fact that Vladimir Zhirinsky could buy Red Army hardware in this new Russia was convenient to the cause. Still, it disgusted him. All would change soon enough.
The old Mil Mi-24 squatted now in the snow behind him, painted with cold-climate camouflage. His troops stood around it. At the moment they were six dozen strong. And that number would grow over the next few hours. Greater still in the days ahead.
Some had only recently joined the cause. A few of the SVR men who had warned him he was under surveillance in Moscow were here. Ready to fight for the motherland.