Plekhanov shook his massive head at the other. "Whether or not you want these changes they will be made. If you fail to co-operate, we will find someone who will. I suggest you make the most of it."
Taller arose from the squat stool upon which he'd been seated. "I have listened and I do not like what you have said. I am Khan of all the People. Now leave in peace, or I shall order my warriors ..."
"Joe," Plekhanov said flatly. "Watson!"
Joe Chessman took his heavy gun from its holster and triggered it twice. The roar of the explosions reverberated thunderously in the confined space, deafening all, and terrifying the Tulans. Bright red colored the robes the Khan wore, colored them without beauty. Bright red splattered the floor.
Leonid Plekhanov stared at his second in command, wet his thick lips. "Joe," he sputtered. "I hadn't ... I didn't expect you to be so ... hasty."
Joe Chessman growled, "We've got to let them know where we stand, right now, or they'll never hold still for us. Cover the doors, Watson, Roberts." He motioned to the others with his head. "Cogswell, Hawkins, Stevens, get to those windows and watch."
Taller was a crumbled heap on the floor. The other Texcocans stared at his body in shocked horror.
All except Reif.
Reif bent down over his father's body for a moment, and then looked up, his lips white, at Plekhanov. "He is dead."
Leonid Plekhanov collected himself. "Yes."