"City council, Smitty," Remo said into the phone. "And if it's true you get the elected officials you deserve, they've probably got Cheech and Chong as lifetime aldermen and smelly-beard Castro moonlighting as mayor."
"The e-mail stating Barkley's intention to secede from the Union was sent from the Barkley council web address. Unless someone else has access to their system, we can assume for now they are involved, at least peripherally. I will research the council," Smith vowed. "Who was that you just spoke to?"
"Remember that FBI agent we ran into back during that whole Ranch Ragnarok mess in Wyoming a couple years back?" Remo asked. "'The one we left at the hospital on the way out of town?"
"Buffy Brand," Smith said. "Yes, I remember."
"It's not Buffy anymore, for some reason," Remo said. "But she's on the case here, too. And you'll never guess who else we bumped into." He was watching Anna as she leafed through a thick file.
At Remo's words, the Russian's head snapped up. She shook her head frantically.
Remo hesitated.
"Who?" Smith asked, after a moment's pause.
Beside Remo, the Master of Sinanju's face fouled. "A cabal of Russian home wreckers, that is who, Emperor Smith," Chiun called. "They scattered the jesters before I was allotted my house. If not for the fact that you have opened the doors of your palace to Remo and myself, I fear your servants would be out in the streets with a box for a roof and a shopping cart to transport our meager belongings. Songs of gratitude we sing to you, Smith the Generous, for your continued kindheartedness and generosity."
Across the room Anna exhaled relief. With an angry look of warning for Remo, she returned to her work.
Remo nodded gratefully. "Nice save," he said to Chiun, careful to keep his voice low.
"Look before you speak," the Master of Sinanju hissed quietly in Korean. "If she did not want Smith to know she lived these many years, what makes you think she would want you to blab it to him now?"
Remo nodded. "Check," he agreed. "Chiun's right, Smitty," he said into the phone. "There was some Russian hit squad at the Buffoon Aid benefit. They had that cabbagey KGB smell all over them."
"SVR," Smith corrected. "That is the group that succeeded the KGB. I assume you eliminated them?"
"Yeah," Remo said. "They were going after another Russian who I guess helped bring that zap gun here. But thanks to that old KGB habit of murdering first and asking questions later, that's another dead end."
"That is unfortunate," Smith said. "It would have helped to have one of them to question. Still, if the SVR was after this other man as you say, then we can eliminate the involvement of the Russian government in all this. They would not be attacking one of their own men."
"No," Remo agreed. "But they're not too keen on their ex-men. There's a guy running around here who supposedly brought that doohickey over from Russia. General Fedora, or something like that."
Remo could hear Smith's chair creak over the phone. The CURE director obviously had found this fact intriguing enough to come to seated attention behind his desk.
"Feyodov?" Smith asked. "Do you mean General Boris Feyodov, formerly of the Sary Shagan Missile Test Center?"
"Yeah, that sounds right," Remo said. "Rumor has it he stole the gun from that Sally Shaghole place."
"Hmm," Smith mused. He began typing at his keyboard. Remo could hear the certain tapping of the older man's fingers at the edge of his high-tech desk.
"That a good hmm or a bad hmm?" Remo asked. "Feyodov was drummed out of the military over a year ago," the CURE director explained as he worked. "If memory serves-" The typing stopped abruptly. "Ah, here it is. Yes, it was he. Feyodov was in command of the Russian forces in the breakaway republic of Chechnya. There were several routs while he was in charge. The most notable was a massacre of Russian troops that garnered international attention. It was thought that heavy bombardment had caused rebels to flee the capital of Grozny. Feyodov led a convoy personally into the city. But the rebels were merely setting a trap. When the Russian forces moved in, the guerrillas closed in behind them, slaughtering the Russians to a man."
At this Smith let out a confused hum.
"Sounds like you just did the math in your head," Remo said. "'To a man' means Fredo shouldn't have gotten out."
"Yes," Smith agreed, puzzled. "But apparently he did. There is no record of how he escaped harm in the translation of the official report that I have accessed. The current Russian president, who was prime minister at the time, relieved Feyodov of his command and stripped him of his rank. Yet it seems as though everything was done very quietly. Still, given the facts of the case, I would imagine the general returned to civilian life in disgrace."
"And bitter to boot, I bet," Remo groused. "Why is it when people get pissed at the world, they always take it out on our part of it?"
"And on poor homeless me," Chiun chimed in dolefully.
"I don't think anyone factored you into the equation, Little Father," Remo said.
Still at the window, hands behind his back, the Master of Sinanju turned a hard eye on his pupil. "That is their mistake," he said. He turned his weathered face back to the Barkley University quad.
"What of the weapon itself, Remo?" Smith ventured. "Do you have any idea where it might be?"
"Hold on," Remo instructed. Off the phone he said to Anna and Brandy, "You find anything over there about where they've got that thing stashed?"
Anna kept her mouth clamped shut, not wanting to risk even a sound that the CURE director might hear.
"It looks like whole departments of the university have been turned over to the project," Brandy supplied. "Seems everyone's jumped on the bandwagon to get it up and running. From what you told me, this thing could be run from anywhere in the world, but there are so many locals on the list I'd bet J. Edgar Hoover's bloomers it's somewhere in town."
"You get that, Smitty?" Remo asked.
"Yes, and I concur," Smith said. "It is of paramount importance that you stop that weapon. The entire future of man's technological mastery of space is at risk as long as it continues to operate. Begin with the council. Excluding General Feyodov and him alone, any Russians you meet are distractions. Eliminate them an-"
The line abruptly went dead. With a frown Remo hung up the receiver.
"What did he say?" Anna asked as he returned the phone to the physics professor's desk.
"The usual," Remo said. "Kill all Russian spies, fate of the world rests in my hands, blah-blah-blah." He raised a seductive eyebrow as he glanced at Brandy. "Am I turning you on?" he asked.
The FBI agent ignored him as she stuffed papers into her knapsack. "I don't think any of this will do us much good now," she said tightly to Anna. "I thought these numbnuts were smuggling bomb supplies, not ray guns. Should've figured Barkley U would be into the more heavy-duty stuff."
"It is not the university staff that is the problem," Anna said. "They are merely lackeys. Although given what I have seen on this campus, I have no idea how you people won the Cold War."
"America doesn't have mental institutions-we have higher education," Remo explained. "Okay, let's go check out the council. Anna, keep your eyes peeled for that general of yours. He should know how to pull the plug on this thing."
"He might have skipped town," Brandy said evenly. "My partner was in Barkley with me. He followed Feyodov to San Francisco this morning, where your general met with someone my partner recognized. Some other Russian."
"Who?" Anna asked with a frown.
"He wasn't sure," Brandy said. "Last I heard from him, he'd left Feyodov to follow the other guy." Her voice grew deadly serious. "They found him severely injured and stuffed inside a maintenance closet at San Francisco airport an hour later. Whoever the sick bastard was, he tore my partner's nose clean off. They couldn't even find it to reattach it."
Remo suddenly found himself trying to remember if Chiun had left his side at any time while they were at the airport that morning. When he turned a worried eye on the Master of Sinanju, Anna seemed to pick up the thread. Confused by their reactions, Brandy glanced at the frail old man.
Standing at the window, the wizened Asian was the very picture of innocence.
"What did he look like?" Chiun asked, his eyes hooded. "After all, I meet so many people."
"Wait," Remo said to Brandy. "When was that meeting?"
"About two hours ago," she said.