Warren Murphy: An Old Fashioned War

After all, for someone who does battle with a toaster with only fifty-fifty odds of success, getting the right plug into the right socket is an accomplishment.

"All our wires are tapped by the KGB, so keep that in mind."

"Why are you warning me?"

"Because despite your marine concept of Soviet Russia, the KGB and the army and my special security service serving the Premier are not all one monolithic block out to fry your precious little buns, dear," said Anna.

"You have a sharp tongue, lady," said Remo.

"So have you when you want to," said Anna. Remo lifted the telephone receiver off the hook. It was an old-style phone made of plastic that still had the aroma of the factory. As he got through to Smith, he polished the phone to make it look as though it were manufactured in a modern country.

Smith got the call and made the transfer to Sinanju, explaining that the signals required a lot of electronic brushing to clean them up.

Since the line was in the baker's house, Poo's mother answered the phone.

"Let me speak to Chiun, please."

"Poo is right here," said the mother.

"I want to speak to Chiun. This is business."

"Your lawfully wedded wife waits here every moment for the sound of her husband's voice. Her eyes are filled with tears. The rest of her has been filled with nothing."

"Yeah, well, let me speak to Chiun," said Remo. He was burning. He smiled at Anna. Anna smiled back.

"I will give you Poo."

"Poo, let me speak to Chiun," said Remo.

"There's another woman in the room with you," divined Poo.

"This is a business phone and I want to speak to Chiun."

"You haven't even consummated our marriage and you're cheating already," she wailed.

Anna did not understand the Oriental language Remo was using in the latter part of his call to Sinanju. But there were some things she did understand.

When Remo finally had a respite while waiting for Chiun, she asked:

"Remo, do you have a girlfriend in Sinanju?"

"No," said Remo honestly.

"Then who was that woman you were talking to?"

"What makes you think it was a woman?"

"Remo, I know how men speak to women. Who is she?"

"Not my girlfriend. Nothing to do with romance."

"Who is she, Retno?"

"My wife," said Remo. He went back to the phone. Chiun was there.

"Arieson's in Russia. He could start World War III. Where can I find him?"

"World War III is his business. Not ours. So long as he has left us Southeast Asia, I don't care."

"It's my concern. Where is he?"

"Until you get the treasure, why bother?"

"Where is he?"

"That is no way to speak to your father."

"Little Father, please tell me where he is. I am in Russia and I don't want to hang around this place looking for him."

"Well, if he were in the modern country called Russia, that must include Siberia. There is a Tartar encampment between Vladivostok and Kubsk. I would say he would probably be there. He would probably be welcome there for all the damage those little vandals are likely to do."

"Thanks, Little Father," said Remo.

"Poo has a word for you."

"I'll speak with her," said Remo, still in Korean, "only because I owe you a favor."

"Owe me a favor, Remo? You owe me everything. You just chose to pay back this one small thing. Here she is. Here, dear, don't cry. Remo does not mean to dishonor you and his own father by his failure as a man. Speak freely, Poo."

"Remo, I miss you. Come home soon."

"Thank you," said Remo, and turning to Anna, he asked her about a Tartar encampment between Vladivostok and Kubsk.

She unfolded a map on her imported glass coffee table and drew a circle encompassing thousands of miles.

"These are what we call tribal lands. It is amazing that Chiun knows of them. From the czars to us, every Russian government has allowed these people to live alone the way they wanted in total autonomy. We don't bother them and they don't bother us.

Every year, whatever government is in power delivers massive amounts of grain and feed for their horses. Even if we are starving, we deliver them grain."

"Why?" asked Remo.

"Because we want to be left alone."

"But if they use horses, why are you afraid of them?"

"Because they, Remo, are the descendants of Genghis Khan's horde."

Remo turned up his face. Sinanju knew Genghis Khan. Another military leader. Another bloodsoak-sack-a-city-destroy-a-culture-go-on-with-the-bloodfest military butcher.

"You have some revulsion for Genghis Khan?" asked Anna.

"Not that much. That was someone else's problem, and that problem was taken care of."

As they arranged a flight into the restricted tribal territories, Anna said:

"You might not know this, but Genghis Khan was never defeated in battle. The horde stretched west, overrunning all the Moslem East and driving into Europe before it simply turned back."

"Yeah," said Remo as they boarded a Russian Fox three-seat fighter plane for the great eastern expanses of Russia. "I know. He overran Baghdad against Sinanju's warnings, and we took care of him."

"Genghis Khan died of a heart attack," said Anna.

"I'll show you what I mean when we get there." The pilot was afraid to land his plane on the frozen wastes. He knew the tribal areas of Russia and knew that no pilot ever came back alive. Once, one had bailed out and certain delicate and private portions of his anatomy were left with his uniform at the tribute station.

Remo made the pilot think otherwise by getting hold of the nerves in the pilot's neck and showing him that there were worse things than death.

The pilot made a very bumpy landing. When Anna and Remo climbed out, jumping down to the frozen tundra, he took off immediately, almost crashing because he wanted to get out so quickly. Almost immediately, hundreds of horsemen in fur hats on small ponies appeared in the distance from all directions.

Anna grabbed Remo's hand.

"I'll show you the Genghis Khan heart disease," he said.

As the horsemen got closer, they seemed to drive themselves harder, as though the first to get to the intruders would be able to claim them.

The first horseman extended his hands during the ride, reaching for Remo's head. There was a Mongol game where they would fight for the head of a victim as sport. This sport was later transferred to India, where the British learned it and named it polo.

Remo caught the horseman, lightly plucking the small deadly warrior from the saddle like a ring on a carousel.

He slipped his right hand into the man's chest and through the sternum, feeling his heart collapse, his hand around the upper rib cage, blocking external movements of the heart. The man's eyes popped wide. His mouth opened in desperation, he let out a groan, and then slumped backward, his face contorted, his lips blue.

"Heart attack," said Remo to Anna, dropping the first one. He had to handle the next two simultaneously because they had arrived that way.

On one he scratched markings into the face and crushed the spleen.

"Pox," he said.

On the other, he manipulated the blood vessels in the neck until the warrior was unconscious. "Stroke," he said.

He caught the next, and with deft movement around the rib cage, in a manner Anna could not understand, made the joints swell suddenly.

"My rheumatoid arthritis," said Remo pleasantly. "Good, but not great. Chiun's is absolutely perfect. We can do lots of other diseases but we need time for the heavyweight loss involved."

And time was what they did not have. The invincible horde was just about to close on them from all directions and Anna could not see how Remo could get them out of this one.

Chapter 11

Huak the greater warrior, son of Bar, grandson of Huak Bar, great-grandson of Kar, all of whom traced their lineage to Sar Wa, who himself carried the seven-yak-tail banner of the Great Khan, Genghis himself, had lost none of his horse skills. He had not lost one flickering finger of accuracy with the short bow.