"She has not repeated her previous folly," he said.
"Wasn't Anna's fault that time, Little Father," Remo replied. "Still, I'm glad she's not churning out hack versions of you and me again. Sounds like the Institute's gone all feminist."
In her chair, Petrovina blinked. She seemed to be coming around. "Anna," she said. "Director Chutesov. Yes, you know her, don't you?"
Remo shook his head. "Long story with an unhappy ending," he said. "Let's worry about the here and now. What do you know about the scows that you didn't tell me?"
"Is Russia caused problem," she said. "We suspected it but did not know. Now we do. But we did not know Garbegtrov was behind problem. I only learned that now."
Garbegtrov had wrapped a blanket around his head like a turban and crawled over to his nearest spilled hat. He stood up now, a woolen nightcap covering his great shame. A dangling red pom-pom bobbed in front of a flabby face that was pleading understanding.
The premier seemed resigned to the fact that the truth was about to come out. He at least wanted to be certain that it was his version.
"I can explain," he insisted. "Is not actually my fault. Is his. He has gone insane."
"Do not lie," Petrovina accused, chin aimed squarely at former Premier Garbegtrov. "It is your doing. From what you have said, it is all your fault."
"What did he do?" Remo demanded, exasperated.
"He stole Russian submarine and now it has gone completely out of control," Petrovina Bulganin replied. Her eyes burned accusation at Nikolai Garbegtrov. "He wished to silence me, thinking I was only one who knew. But then news came on television of cause of first two scows sinking. He now wants information from me to stop submarine."
Remo looked around the room-from Petrovina to Korkusku and his men to Garbegtrov. Vlad Korkusku was on his feet now, a chastened look on his sagging face. Garbegtrov wore a hangdog expression of guilt.
"So we're all on the same side now?" Remo asked.
"I am on no one's side but my own," Chiun proclaimed.
"No surprise there. Everybody else?"
Vlad Korkusku spoke up for his men. "We will work with you," he volunteered.
"I want to stop sub," Garbegtrov pleaded. "It will ruin me if truth gets out."
"Don't tempt me," Remo warned darkly. "A question for the room. Does anyone here know how to find it?"
Heads shook all around.
"Great," Remo groused. "We're limited to water." He pointed at Korkusku. "You're driving." They started for the door. Behind them Petrovina bounced in her chair near former Premier Garbegtrov. She was tugging at her ropes. With the others leaving, Garbegtrov seemed at a loss for what to do with the Institute agent.
"Are you going to cut me loose?" she demanded.
"You already cut me loose, baby," Remo replied. "Or did you forget your post-eavesdropping snit?" With Chiun and the others, Remo was heading out the door. Petrovina screeched after him.
"I have keys to boat!"
At the door, Remo stopped. His Russian entourage plowed into one another behind him. At Remo's elbow, Chiun's weathered face puckered unhappily. The old Korean could see the look of surrender on his pupil's face.
"Just remove the harpy and take her keys," Chiun spit. "No good has ever come of consorting with Russian women."
Remo sighed. "I'm sure it'd be easier," he admitted. "But I've already dumped my share of bodies for the day."
He trudged resignedly back to Petrovina.
Chapter 19
Captain Gennady Zhilnikov did not like having civilians aboard his boat. Unfortunately he didn't have much of a choice. His entire crew were technically civilians. Yes, they had all been sailors at one time. But now they were common civilians. Just like Captain Zhilnikov himself.
It seemed somehow fitting. After all, civilian money had bought and paid for his boat.
Not originally. Way back when the world made sense, the construction of the Charlie-class nuclear attack submarine Novgorod had been financed by the glorious Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. No, only its theft had been paid for by civilians.
The Novgorod was one of the many submarines in the Atlantic fleet that had been retired at the end of the Cold War. Towed to an abandoned Latvian shipyard on the Gulf of Riga, the submarine was added to the lengthy list of vintage craft from the Russian navy slated to be dismantled or scuttled in the Arctic Sea.
The Novgorod was docked for months. A sad, silent, rusting symbol of another era.
When the Russian empire began to collapse faster than anyone had imagined, the republics along her western border quickly claimed independence from Moscow. Along with independence, Latvia claimed ownership of all of the vessels docked within her borders. This included the Novgorod.
Russia hemmed and hawed for a time about wanting the ships returned. In time Moscow decided it would be easier to let someone else worry about disposing of the obsolete vessels. Russia turned control of the boats over to Latvia.
After claiming victory over its former master, Latvia suddenly realized that it had no idea what to do with the rusting hulks it now owned. It was years before someone up the chain of command in the newly independent country decided that a detailed inventory should be made. When the task was finally undertaken, no one noticed that one of their decommissioned Russian submarines had gone missing.
It had happened when the eyes of the world were directed at more important matters. An elite group of former Russian navy officers and men had crept onto the base under cover of darkness and made off with the Novgorod. Most amazingly, this daring act had taken place by order of none other than former General Secretary Nikolai Garbegtrov himself.
Back when they first stole the sub, Captain Zhilnikov thought that he was part of a covert mission to restore the glory of communism to the tattered remnants of the Russian empire. He and his men assumed that Premier Garbegtrov was assembling a secret fleet that would force the reformers from power and return him to his rightful place as Party leader and iron-fisted ruler. Zhilnikov and the rest would be toasting their success within the walls of the Kremlin by summer.
But summer came and summer went. American fast-food restaurants opened in Moscow, billboards advertising American products sprouted up around the capital and still the new revolution failed to materialize.
The men of the Novgorod began to realize they might not have signed on for the mission they had expected. Premier Garbegtrov seemed more interested in hosting American film, television and recording stars aboard the captured submarine than in seizing control of the Russian ship of state.
Captain Zhilnikov learned the truth one fateful evening off the coast of New England. The Novgorod had surfaced in the dead of night to take on supplies. They were met by an expensive American yacht.
This had happened frequently since the theft of the submarine, usually near Martha's Vineyard, where many rich Communist apologists lived. Food, repair materials, oil-anything they needed was given them by the Americans. That night the boat that met them belonged to a middle-aged singer whose well-publicized heroin addiction and institutionalization for mental problems assured him gold records, Grammy awards and plaudits from his peers.
Garbegtrov had given the singer a complete tour of the submarine, from stem to stern. The gleeful songsmith nodded approval, stating emphatically that America had never built anything as impressive as the Novgorod.
Captain Zhilnikov knew right then and there they were dealing with a complete imbecile. American submarines had always been superior to Russia's. Zhilnikov complained about the man after the singer had climbed out of the conning tower and the crew of the Novgorod closed the hatch.
"That man is a fool," the captain snarled.
"Yes," former Premier Garbegtrov agreed. "But he is a rich fool."
Captain Zhilnikov glanced at his men. They were checking instruments, going about their duties as good Communist sailors. The yacht was puttering away from the submarine. While they were busy, the captain pitched his voice low.
"With respect, Comrade Premier," he whispered, "the men are anxious. When will you begin the restoration of the glorious Soviet Union?"
Garbegtrov looked to Captain Zhilnikov, a hint of amusement in his tired eyes. When he saw Zhilnikov's earnestness, the premier burst out laughing.