"Yeah," Remo said bitterly. "He was a human fax. Chiun and I couldn't touch him, catch him, or stop him."
"Until I devised a foolproof plan to destroy him," said Smith.
"So much for foolproof," Remo pointed out.
Smith's harsh voice softened, as if he were reliving the entire operation.
"We set it up perfectly. A lure on an Air Force base."
"I remember. We had a stealth plane that didn't exist. It was a hologram."
"Designed to make the Krahseevah, when he turned off his suit in order to steal the prototype model, doubt the status of his molecular state."
"It was good enough for me to get a good shot in."
Chiun squeaked contrarily, "A proper blow, and we would not be having this problem!"
"So? I only winged him. It happens."
"Your repeated failures will go against us at the next negotiation!" Chiun said loudly. "But at least no blame will attach itself to our emperor. His head will be spared by the President, whoever that person will be this time."
Remo said, "I think Chiun's trying to brown-nose you, Smitty."
Smith ignored the outburst and went on: "The Krahseevah reacted as I thought he would. He went to the nearest phone and dialed the Soviet Embassy in Washington, from which he apparently operated. But the phone was programmed to dial only one number. That of a Folcroft phone."
"Which you disconnected," Remo pointed out. "You said it would scatter the guy into a million dial tones."
"The only explanation is that the Krahseevah has been caught up in the telephone system, wreaking havoc, and somehow emerged through one of the Rumpp Tower lines," Smith said.
"Talk about a wrong number," Remo remarked glumly.
"And I am responsible for it," Smith said, his voice aghast.
"Okay, we know what's up. Now we just have to figure out how to stop this jerk."
"There is more to it than that, Remo," Smith said slowly.
"Yeah?"
"Recall that Randal Rumpp had claimed credit for the events of this night. We have every reason to believe that Rumpp and the Krahseevah have joined forces."
"So? Chiun and I are running a two-for-one Halloween special. We'll take them both out."
"Not until we better understand the situation. Sit tight. I will get back to you."
"Do not forget my trunk!" Chiun called, just as Smith hung up.
Remo snapped his fingers. "Now I remember. That trunk! It was full of your shaman junk. The stuff you used to exorcise that missile base, before we knew we were dealing with a Russian scam and not poltergeist."
Chiun gave his kimono skirts a resolute hitch. "We were dealing with dark forces. This time, we will deal with them intelligently and atone for our past failures."
"Chiun, this is science, not magic. We gotta fight it scientifically."
"White ignorance," Chiun scoffed.
The TV began scrolling vertically. Absently, Remo stuck out his two outer fingers and folded back the middle pair and his thumb. He pointed them at the rising black transmission line and said, "There's no such thing as magic."
The line followed Remo's fingers when he lifted them.
"Machine-worshipper," Chiun spat.
"Bulldookey," said Remo. The transmission line slipped back just before it got to the top edge of the tube and Remo caught it again. This time it followed his fingers until the picture was perfect once more.
"When Emperor Smith instructs us to seek out this enemy," Chiun said firmly, "I will have my herbs and bells and you may attack it with a turbocharged hotcheese blaster, and we will see which is more effective."
"There is no such thing as a turbocharged hotcheese blaster," Remo pointed out.
"By morning, some greedy white tinkerer will have invented one. You may be first in line to purchase the worthless thing. Heh heh heh."
Ignoring the dry cackling of the Master of Sinanju, Remo went to the hotel window.
The Rumpp Tower was visible only a few blocks away. It was as dark as Remo's mood.
"This is not going to be easy," he muttered unhappily.
Chapter 24
The Aeroflot flight that carried Major Yuli Batenin of the supersecret Russian organization known only as "Shield" out of Russia had to refuel in Minsk because of insufficient fuel. And again in Warsaw, Oslo, Reykjavik, and Halifax, Nova Scotia, because Areoflot's credit standing was so poor no airport was willing to fill the Ilyushin jet's fuel tanks.
Inasmuch as few would accept Russian credit cards, they had to dig into their hard currency reserves at several stops.
This left them with seriously reduced operating expenses by the time the wheels touched down at Kennedy International Airport, chosen not only for its geographical proximity to the operations field but because it was more open to illegal entry than the Texas border.
"We must pool funds," Batenin told the captain in charge of the operation, whose name was Igor Gerkoff.
"It is for me to say these things; you are merely osnaz."
Which confirmed to Yuli Batenin the suspicion that had been growing since he had left the motherland. These men were not ex-KGB. Not all of them. They were Spetsnaz-spetsiadnoye nazhacheniye. Special purpose soldiers of the GRU, military intelligence. They were the shock troops of the former Red Army General Staff.
By osnaz, they were mocking him as a mere secret policeman, which is what he had been in his KGB days, albeit a glorified one.
Whatever this "Shield" was, it was comprised of the most hard-core members of pre-Gorbachev forces. Every man was an athlete of Olympic caliber. This was good. It was also very intimidating to Yuli Batenin, whose background was in intelligence, not operations.
"I have forty American dollars and three kopecks," Yuli said, showing Captain Gerkoff the contents of his pockets.
"Give me dollars, and save kopeks for after next Revolution. When they will be valuable once again."