Skull Duggery

His slight movement caught the attention of the tall robed man as he finished pumping a poisonous orange solution into the round skinlike pad.

An incredibly wrinkled face turned in Remo's direction. Eyes like obsidian chips regarded him with reptilian steadiness.

The dry mouth parted. Words like the rustling of a viper through autumn leaves reached his ears.

"Please do not attempt to rise," the voice said.

And to his surprise, Remo obeyed. He didn't know why. He wanted to get up very much. Instead, he watched helplessly as the tall man-he was Asian, Remo saw as his face hovered over him with clinical detachment-reached behind one ear.

Remo heard a ripping sound and wondered if those blue talons were tearing at his skin.

Then the other hand reached behind his ear and the warm ink swept over his brain again.

He seemed to see in his mind's eye rills of black liquid collect in his brain crevices. They looked evil-like spreading black veins. But he knew this was impossible. How could he see his own brain? It was behind his eyes, not in front of them.

Wasn't it?

Chapter 32

The first thing the Master of Sinanju noticed, as his pony topped the rise and the provincial capital of Sayn Shanda lay revealed, was the activity in the gers studding the surrounding pastureland.

Mongols moved between the tents, grooming their horses for battle. Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed.

"What transpires here?" he demanded of the Chinese woman.

"The Mongos have been incited by foreign elements," Fang Yu told him in a disinterested voice.

They were not challenged as they rode into the city.

Fang Yu led them to a run-down section of town where saffron-robed lamas walked the grounds of a dilapidated monastery, which looked as if it had been closed for the seventy-odd years Communism had held sway over Outer Mongolia.

Shaven-headed lamas stabled their ponies. Two helped Zhang Zingzong off his horse. He needed help because his hands were tied to the pointed pommel of his saddle with cords of braided bamboo. He had resisted being led to Sayn Shanda until two Mongols fell upon him and bound him to his horse.

After that, he was quiescent. An unlit cigarette dangled between his lips.

"Follow me, please," Fang Yu said as Zhang was set on his feet.

The three of them walked into the monastery through a heavy wood door studded with iron spikes.

Chiun's nostrils recoiled at the strong odor of incense that permeated the dim interior. Under it was the heavy cloying weight of musk.

The lama gestured them to follow. He carried a yakbutter candle in an ornate brass stick. It threw light on the colorful walls-idealized paintings of the Buddha and other religious subjects. Here and there, sections of wall lay exposed, where gold or inlaid panels had been ripped free by looters.

Through twisting passages they walked, the lama's feet making slipper sounds on the stone floor. Zhang Zingzong walked with the heavy tread of a condemned man, his head hung low. No sound attended the Master of Sinanju's footsteps. He had left off his Mongolian attire, and wore instead a tiger-striped kimono. The play of candlelight on its shifting silken stripes was like the muscles of a great cat rippling under a true tigerskin.

They came at last to a great double door of hammered bronze panels depicting a looping dragon battling a fiery phoenix.

Outside the door stood a wiry man in a black chauffeur's uniform. He stood proud as a caliph's eunuch, his arms folded, his head slightly bowed, so his black cap shadowed his features.

As they approached, he lifted his face, exposing a domino mask of polished onyx. His eyes showed through the almond slits like black opals that had been sanded of their luster. They looked dead.

The black-masked chauffeur turned and threw open the doors with a double-handed flourish. He watched stonily as they passed by, then fell in behind them.

The room was a great vaulted chamber. At the far end, a throne of ivory and rosewood stood on a low stone dais. And on this throne sat a man.

Old he was. His eyes were sunk into their sockets as if retreating from all sound, all light. They were black and filmy, but their bright intelligence showed through the film like dim diamonds.

The old man stood up with a feline grace, causing the silken folds of his filigreed mandarin gown to fall and shift. The golden hem of his gown touched the floor, making him resemble a pillar of green-gold flame with a human head on top. On his head rested a black mandarin's skull cap decorated with a tiny coral button.

The Master of Sinanju stepped forward, his face impassive.

The black-masked chauffeur leapt to the dais protectively. The tall Asian motioned toward him with long fingers tipped with intricate nail-protectors of blue jade.

