In the basement where the doorbell rang, Karbenko stared angrily at it, then ordered Gruboff, "Go answer that. Wait. Leave me your gun."
The burly Russian gave Karbenko his pistol. Karbenko placed it on the table behind him, with a glance at Smith that was shared commiseration, the acknowledgment by one professional to another that sometimes one had to do tasteless things in their business.
Gruboff plodded up the steps. The doorbell kept ringing. He pulled the door open and saw a young black woman standing there.
She raised her right index finger in the air like an eighteenth-century orator making a point. She waved the Gideon Bible in her left hand.
" 'By this, all will know that you are among my
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disciples if you have love among yourselves,' " she said.
"Huh?" said Gruboff.
"I am here to give you a free gift," Ruby said. She tried to look past Gruboff down the hallway of his house but his bulky body filled the doorway and sealed off her view.
"I don't want any," Gruboff said gutturally. He started to close the door.
"Wait," said Ruby. " 'A gift is as a precious stone in the eyes of him that hath it; whithersoever it turneth, it prospereth.' Proverbs."
"I told you, I don't want none," Gruboff said.
"I want no money," Ruby said. "I'm going to give you this Bible. And I'm going to give you a copy of our free twice-monthly magazine, the Watchword. And then you'll get a copy every two weeks and you'll get a personal visit from me every five days, rain or shine, so we can stand out here on your porch and talk about the Bible." Under her breath, she mumbled "and you can really get to hate me."
"I'm an atheist," said Gruboff. "I don't want your Bible."
"An atheist!" Ruby said, as if proclaiming a victory. " 'The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God.' Psalms."
"Aaaaaah," snarled Gruboff.
"Try this one," said Ruby. " 'We speak that we do know and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness.' John, Three-Eleven."
"Go away, lady."
"You're not interested in the free Bible?"
"No."
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"Not in our free bi-monthly magazine, the Watchword!"
"No," said Gruboff.
"Not in my visiting you every five days to talk about the scriptures? I generally call when you're in the shower."
"No," said Gruboff.
"All right," said Ruby. She reached into her purse. "One last word."
"Just one," said Gruboff.
"This is from Acts. Eight-eighteen," Ruby said. " 'Give me also this authority that anyone upon whom I lay my hands may receive the holy spirit.'"
She smiled at Gruboff. "Here's yours," she said. She pulled the revolver from her purse, swung it and cracked Gruboff on the side of the skull. He staggered back from the doorway. "Move on out, honkey," Ruby said.
She followed him inside and closed the door, and waited for his eyes to clear.
"Where is he?" she asked. She pointed the gun at Gruboff, holding it expertly low and close to her hip so no wild swing of hand or foot could dislodge it before she could fire.
"Where is who?" said Gruboff, groggily.
"That's one," said Ruby. She pulled back the slide on the automatic. The locking sound was brittle hard in the still hallway. "Try for two? Where is he?"
Gruboff looked at her, then at the gun.
"This is a .22 caliber Ruger semi-automatic, the weakest handgun in the world," Ruby said. "The cartridges are five years old and the gun
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may be rusty. Even if I hit you right between the eyes, I might not be able to stop you. Now what you have to ask yourself is, do you think I'll get lucky?"
She was smiling at Gruboff but there was no humor in the smile and Gruboff looked at the gun again, then grunted, "Downstairs."
"Lead the way. No tricks."
Gruboff went down the steps, Ruby close behind him. In the cellar, Karbenko looked up and saw the anguished look on his underling's face. He reached behind him for the revolver on the table.
Gruboff took a step into the cellar and Ruby stood behind him at the bottom of the steps, her gun trained on Karbenko.
The tall Russian smiled at her.
"Doctor Smith, who is this lovely lady to the rescue?" he asked.
"My administrative assistant," Smith said.
"You be all right; Doctor?" Ruby asked.
"Yes."
"Okay. You, Roy Rogers. Get over there on the couch. You too, gorilla." She waved with the gun.
Gruboff moved in front of her and, as he did, Colonel Karbenko snatched the gun from the table behind him and sprinted the one step toward Smith where he stood behind the CURB director and put the barrel of the gun against Smith's temple.
"Sheeit," said Ruby.
"Put down your weapon, little lady," said Karbenko.
Stubbornly, Ruby held the weapon on Kar-
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benkq for a moment. Then slowly her hand wavered and dropped. Gruboff stepped over and yanked the automatic from her hand.
He raised his other hand to punch her but was stopped by a barked command from Karbenko.
"None of that, Igor," he said.
Igor glared at Ruby with hatred. There was a large purplish bruise blossoming on the side of his face where Ruby had hit him.
"I know you not sell Bible," he said to her.
"Three more minutes and I coulda sold you your own car, dummy," Ruby said.
"Over here," Karbenko said. He motioned Ruby to a seat on the couch next to Smith.
"Now, Doctor," Karbenko said, "everything grows vastly more complicated. I believed what you told me about Project Omega. But now something tells me that everything is not quite right."
"Why?" Smith asked.
"Because I know very few sanitarium directors whose administrative assistants carry automatics."
"If you lived in my neighborhood, you'd carry a submachine gun," Ruby said.
Karbenko smiled. "Clever, child. But it will not do."
He looked at Smith. "I was willing to risk my contact with you," he said. "I had even made preparations for Igor here to return to Russia since his cover was so obviously blown by helping me pick you up. But now, not just you . . . this girl, too. You have put me in a very awkward situation, Doctor Smith."
"You have my deepest sympathy," Smith said.
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Karbenko picked the revolver up from the table and hefted it in his hand.
"You know what I must do, don't you ?"
Another voice came into the cellar.
"No. What must you do?"
Ruby turned. It was Remo. He was standing at the foot of the stairs alongside Igor. Chiun was next to him. Igor turned, a dumbfounded look on his face, because he had not heard them come down the stairs.
He pointed the automatic at Remo and his finger began to squeeze on the trigger. Remo clutched Igor's wrist. His fingers searched out a bundle of nerves on the bottom side of the wrist. Igor's trigger finger could squeeze no more.
"Who's in charge here?" Remo asked.
"I am," Karbenko said coldly.
Remo looked at Igor. "Sorry, Kong. But you're just baggage." He released Igor's wrist. Igor continued squeezing the trigger. Ruby was surprised that the tired old .22 automatic went off. Igor was even more surprised, because when it fired, the gun was pointing up into Igor's chin. The bullet ran through the soft flesh and buried itself in his brain. Igor dropped.
"I thought you never get here," Ruby screeched.
"Shut up, you," said Remo, "or I'm leaving. You're next, Tex."
Karbenko aimed the pistol at Remo.
"Who are these people, Smith?" he said.
"Two more of my administrative assistants," Smith said. "Remo, don't kill him."
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"Hold, hold," said Chiun. "What is this? Who is an administrative assistant?"
"Why not kill him?" Remo asked Smith. "Everybody knows the only good cowboy is a dead cowboy."