There now, shaking hands with the President. The President of the United States and dozens-hundreds-more world leaders and high-ranking diplomats were in Mayana for the Globe Summit. And their lives, perhaps the fate of the world, were in the hands of an utter madman.
And not one of them knew the truth.
Chapter 25
Remo had hoped to get a quick flight out of Mayana. Unfortunately the opening-day ceremonies of the Globe Summit tied up all air traffic in and out of New Briton. With dignitaries from around the world swarming the city, the earliest flight he could catch was the following morning.
He tried phoning Smith to speed things up, but Mayana's phone system was worth spit. After hours of trying, he still couldn't get through.
"You know, maybe we could get out of this dump faster if you showed me how to use that cell phone I found," Remo complained to Chiun after his hundredth time pressing the redial button on their hotel room phone. The hotel had given them a new phone with an actual cord that actually plugged into the actual wall, replacing the phone that Remo claimed was already broken in two when they checked in, honestly.
"What phone?" Chiun asked. The old Korean was watching the sun sink out over the Caribbean.
"Ha, ha," Remo said. "Come on, where is it?"
"I lost it."
"Right," Remo droned. He gave up, hanging up the phone. "Looks like we're stuck here tonight. What say we put our best clothespins on and go out to dinner?"
Still wearing a look of serious contemplation, Chiun nodded agreement. The two of them headed out the door.
The moment they stepped out into the hall, someone tried to shoot Remo in the head.
"What the hell?" he snarled, whirling. A bullet whizzed an inch from his ear, burying deep in the hallway wall.
At the far end of the corridor, two men in dark suits braced themselves in doorways, guns aimed at Remo and Chiun.
They seemed surprised to have missed with the first shot. Both men began squeezing off rounds. Silenced bullets sang left and right around the two Masters of Sinanju.
"I thought we were done," Remo griped, dodging bullets as he turned to his teacher. "Who are these guys?"
"They are dressed like the two braying fanatics who intruded on my peace yesterday," Chiun replied.
"I thought those guys didn't say anything."
As hot lead sliced the air around his frail form, Chiun waved an impatient hand. "They might have. I have weighty issues of my own to consider. I do not have time to entertain the wrong thoughts of every door-to-door religious crackpot who intrudes on my peace."
"Religious?" Remo asked, frowning.
Chiun was tapping his foot impatiently. "Are we eating or aren't we?"
"Smith gave us the okay to get out of Stenchburg," Remo mused. "If someone wants to kill us, they're going to have to follow us back home."
He turned to the gunmen who were still trying to shoot them. "Sorry, boys," he called to the increasingly frustrated men, "but we're officially off duty."
As the bullets ran dry, Remo and Chiun headed down the hall in the opposite direction. Leaving the baffled gunmen helplessly reloading, the two Masters of Sinanju ducked into the stairwell and were gone.
AFTER HOURS SPENT at the docks of New Briton, a tired but triumphant Petrovina Bulganin returned to her small hotel room flushed with success.
She had accomplished much more than her mission's original objective. Not only had she proved the Novgorod was behind the scow sinkings, she had also captured it. The renegade submarine had been stopped, its crew was in custody and-as a bonus-former Premier Nikolai Garbegtrov had been collected and quietly locked away at the Russian embassy.
In a serious crisis, Petrovina had both proved her own mettle and demonstrated the effectiveness of the Institute to Russia's male-dominated espionage community.
Yes, Remo and Chiun had helped. But no one need ever know the extent of the American agents' involvement. Vlad Korkusku wouldn't talk. Who would believe him if he did? The same with his men.
They would be laughingstocks if they mentioned any of what they had seen. Thrown out of the SVR. No, this was Petrovina Bulganin's victory to savor.
She pulled her suitcase from the closet floor, setting it on her bed. Removing her laptop from a zippered flap, she sat down at the small writing desk.
Since the ground lines were useless and she was now without a cell phone, her computer's satellite hookup was the only way she could check in with the Institute. As she booted up her computer, she thought of her special cell phone. Another exultant smile passed her full lips.
Even an unplanned accident had worked out in her favor. Everything about this assignment was working out perfectly.
When she checked her mail she found several urgent notes from Director Chutesov. Checking the time, she found that the first was already many hours old.
As Petrovina scanned the first note, her smile of triumph slowly faded. By the time she finished the second and third notes-written by Director Chutesov on a flight from Moscow-Petrovina's hands were shaking.
They were still shaking as she stabbed out the number to Remo's room. The internal lines worked. The phone rang and rang without answer. Woodenly she hung up.
Petrovina fumbled in the suitcase pocket where her computer had been hidden away. For a moment she didn't seem to know what to do with the pistol she pulled out. Finally she stuffed it in her belt, zipping her jacket up over it.
When she stepped numbly from the room a moment later, the usually efficient Petrovina Bulganin didn't even notice that she had left her computer on and the door wide-open.
Chapter 26
Captain Gennady Zhilnikov was lying on the bunk in his New Briton prison cell when he heard the distant clacking of footsteps far up the corridor beyond the iron door.
Zhilnikov tuned out the sound.
People had been coming and going all afternoon. Ever since he and his men were brought here by the local authorities. There had been local and federal police. The Russian ambassador stopped by, voicing disapproval of this whole affair. One of the SVR agents who had been on the boat that helped capture the Novgorod-an SVR neanderthal named Vlad Korkusku-came by with the ambassador. He growled and threatened and puffed out his chest in the way only old KGB could do. When he left, Korkusku told Gennady Zhilnikov that he was looking forward to seeing him back in Moscow.
Now, hours later, hands behind his head as he stared up at the springs of the empty bunk above him, Captain Zhilnikov smiled. As prison cells went, this one was not so bad. In fact, it was more spacious than his quarters on the Novgorod.
Despite Vlad Karkusku's bluster, things were not as dire as they could be. Zhilnikov had chosen the right time to go mad. With all eyes focused on Mayana, there was no way the Mayanans would deal harshly with their prisoners. Even a return to Moscow would not necessarily be the end. Ten years ago death would have been certain. Now? Who knew?
He had been told that the Russian government was already working to extradite the crew of the Novgorod. If they succeeded, the cell he would end up in would be nowhere near as pleasant as his current accommodations.
Zhilnikov didn't care so much about himself. He was more concerned about the treatment of his men. Still, the most important thing of all was that revenge had been served. There were cameras waiting when he arrived at shore. He shouted Garbegtrov's name at all of them. Although Zhilnikov hadn't heard anything yet, the former premier was certainly disgraced by now.
The captain of the Novgorod was smiling once more when he heard keys jangling outside his door. The cell door swung open. Two men in suits loomed in the doorway.
"Get up. You're coming with us."
Zhilnikov assumed he was being brought before some sort of magistrate. Climbing out of his bunk-which was more comfortable than his old worn mattress back on the Novgorod-he followed the two men out of the cell.