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into the humid dusk, the odor assaulted them anew. On their way into the hotel
from the parking lot they made arrangements to meet after dinner.
"I will come to your room," Petrovina said. While she went to the desk to
check her messages, Remo headed for the elevator.
He was pressing the button for the eighth floor when a small group of men
hustled onto the car. Most of the men looked like they had pieced their
outfits together from the Goodwill bin. Two wore suits with sandals. But at
the center of the crowd was a roly-poly little man, well dressed except for a
straw Panama hat that didn't quite coordinate with the rest of his outfit.
When Remo glanced at the man's face, he realized with a smile why he was
wearing the mismatched hat.
NICOLAI GARBEGTROV was frowning as the elevator doors closed. When he saw his
reflection in the silver doors, he took quick inventory, as he always did
these days. He tugged gently on the brim of his hat, making certain the
offending pro-American tattoo that had mysteriously appeared on his head was
completely covered. Satisfied that none of the disfigurement was showing, he
let loose a soft grunt.
The former Soviet leader glanced around the car. Garbegtrov noted the thin man
who was not part of his entourage standing in the back of the elevator. The
man seemed to be smiling at some private joke. In his T-shirt and chinos he
didn't look like a visiting diplomat. Probably a member of the Green Earth
rank and file. The ex-head of the Soviet empire stuck out a pudgy hand.
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"Hello, fellow citizen of world," he announced. "I am Nikolai Garbegtrov,
concerned passenger of spaceship Earth."
Remo looked at Garbegtrov, then looked at Garbegtrov's hand. He looked back at
Garbegtrov. "Sorry, I don't shake hands with Russians. Got tired of having to
take inventory of my fingers afterward."
Confused, Garbegtrov withdrew his hand. "Do you not know who I am?" he asked.
"Know. Don't care," Remo said as he watched the floor numbers blink by.
His sagging frown growing deeper, Garbegtrov retreated to the center of his
entourage.
When the doors opened on the eighth floor a moment later, Remo slipped through
the crowd. On his way out, he looked square at Garbegtrov's forehead.
"Nice tattoo," Remo said with an approving nod. "I think America's pretty
neat, too."
Garbegtrov let loose a horrified gasp. Thinking his hat had fallen off, he
clamped his hands to his head. Fat fingers rammed the brim of the Panama hat,
knocking it clear off his head.
Shrieking, he plastered an arm up around his bald head as he frantically tried
to catch the hat on the way to the floor. Men scattered as Garbegtrov swatted
the hat around a half-dozen times before finally catching it one-handed near
his toes. With his bald dome pressed to the corner so no one could see, he
quickly tugged the hat back on.
The doors were closing as he straightened. Panting, the former Russian leader
watched the thin young man's retreating back. When the doors closed,
Garbegtrov's eyes were narrowed to daggers of suspicion.
REMO HEARD the doors ping shut behind him. He was still smiling as he rounded
the far corner of the hall.
When Remo had left earlier that day, Chiun opted to stay at the hotel. After
their trip to the Vaporizer, the old Korean had complained about the damage
prolonged exposure to the Mayanan air might do to the delicate fabric of his
kimono. But Remo saw the look on his teacher's face. He had seen the same
expression many times over the past few months. Chiun wanted to be alone to
meditate. The old Korean was introspective ever since Remo's ascendency to
Reigning Masterhood. It was as if he were trying to come to terms with some
great inner dilemma.
Chiun's private problems weren't on Remo's mind as he headed up the hall.
Thanks to his chance meeting with the ex-Soviet premier, Remo's spirits were
light when he got to his room. He was whistling as he pushed the door open.
His face fell the instant he stepped over the threshold.
"Aw, c'mon, we're not starting this again," Remo groused, swinging the door
shut behind him. Chiun sat cross-legged on the floor, face turned to the
balcony and the setting sun. Behind him on the carpet two men in suits lay
facedown on the carpet. Red stains spread from beneath their chests, darkening
the beige rug. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]