At the same moment Boris Knackenpast ran from the house to the flier, his robot gear clattering like Don Quixote's armor.
The guards scattered and dove for cover.
"Down, lads! Grenade!" Pashkov yelled.
The two apes took up the cry, "Grenade, grenade!" and flattened themselves behind the tree.
Nadezhda and Medvedev collided, digging in behind the valet.
Only Petchareff remained standing. "Stop the robot!"
Nobody moved.
Boris reached the flier, Colonel James pulled him in, the engine hummed, and they were off. A moment later the flier vanished in the clouds towards Stockholm.
Petchareff relit his cigar. "Tfui, tastes of monkey hair."
Medvedev shambled over. "Was the grenade a dud?"