Anna was deep in thought. "We do not know where the bomb is," she said. "Until we do, we cannot dismantle the greatest danger."
Remo raised a finger. "Hello? Sinanju prophecy? Line of Wang ending, me having to fight some renegade Master. Could be bigger than a garden-variety Russian nuke." When Anna gave him a withering look, he shrugged. "I'm just saying, that's all."
"I do not like this program," Chiun complained from the back seat. "Try another station." He reached between them and began poking at the radio with the tip of one long nail.
Anna ignored them both, pressing ahead. "Since the people are gone, there is no longer a threat to the civilian population. We should cut off Zhirinsky's means of escape."
Remo nodded. "I gotcha," he sighed. "He's less likely to set off the bomb when he's stranded in the blast zone."
Anna shook her head. "Not at all," she said seriously. "In fact, he is unhinged enough that he might relish the notion of playing the martyr. If he feels threatened in the least-the very least-he could set off the bomb."
"In that case we should go after him first," Remo said.
"We do not know what sort of failsafes he has devised," Anna said. "To go after him could trigger the bomb."
"Perfect," Remo grumbled. "Damned if you do, nuked if you don't. Could anything make this day any worse?"
Chiun suddenly found a station that was playing a Wylander Jugg song. With a delighted squeal, the old man settled back into his seat.
"Ask a stupid rhetorical question," Remo muttered to himself. Hunching over the steering wheel, he headed off in the direction of the airport and the fleet of Hinds.
FOUR MEN in shabby Red Army uniforms marched proudly before the steps of Fairbanks city hall. Gloved hands chopped air with each accompanying sharp kick from highly polished boots.
When he stepped from his limo to the sidewalk, Vladimir Zhirinsky wept for joy at the sight of the men.
"Is everything ready for my address?" he sniffled as he brought a handkerchief to his great Russian nose.
Ivan Kerbabaev had stepped from the limo behind him.
Ivan was nauseous. The pain in his face was worse. He was in desperate need of another injection and didn't need his mad employer flaunting his own nose in front of him.
"Yes, comrade," Ivan said weakly. "There was a problem at first. The global satellite system suffered a great deal of damage earlier in the week due to an interstellar dust cloud. But we have found one to carry our signal."
Ivan dared not tell the lunatic that he had bought time on an American commercial satellite. He could only imagine what his employer would do if he found out his great call to arms to the Russian population to retake the nation for the people was being broadcast on an ABC-Disney-owned satellite.
Zhirinsky nodded satisfaction. Honking loudly, he stuffed his handkerchief in the pocket of his uniform coat and began mounting the stairs. Two steps up, he froze. He spun to Ivan, face twisted furiously.
"What is that still doing there!" he roared.
He pointed to the flagpole beside the steps. High above their heads, the American flag fluttered in the wind.
"I thought you would want to be here for this," Ivan said fearfully. He clapped his hands sharply. The soldiers hurried to the pole. Hand over hand, they brought the flag down, dumping it unceremoniously into a metal trash barrel. As bare rope clanged against the hollow pole, another soldier marched forward carrying a bundle of tightly folded red cloth. The new flag was hooked and hoisted high into the air. At the top of the pole, the wind took the flag and unfurled it wide. The golden hammer and sickle stretched proudly across the sky.
Vladimir Zhirinsky gasped.
"How proud this day," the ultranationalist intoned. "We will not soon forget it."
Dabbing at his eyes, he hurried up the steps.
"I gnow I won't," Ivan said glumly, gingerly touching his bloody bandages. Desperate for another novocaine fix, he trudged morosely up the stairs.
THEY SKIRTED the south bank of the winding Chena River, stopping at the top of a hill near the tall wire fence that surrounded Fairbanks Airport. Below, the twelve silent Hinds lined the main runway. Some of the soldiers who had flown over from Russia milled about between the idle craft.
Remo, Chiun and Anna stood near the fence. From their vantage point they could see almost the entire airfield. While some men worked around the Hinds, others stood sentry between the big gunships. Counting white camo suits, there were only a few Sinanju-trained soldiers at the airport.
"You sure Zhirinsky's not down there?" Remo asked.
"According to the radio, he plans to make his address from the city hall," Anna said.
"It's days like this that make me happy I forgot what little Russian I knew," Remo grumbled.
He grabbed hold of the fence, wrenching it apart. Links popped and brackets split. Peeling back a section, he and Anna slipped through.
Behind him Chiun clucked disapproval. Stepping up to his own section of undamaged fence, the Master of Sinanju pulled his hands from his sleeves as if unsheathing ten sharp blades. With sure downward strokes, he attacked the fence. The links split like soft butter, forming a perfect five-foot outline of his body, through which Chiun stepped.
The old man's face was deadly serious.
"You cannot always stomp and tear your way through life, Remo," the Master of Sinanju warned. "If you are not using me as a set of walking bolt cutters, you are attacking with your own clumsy mitts. While I know you stubbornly refuse to grow your nails to their proper length, be on guard. For the false Master of legend might."
Remo sighed. "Let's see about that," he said with tired determination. He turned to Anna. "Does this soldier of yours have long fingernails or short?"
It was one of the few times in his life he could remember seeing Anna Chutesov react with surprise. The moment her face fell, he knew he was right.
Anna quickly regained her composure.
"Just because he is Russian does not make him my responsibility," she said.
"No, him being your responsibility makes him your responsibility," Remo replied. He shook his head, annoyed. "You think I'm blind, deaf and dumb, Anna? I remember what that crazy Russian general said back in California just before he died. He said you'd stolen something from us. And you kept trying to shoot him before he could talk, just like the guys you've been shooting left and right here. It's that dumbass Mactep program you told us about. The one where the Russian government tried to blackmail us into going to work for them. When that failed, they put their best agent on the case. You. And the first thing you did was track down that nutbar Purcell in order to train your unholy army of the night. That's why you're here. To try to put the toothpaste back in the tube and keep us from finding out in the process. You double-crossed us, Anna. And don't lie, because in spite of what you, Chiun and the whole damn world might think, I'm not stupid."
As he spoke, Anna appeared to grow very small and cold. The weight of more than ten years of betrayal seemed to suddenly fall like lead onto her shoulders, her body sagging -beneath its great burden.
"It is not what you think, Remo," she said softly. "The decision to do this was taken out of my hands long ago."
Beside Remo, Chiun's face grew shocked. "Do my ears hear true?" the old man gasped. "It is you who has stolen food from the mouths of the children of Sinanju?"
Anna's shoulders sank lower. She raised her head, defiant eyes of blue now filled with shame. "Yes," she said.
The wizened Korean's eyes saucered. "Perfidy!" he whispered. "Jezebel! Viper in our very midst! I knew you were harboring a secret, woman, but this?" He spun on Remo. "If you value the sanctity of our traditions, you will slay this treacherous female at once," he commanded.