After an awkward moment, Agent Bulganin cleared her throat. "I came as quickly as I could." Director Chutesov didn't stir from her trance. She continued to stare at the monitor. One hand rose above desk level, waving Petrovina to a chair. Petrovina watched the director of the Institute, unsure if she should speak again.
"This building is an odd thing, Petrovina," Director Chutesov said after another long moment. "You thought so yourself many months ago. It is large, isn't it? Too large, it seems, for the needs of the Institute."
Director Chutesov looked up from her monitor. There was a glint of deep intelligence in her blue eyes.
"There are rumors that ghosts once lived here," she continued. "The people in the area swear this building was haunted. Do you believe in ghosts, Agent Bulganin?"
Petrovina admitted that she did not. "I believe in what I can see, Director," she said.
"As you are, I once was. And yet there are things that neither you nor I can see. For instance, why would an individual empty a building of furniture-give every last scrap of it away-and then forget they had done so?"
It was an odd question. Director Chutesov seemed very serious asking it. As if she desperately wanted an answer.
"Madness?" Petrovina suggested. "Drugs or alcohol?"
"I do not take drugs. I drink alcohol rarely, and then only lightly. And I am not mad."
Petrovina blinked. She hadn't realized they were discussing Director Chutesov herself.
"There are outdoor markets near here," Director Chutesov explained. "Perhaps you've been to them. No? Well, I have. A few months ago I went one afternoon looking for antiques." She dropped her voice knowingly. "Some of these sellers are idiots. They would not know good furniture if it fell on their heads. The parents or grandparents die, and the children immediately race off to sell hundred-year-old antiques for kopecks at market. As I was looking for bargains at a particular stall, I caught the eye of the seller. Before I knew what was happening, he began to argue with me. He told me that I had given everything to him fair and square and that I could not have it back."
Petrovina frowned. "Did you know this man?"
"No. He was a complete stranger to me."
"Then I do not understand."
"Nor did I. Nor do I still. But he was adamant that the items for sale at his stand were from me. He claimed that I had allowed him and others like him into this very building. They are the ones who emptied it of furnishings."
"He mistook you for someone else," Petrovina said. "That is, assuming you did not give away Institute furniture." She laughed a tinkling little laugh. Director Chutesov's face was deadly serious.
"I did not. Not that I can remember. But there were a few others at the market who made the same claim. I could not believe that they were all insane. When I pressed them, they were able to give a fairly detailed description of the interior of this supposedly secret building."
Petrovina was intrigued. "Thieves," she said. "They somehow got in here and stole whatever they were selling. What is it they had for sale, by the way?"
"Blankets, cots, storage bins. The Institute was apparently home to some secret garrison. And, no, Petrovina, they were not simple thieves. If there was a break-in, I would have known of it. Or should have. No, the likeliest, if most disturbing conclusion to be reached is that I did indeed open the doors of the Institute and allowed strangers inside to empty it out."
Petrovina was at a loss. "Forgive me, Director Chutesov, but what does it mean?"
Anna Chutesov tapped a slender finger to her own forehead. There were care lines in the perfect porcelain skin. They had appeared only recently.
"I think, Agent Bulganin, that there is a piece of something missing," Director Chutesov said. "Up here. One day I will find out what was taken and how. And when that day comes, woe to the man who took it from me."
Petrovina understood. Director Chutesov believed that some invisible someone had stolen parts of her memory. That it was a man was a given. Agent Bulganin had learned early on that her superior at the Institute was a staunch feminist. This was why no men worked in the big concrete building.
"That is why you called me here," Petrovina said confidently. "To look into this matter."
Director Chutesov shook her head. "There is not enough information at the moment. I will continue to investigate this myself. We will address it when the time comes. You are here for another reason. The usual reason, in my experience. To clean up a mess the men have left for us."
The Institute director reached inside her top drawer. She tossed a file across her desk.
Petrovina noted that there were old Red Army codes on the flap. Inside was data on a shipyard in Latvia, as well as detailed personnel information on several former Russian navy men. Agent Dvah scanned the old photograph of a Captain Gennady Zhilnikov. The picture was ten years out of date.
"The Institute is a clearinghouse for information," Director Chutesov explained. "From that raw data I have identified something that might be a problem, if it is true." She pointed to the file. "That will be your primary assignment. Have you seen the news today?"
Before becoming a spy, Petrovina had watched the news faithfully. She watched less these days. The only story she had seen that morning was about three kittens trapped in a storm drain in California. Russia had pledged equipment and manpower to help rescue the trapped animals.
"No, I have not," Petrovina admitted.
"There is also a device in Mayana that the SVR has been assigned to look into. A machine that destroys trash. There is a team of SVR agents that, like you, will officially be part of our Globe Summit delegation. As long as you are there, you will handle that task, as well. It is only simple reconnaissance. It will not take you long away from your main mission. That was my excuse for getting you in the country. And as simple as it is, I would not trust the men of the SVR to not bungle the assignment. You may sign for the equipment downstairs. For now, read that file. Save your questions until you are through."
Petrovina Bulganin nodded, pulling open the file.
Director Chutesov exhaled, turning attention back to her computer. The Institute head muttered as she poked lifelessly at the keys.
"And if we are very lucky, Agent Bulganin, perhaps I am wrong for the first time in my life and the idiots who run this country have not given the world yet another reason to think us a dangerous laughing-stock." Disgusted, she pulled up her solitaire program. "Men," Anna Chutesov swore.
Chapter 8
Traditionally a Master of Sinanju departed the village to much fanfare. Remo didn't like fanfare. Preferring not to make a big scene, he suggested that he and Chiun slip out of town quietly.
Chiun wouldn't have it. A newly invested Reigning Master of the House of Sinanju could not sneak out of his village like a common thief. What would the villagers think?
Remo pointed out that they'd probably be pretty okay with it, since they spent their entire lives from cradle to grave with their hands stuffed in someone else's back pocket.
"I'll toss my Visa card in the mud on the way out the door," Remo said. "They'll be so busy massaging the cramps from forging my name they won't even know I've left."
"Do you want to break with five thousand years of tradition? Is that what you want?" Chiun demanded.
"I'm down with that," Remo replied.
Chiun tried a different approach. "Do you want to spend the entire trip to South America listening to why you have shamed me yet again in front of my ancestors?"
The entire population of Sinanju was gathered in the main square of the village to bid farewell to the new Reigning Master. General Kye Pun was allowed to witness the Rite of Departure. He was swept along behind Remo and Chiun by the mass of humanity.