"Sagwa!" he hissed.

The one addressed as Sagwa subsided. Chin lifting proudly, he folded his arms and took his place at his master's side.

Without a word, Chin got down on his hands and knees in the prescribed full bow of Asia. His forehead touched the cold stone floor twice. His face was as cold as the stone, and harder.

He stood up and his lips parted, but barely moved as low words came out.

"To behold you with these old eyes," he intoned, "is to hear thunder from a clear sky. I had believed you ashes, Wu Ming Shi."

"Paper cannot wrap up a fire. It served my purposes to have Asia believe this for a time," said the mandarin Wu Ming Shi. His wrinkled vellum countenance barely moved with his words. It was like the preserved mask of a mummy actuated by mechanical assistance. "The Communist Revolution crushed my hopes to assume the ancient Dragon Throne as China's next emperor. I knew that they would fail, so I slept until a time when revolt troubled the air. Now."

"Your wisdom is boundless. Even I, your former servant, thought you no longer among the living."

"You honor me, you who are in your way as great as I am in mine."

Chiun inclined his head toward the unmoving chauffeur.

"I see you have a new servant," he remarked.

"A former pupil of your late nephew. He was to have been the first of a new line of night tigers, I had hoped."

"He knows Sinanju?" Chiun asked in surprise.

"Some. He is no Master. His true expertise is in the White Crane school of kung fu."

"Ah, I have heard of it. It approaches the perfection of our art."

The chauffeur's proud chin lifted slightly. It fell at Chiun's next words.

"The way a candle approaches the glory of the sun," Chiun finished. "Still, to one unfamiliar with it, it is formidable enough. Why is he masked?"

"In the time I slept, he allowed himself to become famous through playacting in films. This was a mistake. I had his death arranged so the world would think him no more. Now that I am free to move among men once more, I find the mask a regrettable necessity. It also reminds him of his errors, for he came into prominence dressed in these servant's clothes and wearing such a mask. It is a conceit that pleases me to have him play the part of a mere chauffeur in actuality."

Wu Ming Shi's vellum lips twitched slightly wider. The teeth showed as brown as old corn.

"I have brought the one known as Zhang Zingzong with me," Chiun said. "What is it you wish of him?"

"I have promised him to the butchers in Beijing, in return for certain concessions." Wu Ming Shi directed his stained smile toward the trembling Chinese. "They want his head very badly."

"I have certain obligations to this man," Chiun said quietly.

"Obligations which you may see fit to put aside, for I have something to offer you in return for this man."

"This is unlikely, for as you know, my word is sacred to me."

The return nod was imperceptible.

"I have in my possession a man known to you by the curious name of Remo," Wu Ming Shi went on. "Might not his life hold more value to you than your word?"

Chiun's eyes squeezed into walnut slits. His voice was controlled when he next spoke.

"No man's life is more important to a Master of Sinanju than his word," he said tightly. "The one you speak of is a former servant of mine. No more."

"He has journeyed a long way to seek you. He has suffered through storm and the deception of the female heart." The blue nail protectors gestured to Fang Yu, who stood with her head meekly bowed.

"Through unavoidable circumstances, I left him owing money," Chiun said casually, adding, "the matter that has brought me to Asia was pressing. No doubt he seeks his severance fee."

"Then you will not object to my doing with him what I will?" Wu Ming Shi suggested in a dry voice.

"I have some sentimental attachment to him. For he served me well-for a big-footed white man."

"Fang Yu," the mandarin Wu Shi Ming hissed, "bring the foreign devil here."

Fang Yu bowed and padded away. The mandarin Wu Ming Shi directed his strange gaze toward the Master of Sinanju. His nail protectors clicked as he gestured.

"While we wait," he intoned, "there is much catching up we must do. In Beijing, it is whispered that you now work for the American government. Can this be so, Master Chiun?"

"Their gold is as yellow as that of any emperor, and exceedingly bountiful."

Wu Ming Shi nodded. "The Communists would rather pay in lead than gold-even to those who work for them. And they buzz among themselves that the people do not appreciate them."

"The North Koreans are not so bad," Chiun said. "But they have no work for Sinanju, being reliant upon their armies and their Communist lies."

