In a flash, Duggan dove behind the nearest table and shoved it sideways into a makeshift shield for Savage and himself just as the shots started ringing out. "Hey, Macho, it's bulletproof," he mused as they started backing away towards the door, "Must be thicker wood than usual."

"Just like in the movies, yeah; anything the good guys get behind becomes automatically bulletproof-not that I'm complaining, of course," Savage pointed out, "Still, gotta get out of here before the rest of the KGB shows up."

"Well, no problem there," Duggan noticed a window at the end of the hall. With another loud (and rather unnecessary given the circumstances) "HOOOOOOOOO!" he raced towards the window and dove through it with a shower of glass. "Oh well," Savage shrugged, shoving the table towards the approaching guards and diving out the window himself. "You're lucky we're on the first floor, or this would have been really dumb," he told Duggan as they scrambled around towards the back of the convention center. "What's going on?" a concerned Bret was looking out the open back doors of the catering truck, "You two didn't set off the alarm, did...?"

"Long story, Hitman; drive!" Savage shouted to Steamboat at the wheel, who immediately floored it the moment he and Duggan had dove into the back of the truck. "We actually didn't need to take any photos," the Macho Man explained, "Volkoff blurted out a spontaneous confession on worldwide TV."

"Full on, full tilt confession, just like the dope he is," Duggan added, "The U.S. Embassy'll have Hulk sprung in no time now."

"Ain't you forgetting what they said?" Savage raised an eyebrow, "How they were going to off him to make sure...?"

Everyone in the truck gasped. "Then we probably don't have time for the embassy to get him out," the Hitman mused, concerned, "If Volkoff confessed by accident like you said, they may speed up killing him off. We may have to rely on whatever Slaughter's plan is."

"Come on, Sarge, where are you?" Steamboat mumbled nervously, pacing around in circles inside the Polivinovs' apartment. Almost half an hour had gone by past the time Slaughter had said he'd return, but still no sign of him or everyone who's gone with him.

"Never mind Sarge, where's Koloff with that tape?" Duggan looked grim as he paced too, "Like I said, he might be double-crossing us..."

But it was at that moment that there was a knock on the door. "It is I," came Nikita's voice.

"Are you alone?" Davey hesitantly pressed himself against the door.

"Yes, I am," came the answer. The British Bulldog glanced out the window to make sure, but there was no one else visible outside. "You have the tape?" he asked, opening the door.

"Right here, with Volkoff's confession," Nikita handed the tape recorder to him, looking grim, "I also got Comrade Menzhinsky afterwards calling the gulag to say they were sending someone over to pick up Hogan's title belt before they shot him..."

"And that will be us," came Ivan's furious voice from the stairs. Nikita gulped and turned to see his uncle stomping up the stairs, three at a time, looking livid. "Uncle Ivan, how'd...where'd...?" he stammered to say something.

"What is the meaning of this, Nikita?" Ivan demanded, seizing hold of the tape recorder from his nephew, "I saw you sneak out of the convention center and followed you here; how could you consort with Russia's enemies?" he gestured contemptuously at the Western wrestlers.

"Now wait a minute, pal...!" Duggan bellowed, incensed.

"Let me handle this, Jim," Bret stepped forward, "Mr. Koloff, we know Hulk Hogan is innocent of murder; we just..."

"Lying bourgeois dogs!" Ivan screamed at him, "It's not enough you have to kill my janitor, now you brainwash my own nephew to do your bidding! What did they give you to force you to betray Mother Russia, Nikita?" he leaned into his nephew's face, "Mind control drugs, tranquilizers...?"

"Nothing, Uncle Ivan. And Hogan is innocent; I know it as well," Nikita protested, "Why can't you...?"

"I see. They went the extra mile to warp your mind. Well, nobody does that to my nephew, the pride of the Soviet Union. And you Western pigs can forget about getting Hogan out!" Ivan slammed the tape recorder to the floor and stamped down on it until it was hopelessly smashed. "He is dead within the next hour, and there's nothing you or your worthless government can do to stop us!" he gloated at the stunned Western wrestlers, "Come Nikita," he took his nephew firmly by the arm and dragged him roughly towards the door, "After we get your mind cleared out from whatever they drugged you with, we've been authorized to pick up Hogan's belt and deliver it to Volkoff; the whole country is waiting for his and Russia's moment of glory."

"But Uncle Ivan...!" Nikita stammered for something to say, but got nothing out as he was dragged away up the alley. The other wrestlers stared glumly at the smashed tape recorder. "Now what do we do?" Tito spoke for all of them, "How do we get concrete evidence now?"

