Remo recognized the seated man as the ambassador. He had golden blond curls that framed his broad forehead and his face had the healthy tan of sun and summer and Remo wondered where he had managed to find either in London. The man wore a tapered shirt that hugged his trim body. Smith had given Remo a brief folder with the photograph and background of Ambassador Semyon Begolov. It had described him as the Casanova of the world's diplomatic corps and Remo could see why.
Begolov was asking the KGB men to play poker with him.
"We cannot play cards with you, Excellency," one of the four KGB men said. "There was that American who came calling for you a little while ago. We must be on the alert lest he return. And someone who is playing at games is not working
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at his duties for the motherland." He was a grim and smug twerp giving the ambassador a lesson in being a good dedicated Communist.
Begolov played a red ten on a black jack and winked to the man who stood behind him.
"You know, if I'm killed, it'll be the salt mine for all of you. I think I'll commit suicide. I'll shoot myself and drop the gun out the window as I'm falling to the floor. Then they'll blame it on some American CIA assassin and you'll all go to Siberia. I can do it, you know, and get away with it."
The four KGB men looked at him, startled and shocked. Remo shook his head. The KGB had no sense of humor at all.
"Now I can promise you that I will not do that," Begolov said.
"But of course you would not do that," said the KGB stiff.
"I might, though," said Begolov. "Anything is possible. However, if you were to play poker with me, well, then I would be so much in your debt that you would have my promise never to do such a thing."
Remo left the door open a crack and went back to tell Chiun it would be some time before they could spirit Begolov away without KGB interference. Outside, he heard Begolov tell someone, probably the tall, thin-faced valet, to get the poker chips.
It took an hour.
Remo heard the chairs push away from the table.
"Since you men seem to have run out of
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money," Begolov said, "I have suddenly become tired. It is time for bed."
"We will stand guard through the night out here, Excellency," the stiff said.
"Please do. I would rather not have you in bed with me."
Remo waited behind the door as Begolov entered the bedroom. He clapped a hand over the man's mouth as the door closed and whispered crisply in the ambassador's ear.
"Don't make a sound," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just listen. I'm from the United States. I know you're in danger and I've been sent to protect you. What we want is for you to sneak out with us and fly to Washington. An assassin'll never track you down there."
He felt Begolov relax slightly.
"Think about it," Remo said. "Here, they might get you any time. Like they did those guys in Rome and Paris. But in Washington? Not a chance. What do you say ?"
Begolov mumbled; Remo felt the vibrations against the fingers of his hand.
"No yelling," Remo said. "Just soft talkie-talk."
Begolov nodded and Remo released his mouth slightly.
"It seems an interesting idea," the ambassador said. "Anything would be better than spending much more time with these secret police types."
Remo nodded. He did not look at Chiun who was sitting on Begolov's bed, shaking his head.
"But I couldn't go alone," Begolov said.
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"You sure as hell can't take all those guards," Remo said. "I'm not Pan American Airlines."
"Just Andre," said Begolov. "My valet. He is always with me."
Remo thought a moment. "All right. Just Andre."
Chiun shook his head again.
"I'll call him," Begolov said.
Remo opened the door a few inches.
Begolov called out, "Andre, will you come here, please?"
Andre, the tall, thin man, stepped inside the room. He closed the door behind him, saw Chiun on the bed, then turned and saw Begolov standing with Remo.
"This is him," Begolov shouted at the top of his voice. "The American assassin. Help, Andre."
Andre backed off a few steps. Outside the door, Remo could hear the thud of heavy feet running toward the bedroom. Andre reached into his back pocket and drew a pistol. He took careful aim and shot Begolov between the eyes.
Chiun sat on the bedspread, shaking his head from side to side.
Andre pointed the gun at his own chin, but before he could squeeze the trigger, Remo let Begolov's body drop to the floor and had moved over to Andre, covering the hammer of the revolver with his own hand to prevent its firing.
The door burst open and the four KGB men rushed in, guns in hand.
Remo took out two of the guns with a sweeping kick. The others fired. Their slugs hit Andre.
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"Crap," said Remo. "Nothing ever goes right. I was saving him."
He let Andre drop and moved in among the four men who spread out into a rough diamond with Remo at the center.
"Chiun, are you going to help or are you just going to sit there?"
"Do not invite me into your catastrophe now," Chiun said. "It is none of my doing."
One of the KGB men turned to cover Chiun with his automatic.
Chiun raised his hands in surrender.
Two others grabbed Remo's arms. The third put the gun to Remo's throat.
"All right, American," the KGB stiff said. "Now we haff you."
"You haff nothing," Remo said. His two hands moved out from his sides where his arms were pinned by the two agents and the backs of his elbows bent and then slammed upward. Two Russian sternums were cracked and the bones driven backwards into two Russian hearts. And as Remo did it, he was falling backward, and the KGB stiff squeezed the trigger, but Remo was not there. He was under the shot and then moving up with a stiff butt of his hand into the soft under-throat of the KGB leader who dropped like a stone.
The man covering Chiun wheeled around and instinctively squeezed the trigger but it was too late because Remo had twisted the gun in on the man himself, and the bullet ripped into his own chest cage.
Remo glared at Chiun.
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"A fine lot of help you are."
"I tried to help you before," Chiun said. His arms were folded stubbornly over his chest. "But no. You could not learn anything from the Great Master Ung. So you let the victim invite in the assassin and then you're surprised that he is the assassin. Remo, you are hopeless."
"That's enough carping. And that's also enough of the Great Master Wang and the Greater Master Ung and the Greatest Master of them all, Master Dingdong. No more. I'm done with all that."
There were sounds in the hall.
Chiun was off the bed like a windblown wisp of blue smoke.
"Unless it is your goal to murder the entire KGB," Chiun said, "we should leave."
Remo looked out the window, "The bobbies are already down there."
"Then go up," said Chiun.
With Chiun only a few inches behind him, Remo went out through the window like a pistol shot and gracefully somersaulted up onto the roof, eight feet above the window ledge. The roof was steeply pitched slate, wet and slippery in the foggy London night. They moved across it as surely as if on rails.
They went across four roofs before they came down a fire escape on Wardour Street and Remo hailed a cab to go back to the airport.
Remo sulked in a corner of the cab and Chiun was silent too, as if in commiseration.
"You don't have to be quiet, just because you're feeling sorry for me," Remo said.
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"I'm not feeling sorry for you," Chiun said. "I'm thinking."
"About what?" Remo asked.
"What will Ruby screech when you tell her you failed?" Chiun said.
Remo groaned.
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CHAPTER NINE
Mrs. Harold W. Smith was happier than she could recall having been in years.