Warren Murphy: Sole Survivor

Chiun faced Remo and looked him in the eye. "Listen to me, Remo, for this is important," he said.

"I'm listening," said Remo, watching the Russians out of the corner of his eye.

"Then listen with your eyes too," snapped Chiun, clapping his hands so sharply that nearby pigeons took wing.

"Okay, okay."

"I have lost something important to me," Chiun scolded. "I will not lose you too."

"I can handle whatever comes," Remo said.

"Nor will I countenance your losing your seed. Someday you will have need of it, when the time comes to train the next Master after you. Look around you, Remo. Look at these people. Look at the husbands and wives and the precious little children."

Remo looked. Everywhere, he saw joy. A father picked up a small boy so he could better see a greeter dressed as Magic Mouse juggling white balls. Twin brothers took turns eating from the same cotton-candy cone, their mouths pink and sticky. It made Remo wish he was a child all over again.

"What do you see?" asked Chiun.

"I see a lot of people having fun. Makes me wish I was one of them."

"I see children who will never know the joy of a new sibling coming into their lives," intoned the Master of Sinanju. "I see parents who have created life for the final time and do not realize it. I see women who will never enjoy the miracle and wonder of birth. I see fathers who will never again behold their likeness in a baby's face. I see a desert of suffering. Meditate upon that, Remo, my son, and tell me again what you see about you."

Remo looked again.

"I see horror," he said.

"Good, for now you see true. Some of these people may be saved from such a destiny, but you must obey my every command, for there is little time."

"Say the word, Little Father," Remo said resolutely. "I'll do whatever you ask."

The Master of Sinanju nodded. "The Russians look nervous," he said. "They have many guns and there are many innocents about. You will attend to them. Use all your skill, for no bullets must fly."

"They've seen their last sunset. What about you?"

"I will search for the instrument of infertility, and Gordons. Do not follow me, for you must not risk your seed too. That is the most important part."

"I can't let you go up against Gordons alone," Remo protested.

"And I cannot let you become an empty vessel," Chiun retorted. "If you will not do this for me, or for Sinanju, then think of your betrothed, who awaits your return."

"Mah-Li," said Remo.

"Yes, Mah-Li may wish to bear your children, although why is beyond me. Keep Mah-Li in mind, lest you do something foolish. Now attend to the Russians while I search these buildings, beginning with this one. Whatever you do, whatever happens, do not follow me into any of them until I have destroyed the round sword of the Russians."

"Gotcha, Little Father," Remo promised.

And the Master of Sinanju melted into the crowd. Remo tried to follow him with his eyes, but it was impossible to spot his tiny figure moving through the masses of tall American tourists.

Colonel Rshat Kirlov understood his orders. He was to await the return of Anna Chutesov or the passing of twenty minutes. In the meantime, he was to do nothing. While he waited, he wondered why as bold a stroke as the infiltration of America by a crack KGB team would lead to a place such as Larryland. He understood that Larryland was a place like the famous Disneyland, about which he had read. Everyone knew about Disneyland, even in Soviet Russia.

Vaguely he wondered if Anna Chutesov's mission was to steal American theme-park technology. Perhaps there would soon be such places all over Mother Russia. He wondered if they would be called something like Leninland.

A seven-foot polyester bear interrupted his thoughts. "Excuse me," said the bear. "But I must ask you to check your guns at the gate. I'm sure they're not real, but even water pistols are not permitted here. We have a strict no-weapons policy. It's for everybody's safety, naturally."

"Go away," said Rshat Kirlov. "I know nothing of what you are speaking to me about."

"Look, I don't want to have to call the police."

"And I do not want you to call the police," said Colonel Rshat Kirlov, pressing the concealed muzzle of his Uzi machine pistol into the bear's fat paunch.

When Remo Williams gave up looking for the Master of Sinanju, he saw that three of the Russians had surrounded one of the official Larryland greeters, someone in a big bear suit. The trio pressed colorful beach towels against the bear suit, and were forcing the man inside to walk behind the big Moon Walk pavilion.

"Excuse me," Remo said, barging in on them. "But that's a national treasure you're assaulting."

"National-?" began Colonel Rshat Kirlov.

"Absolutely," said Remo. "Don't you recognize Yogi Bear when you see him?"

"Buster," corrected Larry Lepper, inside the suit. "Buster Bear."

"Shut up," said Remo. "Now, as I was saying, this man is a big American media star, and a close personal friend of Smokey the Bear. Why don't you leave him alone?"

"What do you not mind your own business?"

"Okay," said Remo airily. "I asked nice. Didn't you people hear me ask nice?"

"Yes," said Larry Lepper nervously. "I did."

Remo decided that the Russians weren't the problem. Their weapons were. He took the weapons of the two nearest men away from them with a one-handed sweep. The third man, the one who had been speaking and the apparent leader, saw Remo hold up two Uzis in one hand and the covering towels in the other. He hesitated.

The hesitation was momentary. Remo's kick was lightning.

Colonel Rshat Kirlov felt his Uzi leap into the air. Remo caught it coming down. The towel fluttered after it, and Remo got it too.

"Now, watch carefully," Remo said. The Russians watched. So did Lepper, peering through the eyeholes concealed in Buster Bear's smiling mouth.

Remo tucked one of the Uzis under an arm and, with a steel-hard forefinger, proceeded to stuff a beach towel down the weapon's blunt muzzle like a magician loading colored scarves into a hollow wand. He tossed the weapon back at its owner and performed the same operation on the other two machine pistols before returning them.

"Ta-dah," he sang. "Nothing up my sleeves, either."

"What means 'ta-dah'?" asked Colonel Rshat Kirlov, looking at the weapon in his hand. He stared down the muzzle. It was dark. There was obviously no beach towel inside, although to the naked eye it had looked as though the crazy American had stuffed the thick towel into the gun. Colonel Kirlov knew that could not be. The muzzle of an Uzi would barely accommodate a pencil, never mind a very thick towel.

"Are your weapons clear?" he asked the other men. They nodded.

"Then use them."

Remo stood with his arms folded while three trigger fingers depressed three triggers and three hands shattered into raw bone and blood. The men did not have time to scream. They never realized that their guns had backfired and exploded. Remo danced up to each of them and took them out with stiff-fingered strokes to their frontal lobes.

"What happened?" asked Larry Lepper dully. The three men lay on the ground.

"They died," Remo said unconcernedly. He was looking for more Russians. He saw two more, standing like Hawaiian versions of Mafia bodyguards before the Moon Walk pavilion. "Excuse me while I go kill some more."

"Nice meeting you," said Larry Lepper, grateful that he would not have to deal with the armed men.

"Give Smokey my best," Remo called back.

The sound of the exploding Uzis had gone unnoticed in the carnival sounds of Larryland, so the next pair of Russians had no idea that there had been trouble. They stood at attention, oblivious of the crowds swirling around them.

Remo slipped up from behind and took an elbow in each hand. The men felt a sudden irresistible urge to drop their weapons. They did.