"They ride a tiger that will eat them if they dare dismount. It is true in Pyongyang as well as Beijing."

"Once the Chinese people devour their leaders, what then?"

The blue-jade nail protectors flashed. "In Beijing," Wu Ming Shi said, "I have allies even among the high bureaucrats. I have been meeting with them. Through them, I hear of a new Golden Horde led by a modern khan. It is said their numbers have swollen to seven thousand."

"Beijing looks through the world from the bottom of a well," said Chiun. "And your information is old. Ten thousand is their present number."

"Abiding beside vermilion stains one red," Wu Ming Shi said flatly, eyeing his chauffeur. "Near ink one is sometimes stained black. I am told, Master of Sinanju, that Mongols are gathering for war outside this very city. Are these yours?"

"I know them not," Chiun said stiffly. "My Mongols are camped twenty li from this place."

"In Beijing, they fear your horsemen seek to retake China."

"I am going only to Inner Mongolia, and not to conquer."

"I know what it is you seek in Inner Mongolia, Master of Sinanju, for I know you possess the Silver Skull of Targutai."

Before the Master of Sinanju could reply, the bronze doors folded open and the Chinese girl, Fang Yu, came in leading Remo Williams, wearing an unwashed white T-shirt, by one hand. The Master of Sinanju's sudden indrawn breath was sharp. For Remo's eyes were as dull as paper cutouts, his expression slack and listless.

Chapter 33

Remo Williams came awake like a fist unclenching.

An oval face floated before his watery vision.

"Fang Yu?" he croaked.

"You are welcome." The voice was light, mocking.

Remo's vision cleared. "What's going on?"

"Stand up."

Remo hesitated-in his mind. His body lifted itself painfully.

"You will do exactly as I command," Fang Yu said imperiously.

"Screw you," Remo snapped.

Fang Yu smiled tightly. "Follow me."

"No chance," Remo said.

But as Fang Yu started from the room, Remo's legs carried him after her. It was as if he were a lodestone drawn in the wake of the Chinese woman's personal magnetic field.

Remo had all his faculties. His brain was alert. His reflexes seemed fine. He took in the sights and sounds of the twisting corridors Fang Yu led him through. But he was completely powerless to resist her command to follow. Once a maroon-robed Asian with a shaven head withdrew into a stone niche and allowed them to pass in silence.

"I gave at the airport," Remo said dryly. His humor fell flat on his own ears.

They came to an ornate double-valved bronze door.

"Open these," Fang Yu said, gesturing.

Remo took the great handles and flung them back. Heavy as the doors were, they flew back, causing yak-butter candles in nearby niches to flutter and go out.

"I guess I still have my strength," Remo muttered as if he found it hard to believe.

"But I own your will," Fang Yu said, taking him by one thick wrist. She led him into a great vaulted chamber adorned with Buddhistic religious wall paintings.

All eyes turned in his direction, Remo saw. There was Chiun, hands in his sleeves, more resplendent than usual, in tiger stripes. No flicker of expression, not surprise or sympathy, disturbed the network of wrinkles that comprised his visage.

Zhang Zingzong hovered beside him, looking frightened.

And on a dais stood the black-masked chauffeur, his arms folded like a bottle genie in modern regalia. Next to him stood a thin Chinese man in greenish-gold robes. He reminded Remo of a taller, older-if that were possible-version of Chiun.

Remo recognized him as the mysterious occupant of the black limousine, the one whose comings and goings were so inexplicable.

His eyes flicked to the man's feet, seeking an explanation of those puzzling footprints in the snow. But the robe's gold hem hid his feet from sight.

Remo noticed he had trouble focusing his senses on the tall Chinese. It was as if the man were not really there.

Remo tested his hearing. One by one, the heartbeats of those in the room came to him-Fang Yu's was normal, Chiun's strong and deep. Zhang's was accelerated. Pitching his hearing beyond them, Remo was surprised at the heartbeats he picked up. The chauffeur's heart was drumming three times the normal rate. Then he zeroed in on the tall Asian.

Nothing.

Remo blocked the others' out. Still nothing. The man on the dais either had no heart-or it did not beat.

