"We do not care," said Chiun as the Yak-90 airliner droned over Soviet central Asia en route to Kazakhstan.
"I wished to call it Rodina, which means 'Motherland.'"
Remo yawned elaborately.
"But there was already a television program by that name. I did not wish confusion. Nor did I like the program. In fact, I do not much like Russian programming these days."
"Let me guess," said Remo. "Too many American imports?"
"Yes. How did you know that?"
"It's the same thing the French and Canadians keep complaining about."
"They are quite correct in their complaints."
"Didn't stop you from ripping off 'The Man from U.N.C.L.E.,'" Remo contended.
"It was a very clever cover."
"Chiun caught on right off."
"Did you?" Rushenko asked Remo pointedly.
Remo changed the subject. "What's the real purpose of Shield?" he asked.
"As I have said, to preserve the union."
Remo blinked. "Union? What union?"
"The Soviet Union. What other union is of historical consequence?"
"We have a union in America, too, you know."
"Then you sympathize with the aims of Shield."
"Not really."
"But now we are on the same team. Like Solo and Kuryakin, da?"
"We are on the same team, nyet," said Remo.
"Which organization do you belong to?" asked Rushenko.
"Who says we belong to anyone?" Remo retorted.
"It is obvious you are not CIA."
"Why is it obvious?"
This time Colonel Rushenko smiled elaborately. "Because if the CIA employed the House of Sinanju, FSK would know this. And what FSK knows, Shield knows, too."
"Who put those moles in the CIA?"
"I refuse to say categorically. But I will admit to having moles in the FSK."
Remo reached forward and took Colonel Rushenko by the back of his thick, black-stubbled neck.
"Let's try answering this question again, shall we?" he prompted.
"Yes, of course."
"Name names."
"I do not know these names."
Remo made a buzzer sound. "Wrong answer. Prepare to be defenestrated at thirty thousand feet."
And Remo jammed the Russian's face against a window so he could get a clear view of every foot of the deadly drop.
"I know code names," Rushenko sputtered. "For these moles were KGB moles we acquired. It was decided not to pry into personalities. Just accept intelligence reports."
"How do you know they weren't CIA double agents? Or FSK turncoats feeding you false information?"
"All information coming from the CIA is assumed to be false or unreliable," said Colonel Rushenko.
"Why's that?"
"They persist in using psychics."
"So why gather it?"
"It is useful to know what the CIA thinks it knows. As useful as knowing what it correctly knows."
"You know, I'm glad I'm just an assassin. This spy stuff sounds confusing."
"It is a man's game," Colonel Rushenko said with dignified satisfaction.
"It is foolishness," Chiun broke in. "Information does not matter. Only who rules, who lives and who dies."
Rushenko nodded heavily. "That, too, is important. But who rules in the modern world often depends upon intelligence."
"There has never been an intelligent Russian ruler," Chiun said pointedly as he watched the wing for signs of structural flaw. "Otherwise, Russia would never have fallen into such ruinous chaos time and time again."
"This democratic experiment will end soon. There will be a new regime. Just like the good old days."
"A czar will emerge if a strong man with Romanov blood can be located," Chiun countered.