His mind was clearing. As it did, a thought that had almost formed scampered back into the back of his brain. And as it fled, his earlier frustration returned.
"Still sure you don't want to tell me what it is I'm missing?" he asked the Master of Sinanju.
The old man shook his head. "You must find your own path."
"Great," Remo muttered.
Ivan wasn't sure what had just happened. "You are not from the Institute," the Russian said evenly. "We're from better than the Institute," Remo replied.
Ivan looked first at the ancient Korean sitting on one side of him, then to the younger man in the light windbreaker who had just had some kind of seizure that had almost driven them off the road. "Skachkov is very, very good," he warned.
"I'm sick of people saying that," Remo snapped. "Now, unless you want an elbow to that nose-nub of yours, you'll pipe down and tell us where to go." Ivan did as he was told.
With Zhirinsky's aide offering directions as they went, Remo eventually stopped near a medical building around the corner from Fairbanks Hospital. It was a plain two-story structure. A few trucks were parked out front.
From the car Ivan pointed up at the brick building. "The Brezhnev Brigade is in there."
"Wait here," Remo instructed as he and Chiun popped their doors and slid out.
As Ivan ducked behind the dashboard, the two Sinanju Masters met at the front of the car.
"Stealthy or straightforward?" Remo asked. Chiun's neck craned like an angry bird from the brocade collar of his kimono.
"Prepare to pay in blood for your thievery, Russian dogs!" the Master of Sinanju cried up at the first-story windows. Fists knots of righteous anger, he whirled up the front staircase.
"Settles that," Remo said to himself. Hands thrust deep in his pockets, he strolled up the stairs after Chiun.
The two men disappeared inside the building. Alone in the car, Ivan waited. He jumped when, a minute after the two men had disappeared inside, there came a few muffled shots from the building.
That was it. They were dead.
Maybe he could convince Vladimir Zhirinsky that he had led these two into a trap. Who knew? The delusional lunatic was probably so far gone by now he'd believe anything. Not that it really mattered to Ivan any longer.
He was about to start the engine when the driver's door sprang open. Remo shoved Ivan from behind the wheel.
"For future reference, I don't like my seat kept warm," Remo said as he got in next to Ivan. "That goes double for Russian asses."
Ivan felt a stinging swat on his right knee. When he spun to its source, he found Chiun sitting calmly next to him.
"Stay on your side," cautioned the Korean.
"What's this bring us down to, Little Father?"
"Eighty-six," the old Asian replied.
"Wish there was a faster way to thin this herd," Remo frowned. He started the engine and pulled from the curb.
Craning his neck, Ivan looked back at the building, amazement blossoming on the visible parts of his face. "There were sixteen men in there," he said.
"I know," Remo said, peeved. "It's a pain running all over the place like this. At least he had all those other troops at the airport. Lot more convenient for us that way."
"Yes, they are there for now," Ivan said. "But he plans to disperse them to fortified positions after his speech."
"He'll need a set of barbecue tongs," Remo said. "And you should work on your tenses, schnozzy. I said 'had.' I meant by putting all the Russian eggs in one basket it was easier for us to handle. Bizz-bang-boom, we were done."
Ivan seemed to finally realize what Remo was saying.
"You mean you eliminated all of his troops at the airport?" he asked, inching up to a sitting position. A tiny spark of hope swelled in the pit of his cold stomach.
"I eliminated most of them," Chiun interjected.
"Technically, they mostly eliminated each other, Little Father," Remo pointed out.
Ivan watched them both. "Do you intend to kill Zhirinsky?" the Russian asked, eagerness in his soft voice.
"Now that we know he can't melt the polar icecaps," Remo replied.
Ivan's eyes grew cunning. "Let me help. I offer my services as a double agent."
"What do you think you're doing right now, genius?"
The cunning changed to a look of cold vengeance. "Kill me, then. I no longer care. But before you do, allow me to tear off the lunatic's nose."
"Sorry. Got dibs on that," Remo said darkly. Ivan slumped back in the seat like a pouting child.
A wet moan of disappointment rose from beneath his mound of bloody bandages.
Remo rolled his eyes. "Look, tell us where the next batch of Institute guys are and you can have an ear." A grin sprang so abruptly to Ivan's face, another piece of tape popped free. "Take the next left," Ivan Kerbabaev instructed giddily. With joyous, nimble fingers he pressed the tape back to his mangled face.
Ivan quickly turned from reluctant tour guide to eager collaborator. The next stop was the Fairbanks chamber of commerce. As an afterthought as they were getting out of the car, Remo tapped three fingers to the Russian's forehead. Ivan was frightened when Remo came at him, but when his captor's hand withdrew, a look of great relief washed over the Russian's face. His facial pain had disappeared.
As Remo and Chiun walked away from the car, the look of love Ivan gave Remo was the sort generally reserved to dogs for their owners.
"You do not need to spoil him," Chiun complained.
Remo's face was flat. "His whimpering was getting to me. Besides, I need him for something once we're done here."
They mounted the steps to the chamber of commerce.
"Only five inside," Remo said, tuning his senses to the interior of the building. "Sounds like they're asleep."
Chiun nodded sharp agreement. "We will send the thieves to eternal slumber," he intoned.
A sharp slap opened the door. Chiun swirled inside.
Remo followed the wizened figure up the darkened main hallway. They found the five soldiers curled in sleeping bags on a first-story office floor.
"Think we should wake them up?" Remo whispered. "Hardly seems sporting not to give them a fighting chance."
The old man gave him a baleful look before turning away.
Kimono hems whirling around his bony ankles, Chiun bounded from the door. One sandaled heel found the crunching skull of a slumbering man. Springing from head to head as if seeking stones in raging rapids, Chiun quickly finished off the five. Giving his heel a grinding crunch to the final skull, the Master of Sinanju padded back to Remo.
"Leave chance to sport," the old man said blandly. "I am a professional."
They were about to leave when Remo spied something on the floor next to one of the dead soldiers. "Wait a sec," he said. "I have an idea."
He headed for the body.
At the door Chiun paused impatiently. "I have warned you to inform me beforehand when that one special day in each decade comes around," the old man droned, "that I might arrange to be out of town."
"Don't knock my ideas," Remo warned as he snatched up the soldier's portable radio. "I'm sick of running all over this icebox. Besides, you're gonna love this one."
VLADIMIR ZHIRINSKY STARED at the radio in his aide's hand with a look of dumb shock.
The man had run into his office a few seconds ago. The future premier of the reborn Soviet Union couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Calling all Commies, calling all Commies. Sitting-duck American spies spotted in vicinity of chamber of commerce building. This is not a trap. Over." The radio crackled with static.
Sitting at his desk, mounds of wadded paper all around, Zhirinsky glared up at his aide.
"Whoever he is, he began broadcasting a few minutes ago," the young man offered worriedly.
Zhirinsky licked his mustache. "Who is stationed at the chamber of commerce building?" he asked.