Remo allowed himself to be led into their presence.

The tall Chinese spoke.

"I am known as Wu Ming Shi. In Mandarin, this means Nameless One, for no one knows my true name. This is as I wish."

"Maybe you should be wearing the mask," Remo remarked. His voice was hoarse, robbing it of its acid quality.

"He has spirit," Wu Ming Shi told the Master of Sinanju.

Chiun shrugged unconcernedly.

"He is too spirited, which was why I was forced to let him go. I find the company of Mongols more to my liking. They respect who I am and obey without question."

"You might at least have left a freaking note," Remo said.

"Quiet!" Chiun thundered, his crackling voice reverberating off the metallic ceiling.

"I am told, white man, that there is unsettled business between you and the Master of Sinanju," the mandarin Wu Ming Shi suggested.

"I'll say there is," Remo growled, eyeing Chiun. He was angry. The hurt was no longer in him. He felt only a cold anger in his stomach. It was like bubbling ammonia.

"I have offered the Master of Sinanju your life in return for certain things of value, including the life of this Chinese man, Zhang. The Master of Sinanju has refused my generous offer."

"I'm not surprised," Remo said, glaring at Chiun. "He always puts his own interests first."

Wu Ming Shi nodded. "So you must die," he said, "having no value in these negotiations." Wu Ming Shi directed his voice toward Chiun. He barely moved on the dais, being more like a statue than a man. "Have you any objections to this, Master of Sinanju?"

"Yes. One."

"Speak."

"I owe this one a fee," Chiun announced to all. "I cannot allow him to die with the debt unpaid-any more than I would a dog I had promised to feed."

The mandarin Wu Ming Shi absorbed this in silence. The rising tone of the Master of Sinanju's words was not lost on him. His eyes glittered momentarily.

"Conclude your business, then, so that we may finish our own."

Chiun turned and padded toward Remo. Fang Yu withdrew.

From one sleeve of his tiger kimono, Chiun withdrew several gold coins. He offered them to a dumbfounded Remo.

"Here is your ten percent, which I was unable to give you, owing to the urgent nature of my business here," Chiun said loudly.

Remo threw the coins away.

"What happened to my not earning-"

"Our business is done!" Chiun said quickly. "I am sorry that you followed me here, for it would have been better had you not done so. For your life is forfeit."

"What are you talking about?"

"Farewell, faithful servant," Chiun shouted, turning away from Remo. Out of the side of his mouth he spoke. "Do not shame me before these Chinese barbarians," he whispered. "And remember this: one hand lies while the other tells the truth."

"What kinda crap is this?" Remo demanded.

"Please," Chiun said in an offended tone.

Remo arched a puzzled eyebrow. "Please?"

"This is a place of holy men." Chiun withdrew.

He stopped before the dais and bowed slightly. "The debt is paid. You may execute him now."

"Execute!" Remo barked, his muscles tensing. He started to back toward the door.

"Stay," Fang Yu snapped. Remo obeyed. He didn't want to obey. His mind knew he should not. But his body refused to go along. He was helpless.

And on the dais, the hauntingly familiar black-masked chauffeur stepped off, light as a dancer, and approached Remo with the sure catlike grace of a tiger approaching a staked goat.

He lifted his hands, circling around Remo. His lips peeled back in a satisfied grin of anticipation.

"Observe how like the white crane attacking the fox," Wu Ming Shi intoned, "Sagwa hops on one leg."

"So does a dog when it relieves itself," Chiun said.

"The arms are held high like wings, and like beaks the hands are prepared to strike at his opponent."

"This other man is a vassal, not an opponent," Chiun pointed out.

"He has will except when countermanded. The result of a certain drug introduced into his system through a Western conceit called a skin patch."

Skin patch? Remo thought, remembering the tearing sound behind his right ear. He reached for it.

"No!" Fang Yu cried. "Do not touch behind your ears."

Remo obeyed.

"This is not a fair fight," Chin said emotionlessly.

"You object?" Wu Ming Shi demanded quickly.

"It is no longer my concern, for the debt has been settled." "The other man wears a similar patch. For he is highspirited. Thus, they are equal, both obeying my commands, but also capable of attack or defense."

