"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.
Garbegtrov rubbed tears from his eyes as he held on to a bulkhead for support. Still laughing, he glanced back to Zhilnikov. The captain's eyes had grown suspicious. His heavy brow was low.
The laughter died in the premier's throat.
"Oh," Garbegtrov said, amazed. "Oh, you are serious."
"Of course, Comrade Premier," Captain Zhilnikov had said. "Is that not our mission?" Garbegtrov shot a look over at the other sailors on the cramped bridge. They were busy at work. Only the executive officer was looking their way.
"Come with me, Gennady," Garbegtrov whispered.
The former premier led the captain back to the quarters he used whenever he was aboard the Novgorod.
"What precisely do you think we are doing here, Gennady?" Garbegtrov asked once the door to the small cabin was closed and locked.
"I thought we were working to restore Lenin's great vision to Mother Russia," the captain replied. Garbegtrov sat on the steel edge of his bunk. "And how will we do this with only one submarine?"
"I assumed, Comrade Premier, that we were the first in a new Soviet fleet. We would build strength, and when the time came our forces would seize control."
Garbegtrov's frown deepened. "I will let you in on a secret, Gennady," he said. "A secret I assumed you knew. We are not only the first ship in this mighty fleet you have invented, we are the only ship."
Captain Zhilnikov's face clouded. "I do not understand," he said.
"Gennady," the ex-premier said, "do you know the cost of keeping this one vessel afloat? We can barely afford it as it is."
"Finance is something capitalist Americans fret over."
Garbegtrov nodded. "You are lying to yourself if you believe communism cares nothing for money. If we did not, this ship would never have been decommissioned. She was left to rust because Mother Russia could no longer afford her. Capital has always been as important to Russia as it is to America. Except they knew better how to spend it."
Captain Zhilnikov didn't like what he was hearing. "Respectfully, Comrade Premier, the pursuit of money is not the goal of a good Communist."
Garbegtrov smiled sadly. "You and your men are being paid well, are you not?"
Zhilnikov frowned. "Yes," he admitted. "But that is because we are the new chosen ones. The vanguard of the new order."
"You are. But it is not the order that you think." And Garbegtrov went on to tell the captain how he had gone to a meeting not long before the theft of the Novgorod. At this meeting he found a group of people who had given him hope for a new future for the global Communist movement.