Anna picked up the folder and flung it at Pavel Zatsyrko. Papers flew everywhere.
"Idiot!" she snapped. "You drag me down here just so you can strut around and show me how important you are, not even caring that the world is in danger."
Zatsyrko was surprised by the ferocity in her eyes. "I did not know he was that important to you," Zatsyrko said. "We were lucky to find these files at all. You only gave us the pictures to search for. No names."
"I did not know his name," Anna retorted. Snatching up the small photograph she had brought with her, she flung it in her purse, snapping the latch viciously.
"What is he to you?" Zatsyrko asked. "He is just one of our old scientists. Probably retired. We do not even know where he is."
"I know where he is. And now I must do what I always do. Stop you and idiot men like you from blowing us all up."
She didn't wait for Zatsyrko to see her out. Spinning on her heel, she marched from the room.
She took the elevator back upstairs. When a guard saw her marching through a restricted area without an SVR escort, he approached her. Anna chased him away with a glare.
Hurrying through the halls and out the front doors, she emerged into the Moscow sunlight.
She found her car on the street where she'd parked it.
For a moment after she climbed in behind the wheel, she seemed uncertain what to do.
The Institute had an agent on the ground. They had lost contact, but perhaps that was only temporary. Digging in her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. The photograph-a copy of which she had sent to the SVR for examination-fell out on the seat.
Anna scooped up the photo. When she saw the man's face once more, she shook her head angrily. "They will kill us all," she hissed.
Holding the photo in one hand, she used the other to press out Petrovina Bulganin's cell phone number.
"YOUR KIMONO is ringing," Remo said.
They were strolling along New Briton's docks. The scenery was truly beautiful. This had been a nicer part of town. Tidy buildings, immaculate pleasure boats, lush vegetation. With the wind at their backs, the smell of rotting garbage was almost bearable.
Chiun's hand disappeared inside a wide sleeve. When it reappeared he was clutching the ringing cellular phone.
"I found that, so it's not anyone we know," Remo pointed out. "Maybe you should just toss it in the water."
"Just because it is someone who does not know you, does not mean that it is someone who does not know me," Chiun sniffed as he snapped open the phone.
"Here, at least let me answer it for you."
Chiun pressed a button and the ringing stopped. With a thin smile he raised the phone to his shelllike ear.
"How did you do that?" Remo asked.
"Because I do not take stubborn pride in being an ignoramus," Chiun replied superiorly. Into the phone he said, "You have reached the ear of the most gracious Master who once reigned but who is regrettably between honorifics at the moment. Speak. But speak quickly, for these devices have been known to cause ailments of the brain."
Remo tried to listen but the old man pressed the phone tight to his ear, preventing eavesdropping. He knew something wasn't right when he saw Chiun's face pale.
"What is it, Little Father?" Remo asked.
Chiun glanced sharply at his pupil, as if surprised that he was standing there. "Nothing," he insisted, waving Remo back with a bony hand. "A nuisance call." He pressed the phone even tighter to his ear. "I have told you people before not to bother me," he warned. "Your cards of plastic are more worthless than paper money, and I do not care to answer questions about which baby-kissing white male you install as your leader. If you call again, you invite my wrath." His tone turned grave. "And believe me when I say you do not want that."
The last words were said as hard threat.
As Remo's confused frown deepened, Chiun pressed the Phone Off and hastily switched off the ringer.
"You sure that was a telemarketer?" he asked. "Of course," Chiun sniffed. "Thanks to you always loitering around, that is all that ever calls me these days."
"Somehow I doubt you were the most popular kid on the assassin's teen chat line before I showed up," Remo deadpanned. "You know, I think I've changed my mind. If that thing works, maybe I should keep it after all." He held out his hand for the phone.
"It is mine," Chiun insisted. "Find yourself another." The cell phone vanished back inside his robes.
His tone was a bit too sharp, his face straining a little too hard at being untroubled. The old man kept his eyes dead ahead as he walked.
From his demeanor alone Remo knew his teacher was keeping something from him. He shrugged. "Oh, well. Wouldn't be the first time," he grumbled to himself as he trailed the old Korean to the parking lot.
SITTING IN HER CAR outside the SVR building, Anna Chutesov clicked her phone shut.
Anna had been disturbed by Petrovina Bulganin's earlier phone call. Before being cut off, the agent had mentioned something about having knowledge of Anna's strange amnesia.
The Institute director had not tried raising Petrovina directly after that, fearing that she and her phone had fallen into the hands of an unknown enemy. But things had just gotten too desperate not to try.
Anna had no idea who had answered Petrovina Bulganin's cell phone, but it was clearly no longer in the hands of the Institute's agent. No matter. In fact, that was a potential silver lining in this mess. That could be dealt with once the current crisis was past. Assuming the world survived.
There was only one course of action open to her now.
Anna hadn't realized that she had been clenching her other hand. She smoothed flat the photo that Petrovina Bulganin had taken in Mayana.
Glancing one last time at the Vaporizer janitor who didn't seem very interested in his broom, she dropped the photo and the phone in her purse.
Tossing the car into gear, she peeled out of the parking spot and flew out into the heavy Moscow traffic. In the direction of the airport.
Chapter 23
The Jamestown tragedy of 1978 had propelled the People's Sanctum cult to the front pages, sent Americans scurrying for maps to find out just where Mayana was and had put cult leader Jack James-at least for a time-at the top of a shortlist of the most infamous figures of his age. It was the public end to a private journey along a twisted valley where death was mocked and evil embraced.
Jack James founded the Holy Assembly of God Church in Columbus, Ohio, in the early 1960s. Messianic from the start, he preached a gospel of salvation where he alone was the only bridge between man and God.
"Survival of the soul," James bellowed to the great unwashed, "comes only from intimate knowledge of this church's blessed teachings!"
Jack James was fond of sharing this intimate knowledge with his parishioners. Especially the women.
Jack James always had an eye for the ladies. Jack James also had a mahogany cane with which he punished evil. He found much evil in women. With his "rod of persuasion" he chastised many a wayward sister. In their pain the self-ordained pastor found his greatest pleasure.
"The sisters exude the alluring scent of carnality!" he exclaimed under the hot lights of his rented auditorium. "The brothers have in them the seed of Satan! The power to corrupt is in all of you! There is darkness in the world and there is light! Who here can say he longs to live in darkness? The light is bright but it does not burn. Come into the light. Forgo the darkness and come to me!"
He spoke the words not with arrogance but with utter conviction. Jack James was the light. Sadly the lost and pathetic souls of his misguided flock seemed to agree.