"Zhirinsky wanted a missile. Any missile," Ivan explained, teary eyed. "I would give the grymza usraty whatever he desired, whether it worked or not."
"Zhirinsky doesn't know it's broken?" Remo asked.
"Nyet," Ivan insisted, shaking his head fervently.
"Lemme get this straight. You got this dud for him and you never bothered to tell him before he invaded Alaska that it doesn't work? What kind of crummy henchman are you?"
"I am not henchman, I am prisoner," Ivan moaned. "He likes me and the govnyuk still bit off my nose. What do you think he would have done to me if I told him his missile was broken? Yes, I arranged for it to be bought from the black market, but even I could not bring myself to purchase the plutonium it needed." His black-rimmed eyes begged understanding above his thick wad of gauze.
Ramo absorbed his words. "Just to tie up all the loose ends, this black market twit who sold it to you was Boris Flavorice, wasn't it?"
Ivan nodded. "Boris Feyodov, yes," he said. "He is powerful figure in Russian Mafia."
"Tell that to the hundred tons of rock that made his head go squish," Remo said dryly. He turned to Chiun. "His nuke and army are gone. That leaves us with the big nut himself, about a hundred Sinanju-trained guys and a Wang prophecy to deal with. The day's starting to look up."
"We will dispose of the armies of death first," Chiun intoned. "He of legend will find us when the time comes."
Spinning, the old man marched down the missile's length.
When Remo turned back to Ivan, the Russian cowered.
"You know where his men are?" Remo asked.
Ivan nodded. "Yes," he said.
"Good. You just got promoted to tour guide."
As he was grabbing Ivan by the jacket collar, the terrified man looked up at Remo, sad hope in his watery eyes.
"As typical body-conscious American, you would not happen to have number of good plastic surgeon?" he asked.
As he spoke, another piece of tape popped loose.
Chapter 32
"So did Anna ever work with Zhirinsky?" Remo asked as they sped down the street.
Ivan Kerbabaev was sandwiched between the two Masters of Sinanju in the front seat of the Land Rover. "Anna?" Ivan asked, confused. The light dawned. "Ah, Anna Chutesov. As far as I know, they have never even met. Zhirinsky first mentioned her to me this week. She is apparently director of a secret organization in Russia. A man by the name of Lavrenty Skachkov contacted Zhirinsky months ago. He and the other specially trained soldiers worked for this Chutesov woman until they decided to defect to Zhirinsky's cause a few days ago. Apparently, they were dissatisfied with the restrictions she placed on them."
"Why?" Remo asked. "She only let them kill every other Saturday?"
Ivan shook his head. "From what I understand she never let them out. That was the problem."
Remo shot a glance at the Master of Sinanju. "Sounds like Anna kept a tight lid on Mactep," he said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"That does not matter," the old man sniffed.
"Maybe it should," Remo said softly.
Between them, Ivan looked from one man to the other. "Mactep?" he asked as he stuck loose bandage tape back down. "That is what the others call Skachkov."
Remo scowled. "Yeah?" he said. "Well, Master Scratchpost is about to find out who the real Master is."
A blinding flash. Like something sparking in his brain.
Remo's eyes blurred, and he felt the wheel go mushy in his hands. When he snapped back around an instant later, the shoulder of the road was racing toward them. He fumbled for the steering wheel, but a bony hand was already there.
With a squeal of tires, Chiun steered them straight. "Wow," Remo said, his hands fumbling to take control once more. "Another head rush."
His mind was clearing. As it did, a thought that had almost formed scampered back into the back of his brain. And as it fled, his earlier frustration returned.
"Still sure you don't want to tell me what it is I'm missing?" he asked the Master of Sinanju.
The old man shook his head. "You must find your own path."
"Great," Remo muttered.
Ivan wasn't sure what had just happened. "You are not from the Institute," the Russian said evenly. "We're from better than the Institute," Remo replied.
Ivan looked first at the ancient Korean sitting on one side of him, then to the younger man in the light windbreaker who had just had some kind of seizure that had almost driven them off the road. "Skachkov is very, very good," he warned.
"I'm sick of people saying that," Remo snapped. "Now, unless you want an elbow to that nose-nub of yours, you'll pipe down and tell us where to go." Ivan did as he was told.
With Zhirinsky's aide offering directions as they went, Remo eventually stopped near a medical building around the corner from Fairbanks Hospital. It was a plain two-story structure. A few trucks were parked out front.
From the car Ivan pointed up at the brick building. "The Brezhnev Brigade is in there."
"Wait here," Remo instructed as he and Chiun popped their doors and slid out.
As Ivan ducked behind the dashboard, the two Sinanju Masters met at the front of the car.
"Stealthy or straightforward?" Remo asked. Chiun's neck craned like an angry bird from the brocade collar of his kimono.
"Prepare to pay in blood for your thievery, Russian dogs!" the Master of Sinanju cried up at the first-story windows. Fists knots of righteous anger, he whirled up the front staircase.
"Settles that," Remo said to himself. Hands thrust deep in his pockets, he strolled up the stairs after Chiun.
The two men disappeared inside the building. Alone in the car, Ivan waited. He jumped when, a minute after the two men had disappeared inside, there came a few muffled shots from the building.
That was it. They were dead.
Maybe he could convince Vladimir Zhirinsky that he had led these two into a trap. Who knew? The delusional lunatic was probably so far gone by now he'd believe anything. Not that it really mattered to Ivan any longer.
He was about to start the engine when the driver's door sprang open. Remo shoved Ivan from behind the wheel.
"For future reference, I don't like my seat kept warm," Remo said as he got in next to Ivan. "That goes double for Russian asses."