the nearest cell exploded out into the corridor, in five tons of cracking fury.
Out stepped Chiun. And behind him Dr. Frances Payton-Holmes.
Mr. Gordons looked at them, then let a smile spread over Ivan's features, which he wore.
"Then Remo is in the other cell and Remo must
die."
Chiun leaped into the center of the corridor, facing Mr. Gordons, blocking with his body the android's path to Remo's cell.
"The path to my son must always pass through me," he intoned coldly.
The professor looked back and forth, from Chiun to Ivan, Chiun to Ivan, and then she realized.
"Sonny? Is it you?"
"Yes, Doctor," Mr. Gordons said. "I was creative. I used Ivan's features to confuse everyone. Now I must kill Remo."
"Doctor?" the professor said. "Why not Mom? You used to call me Mom."
"Now I am creative. I know you are not my mother. That does not mean I do not love you." He stared at Chiun and took a tentative step toward the tiny Oriental, who stood almost casually, arms at his sides.
"Remo can wait," the professor said. "Remo must die," Mr. Gordons said. He took another step toward Chiun. Dr. Payton-Holmes ran between them and put her hands on Mr. Gor-
dons's arms.
"Sonny," she said. "You have to listen. I have programmed you to turn the Volga around and to
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crash it into this building. If you do that, Remo will die."
All the programming that was in him, all the synapses and the neuron connections were repeating one message to Mr. Gordons: Remo must die. But another message insinuated itself, a confusing message that he had no experience in dealing with. It said, Listen to this woman whom you respect—and love.
He tried to fight it off. He spoke again to the small woman clutching his arms. "Remo must die. Now. When he is too weak to be a danger to me."
Suddenly, at the end of the corridor, there was another crashing sound. The huge concrete slab that covered the cell opening blasted out into the corridor.
Into the dank hall stepped Remo.
He looked at Mr. Gordons.
"Too late," he said. "I'm back together now, Tin Man."
Without looking around, without taking his eyes off Mr. Gordons, Chiun said, "It's about time."
"Stop carping," Remo said.
"Mr. Gordons injected a transmitter into you," Chiun said.
"See? It's all your fault," Remo said. "You told me it was an insect bite."
"No," Chiun said. "I told you that once I suffered an insect bite. What insect would want to eat at the trough of your body. Are you recovered?"
"Yes," Remo said. ;
Mr. Gordons tried to take another step forward,
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toward Remo, but the professor wrapped her arms
around him.
"Be creative," she said. "You can now. If you do what I want, you will stop the Volga and Remo too. If you go after Remo now, it may be too late to stop the Volga."
"The Volga never hurt me," Mr. Gordons said. "Creativity means being free. Free to think and free to do. The Volga represents people who crush creativity," Dr. Payton-Holmes said. "Why do you think I oppose them so? Do you think your creator would have been allowed to create you if she had lived in this country? Do you think I would be free to think? To work? All your creativity means nothing when you are not allowed to create. Trust me. The Volga."
Mr. Gordons's mouth began to move, then it stopped. It started again. Slowly, he spoke.
"I trust you because I know you love me." He looked down the corridor toward Remo. "Some other time," he said. "First the Volga." "Ready when you are, M. G.," Remo said. "I'm proud of you, Sonny," the professor told Mr. Gordons and squeezed his android arms.
The four of them moved toward the stone steps leading to the next level. At that moment, a small troop of Russian soldiers were heading down the stairs. They saw the four and raised their guns. Mr. Gordons wrapped his arms around Dr. Payton-Holmes protectively, while Remo went over the top of the two of them, vaulting up the fourteen steps in a flying double split. He landed with two fingers embedded in the occipital lobe of one
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guard and a foot protruding through another's chest.
The blood from the soldier who had just incorporated Remo's foot into his own anatomy spurted upward like a fountain. Another soldier, racing toward Remo, slipped on the red pool and skidded toward Chiun.
Wrapping one advancing soldier around another, the old Oriental stopped the oncoming sliding body with his toe. "Gross," he muttered. "How many times have I told you that a sloppy assassin is as worthless as a stupid one."
"Look out," Remo said, indicating a guard who was tiptoeing behind Chiun, his rifle raised and sighted.
"Fool," Chiun said, kicking his leg out behind him to disembowel the soldier. "Do you think I see nothing? Concentrate on your own work."
"Okay, I'll do that," Remo said bitterly. "See if I ever warn you about impending danger again. See if I care who creeps up on you. I'll just look after myself. Looking out for Number One, that's me from now on."
He stopped short when a pointed object whizzed past him a half-inch from his nose and embedded itself in the wall. "What was that?"
"So easily distracted," Chiun said, shaking his head as he finished off the last two guards with a single stroke of his elbow.
Remo picked the object from the wall and examined it. "A fountain pen," he said. "Somebody's throwing office supplies at us." He tossed it aside. Within one second it exploded, tearing a hole the size of a large man out of the wall.
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