There was silence for a moment. "Hang on," Elizabeth spoke up from the corner, where she'd been playing checkers with Kostya and Marina previously, "You had said the Russian TV programs were recording the speech, Randy?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, it stands to reason those same crews will be at the stadium to film the Summit Series," she pointed out, "And, they'd probably still have the tapes with them..."

"So we just get it off them," Andre snapped his fingers, "We come up with something..."

"Not in time to get Hulk out, though," Davey shook his head, "We need some way to..."

Just then there came a loud blaring sound from the alley. "Now what?" the Bulldog rushed to the window again. "Oh my," he exclaimed. His teammates rushed to join him and saw what he did: a giant tracked truck moving up the alley towards the apartment complex. "Hey!" Piper, now wearing Highland facial war paint, waved from the top of the truck, "We have returned!"

"Well I'll be," Bret mused. He led the rush down the stairs. "Roddy, where'd you get this thing?" he asked loudly, approaching the truck.

"Oh, the skeleton staff at the army depot was quite glad to lend it to us after a little persuading," Piper grinned.

"We're ruined!" a miserable Vera lamented inside the cab, "They'll execute us now too for breaking and entering...!"

"Madam, we'll be just fine. Now, you just take these tickets," Slaughter, seated next to her, handed her a set of them, "and go have a seat in the front row at the stadium; they can't get you there in front of the eyes of the world. We'll be there soon with your husband."

"But it's thirty kilometers outside Moscow, and no one ever escapes from the gulag...!"

"What's this thing, Sarge?" Savage asked the former drill sergeant with raised eyebrows, interrupting Vera's protests.

"A special prototype attack vehicle they were building at the depot," the Boss Man answered the question for Slaughter, hopping down from the driver's seat, "Part of the Russians' newest technology for the arms race. We figured it might come in handy in case we needed to go in for Hulk..."

"Well, looks like we're going to," Duggan related everything he and Savage had heard at the celebratory banquet. "Then we have no choice," a determined look crossed Slaughter's face once Duggan had finished, "We're going into their detention facility and busting Hogan out."

"Wait, think over what you're saying, Sergeant," Elizabeth looked worried, "You can't seriously be suggesting we charge head-on into a Soviet prison...!"

"Of course not, Liz; we got some bulletproof vests from the depot too, enough for everyone," Piper tossed several down to street level.

"Roddy, they're going to have heavy arms there, without question!" she still wasn't convinced, "And we don't want to set off an international incident; suppose this rebounds badly on the U.S...!"

"They may have arms, but we have an experimental supermagnet," Piper tapped a large device set up on the back of the vehicle with a wide smile, "Powerful enough to disarm anyone within a hundred yards, I'll wager."

"And besides, don't worry about blowback, because I don't care what the Ruskies do-no offense," Duggan raised a hand at the Polivinovs, "As long as justice is done, and we get Hulk back in time for the match with Volkoff..."

"Uh, problem there, Jim; I don't think we have the time," Davey was frowning as he examined his watch, "The Summit Series starts in a little under an hour; if the prison's thirty kilometers outside Moscow, I don't think we'd be able to get in, get Hulk and Viktor out, and get to Central Lenin in time..."

"Then we'll just have to make the time. You and Tito stall in your matches as much as you can," Bret told his brother-in-law and the Mexican-American, "Make them last as long as you can; don't get pinned or counted out, and don't pin Pietrov and the Sheik unless you absolutely have to. Also, make sure Vera and the kids are safely in the front row where the KGB can't grab them without being seen on international TV, and then see if you can find someone on a TV crew who has tape footage of Volkoff's confession earlier."

The cameras had these ID numbers on them," Duggan pulled out a spare piece of paper, wrote down the Cyrillic letters in question, and handed the paper to Davey. "Well, we'll do what we can, then," the British Bulldog nodded, looking a little down nonetheless, "Shame I can't go along, though; if we're successful, it would be nice to tell Harry with pride how I helped do it..."

"Well, if you can stall enough and get the tapes, trooper, that'll be a good enough contribution. All right, maggots, gather around," Slaughter spread a large map on the assault vehicle's hood, "I've devised a plan of action from the ifnormation obtained from the depot personnel..."

"Already?" Andre was amazed.

"In the Marine Corps, Mr. Rousimoff, we live to plan ahead for any mission," Slaughter informed him. "Especially since we'll need to move before depot security catches up with this baby. Now," he gestured everyone forward, "Here's what we're going to do..."