Chiun nodded. A little of the tension that had deepened his facial wrinkles relaxed.

Remo didn't notice any of this. He heard their exchange as if from far away. All his concentration was on the blackmasked chauffeur. He circled Remo warily, looking like an absurd black crow as he hopped on one foot.

Remo circled with him, waiting for the first blow.

None came.

"I guess I go first," Remo said. Then Sagwa feinted with one hand. Remo faded back. Then he lunged forward.

Sagwa leapt aside. One arm straight as a rod swept downward. Remo slid under the blow, feeling the push of compressed air driven by the stroke.

He swung on the rebound, using his elbow as a striking point. But it encountered only the faint afterthought of Sagwa's body warmth.

The gap between them was too great, and Remo instantly understood the theory behind this unfamiliar fighting style. Don't strike first. It kept the opponent at a disadvantage. In order to strike, Remo would have to come in on an inside line. But the chauffeur was like a repelling force on a pivot, prepared for any attack. There were no openings, because he refused to attack. He would only defend himself.

Remo watched the man's hands. They were like beaks undulating above his head.

Then, grinning, the chauffeur made a fist with his right hand. Remo watched it closely.

"Where have I seen you before?" Remo asked the man.

"In your nightmares," Sagwa spat. The fist flattened out, fingers straight. The other hand now formed a fist.

"One hand lies, the other tells the truth," Remo muttered. "But which one?"

He decided to find out.

Remo jumped back until his spine touched the closed bronze doors. Using them for leverage, he propelled himself with a backward kick.

The maneuver sent Remo shooting into the air, sailing over the chauffeur's twisting head.

A gloved fist shot up, clipping Remo's left calf.

It felt like a sledgehammer. Remo saw stars. He landed on one foot, the other held off the ground. He hopped three times before he found his balance.

The chauffeur came around, still hopping on one foot.

"Okay," Remo said. "Now I know which hand tells the truth."

Remo hopped back as the chauffeur advanced. He sensed the power of Chiun's inner essence hovering near him.

His whispery voice floated to Remo's ears. "Remember, do not shame me."

Remo hesitated. Why should he listen to Chiun now-after all that had happened? Then again, Chiun had warned him about the lying hand.

Remo put his foot down. It hurt. He stepped forward, limping slightly. "Damn!" he said.

The chauffeur hopped before him, not advancing, not retreating, but taunting him. Remo watched him maneuver. He saw the opening he wanted.

Remo went in low, his body bent at the waist.

With a victorious cry, the chauffeur brought his right fist down. Remo countered with crossed wrists. A mistake. The other hand, straight as a spear, caught him in the throat.

Remo rolled with the blow, coughing. As the chauffeur approached, Remo retreated, scrambling to keep his feet. This brought him close to Chiun.

Pitching his voice so only Chiun heard it, he demanded, "What happened to one hand lies, the other tells the truth?"

"He is Chinese, and therefore devious," Chiun whispered back.

"This guy is no kung-fu dancer," Remo growled.

"Nuihc gave him the benefit of certain knowledge," Chiun said.

"He knows Sinanju?" Remo said in surprise.

"He knows many styles, some worthy; some not," Chiun said. "But listen to his heart. He is empowered by drugs." "That explains why he's faster than me."

Chiun turned to Wu Ming Shi suddenly, lifting his voice. "It would seem that our servants are equally worthy."

"You have taught yours more than a few defensive tricks."

"A servant needs to protect his Master," Chiun returned.

Remo hopped closer, lifting both hands in imitation of the chauffeur's tortured stance.

"Your guy seems to know what he's doing," Remo taunted. "Why don't I try it?" He made a fist. "One hand lies," he mocked, "the other tells the truth."

For a moment, Sagwa's black eyes grew worried behind his mask. Then his arrogance asserted itself.

"You are a fool!" he hissed.

"Maybe, but you're the guy who thinks he's a whooping crane."

Remo feinted, more to test this unfamiliar style than anything else. It felt awkward, but he instantly appreciated the advantage of the long-arm style. Joints and wrists locked, it imparted pile-driver power to the blow because the entire of the body was behind it.

Respectfully the chauffeur danced out of the way of Remo's first clumsy blows.

