"They've got us now," the professor said.
"I could kill them, I suppose," Mr. Gordons said, "but I feel that is not sufficiently creative. Now that I'm a creative being, I have to check all my options carefully."
"How about being a little less creative and a little more useful," Remo said, zapping two of the guards with the locked fingers of his left hand.
"That is the most intelligent thing you've said all day," Chiun said as he relocated the cranial cavities of three more guards into the poured concrete flooring.
"That did not sound particularly intelligent to me," Mr. Gordons said dejectedly. "But then, I am less creative than the rest of you. I am just beginning to think creatively. Creativity is still a
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relatively uncommon state for one of my physical components. Actually, I believe that creativity ..."
One of the guards smashed Mr. Gordons on the head with the butt of his rifle.
"On the other hand, creativity isn't everything," he said as he pulverized the man's face with one squeeze of his mighty hands.
"That was a creative maneuver," Chiun said encouragingly. "Perhaps you could be a little tidier next time. Observe." With a slow stroke of his arm, the frail Oriental sent a 260-pound soldier sprawling against the wall. "See? No blood. Much more imaginative."
"I see," Mr. Gordons said. "Excuse me," he said to a guard as he tapped him on the shoulder. "I wish to be creative with you."
The guard mumbled something guttural and blasted Mr. Gordons in the stomach with his revolver. "You are not cooperating with my creative impulses," the robot said. He grabbed the guard around the head and pressed the man's nose into his brain. "How was that?"
"Not bad, kid," Remo said, transforming the kidneys of the last remaining guard into brown
Jello.
Gordons beamed. "Really?"
"Really. Let's get in there." He jerked his head toward the door.
"That's wonderful, son," the professor said. "I'm
so proud of you."
"Thank you, professor," Mr. Gordons said, smiling. "But I am not your son. Now that I'm creative, I know that. It does not mean my feelings for you have lessened."
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"My friend, then," she said.
Mr. Gordons beamed. "Yes. I like that. I've never had a friend before. Can I call you Frances?"
"Can we please get this mutual admiration society into the missile lab?" Remo said, running down a stairway. It led to a windowless stone room.
"This can't be the place," he said.
"It's the place, all right," the professor reassured him. "This is the antechamber. It's used for screening incoming matter for purity. The en-' trance is a sliding stone panel. That one, probably." She pointed to a recessed wall.
Then a voice rang out, echoing throughout the room."You will never enter that lab," it said.
Chiun looked toward the source of the sound. "And why not?" he asked.
Istoropovich approached from-the shadows, the ever-present gold balls dangling from between his fingers. "I know I can't kill you and get out of here alive," he said.
Chiun considered this. "True," he admitted finally.
"And if I allow you to go into the lab, the high commander will see to the immediate destruction of my career, my family, and my life."
"That's the biz, sweetheart," Remo said.
Chiun shook a finger at Istoropovich. "Things were more equitable for you peasants under Ivan the Wonderful. A fine leader. At least he would have let you remain to clean the public lavatories."
"Therefore," Istoropovich went on, "my only option is to kill you along with myself."
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Remo sighed. "Looks that way, I guess. Well, you'd better get to work, because there are twelve minutes to launching time, and I'm going in." He tried the door. It was at least a foot thick, made of solid rock. "Come on, Gordons," he said. "How about some creative battering?"
"Have you ever wondered what these gold balls contain?" Istoropovich asked.
"No," Chiun said.
"I shall tell you now."
"I was afraid of that," Remo said. "Say, can you make it fast? We've got an awful lot to do in there."
"They contain cyanide pellets surrounded by sulphuric acid. Once broken, they will turn an enclosed area like this into a gas chamber."
"Oh, come on," Remo said. "What kind of enclosed area is this? We came in through an open door." He indicated the entry to the stairway.
As he pointed, the door slid shut with a soft click.
"Let's see how cynical you are after the poison gas takes effect," Istoropovich said. He dropped the balls to the ground and stepped on them. Immediately they began to hiss. A wisp of creamy white smoke snaked out. The air turned foul.
Remo ran back to the stairway door and tried it. It was locked and sealed. Quickly he moved to the sliding stone panel that led to the lab. There was no way to open it without breaking the solid rock.
"Find a way to get air to the woman, if you want to save her," Chiun commanded.
The professor and Istoropovich were hacking
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and gasping for breath. To preserve his own oxygen supply, Chiun closed his eyes and slowed his breathing near coma.