Remo moved in, hopping. He danced to one side, hopped into reverse. All the time, he watched his opponent's hands, looking for the truth and the lie.

The chauffeur did the same. His arms went back and forth, and Remo opened and closed his fists alternately.

And while his opponent's eyes were mesmerized by the play of fingers, Remo suddenly put his weight on his bad foot and lashed out with his good one.

The blow was low and elegant. It caught the chauffeur in the kneecap, splintering it.

Sagwa screamed. And in the instant he balanced in midair, Remo countered with a closed fist to the other knee. It broke like a plate.

The chauffeur landed on his ass. Remo stepped up and brought one foot down on his left elbow. The joint cracked like a walnut.

Pain warped the chauffeur's masked face. He grabbed for Remo's restraining ankle. Remo deflected the off-balance stroke with a casual slap of his hand. Then he reached down for the mask, saying, "It's midnight. Time for all good little trick-or-treaters to unmask."

"Stop!" commanded the mandarin Wu Ming Shi.

Remo's hand froze. Gritting his teeth, he willed his straining fingers to touch the mask. They held fast, as if encountering an invisible wall.

"Stand back from my Sagwa," Wu Ming Shi ordered.

Obediently Remo stepped back. He swore under his breath.

"Sagwa. Rise to your feet."

Sagwa, sweating and straining, attempted to get up. He used his one good arm to lever his body up. But his legs refused to take his weight. Three times he tried to get to his feet. And then, exhausted, he fell back sweating and breathing hard.

His heart rate was tremendous, Remo heard. It accelerated to the point where Remo wondered if it would burst the heart muscle itself. The man's yellow face turned red with exertion.

Finally Wu Ming Shi spoke up.

"Enough! You have failed me, Sagwa."

Sagwa stared at the high ceiling. Tears welled up from his eyes. They overflowed the close-fitting onyx mask.

The mandarin stepped off the dais. He walked stiffly, clumsily, as if his old joints were unaccustomed to movement.

He stepped up to Sagwa's side. Remo listened for a heartbeat. He heard one. Just one. Then, no more. He wondered if he was mistaken.

Wu Ming Shi looked down upon his servant.

"You can no longer serve me," he said coldly.

"I am sorry," said Sagwa plaintively.

"Silence!" The mandarin Wu Ming Shi took two steps toward Remo. His black button eyes were cold and venomous.

"You are worthy, for a white man," he said.

"Suck eggs," Remo said.

No emotion flickered over those vellum features.

"Finish what you have begun," he told Remo.

Remo hesitated.

"One blow! To the face! Now!"

It was as if Remo stood apart from his body. He turned to Sagwa. One hand drew back. It struck the chauffeur in the face. The black mask broke in sympathy with the skull beneath.

All the tension left Sagwa's body as if he had been unplugged from the universe.

Remo straightened. His expression was furious.

Wu Ming Shi called over to the Master of Sinanju.

"Now that my servant is no more, I have need of a strong one like this," he intoned.

"It is no concern of mine," Chiun said coolly.

Wu Ming Shi turned to Remo. "You are my slave from this moment on."

"Make me," Remo spat.

"Bow."

Remo, face grimacing with exertion, fell to one knee.

"No, the full bow. Both knees. Forehead touching the floor."

Remo fell into the position. His forehead touched the cold stone floor.

He was so surprised he said nothing. He felt like a human puppet manipulated by unseen strings.

Chiun padded over. His sandals stopped at Remo's left hand.

"This is remarkable," Chiun said.

"A depressive alkaloid known as Burundanga," Wu Ming Shi said sternly. "It produces complete hypnosis in its victims, making them susceptible to any verbal commands. Should I order this man to step in front of a speeding car, he will do so without hesitation, although his brain will scream in protest until the last synapse dies."

"He responds to your voice?"

"Clearly."

"Stand," Chiun said suddenly.

And Remo stood.

"He knows no loyalty, it seems," Chiun said to Wu Ming Shi.

"The drug is not so specific. A flaw. But perhaps I will overcome this with certain refinements of the alkaloid."

Chiun nodded. "Drugs are no substitute for ability-or loyalty," he said. "I wonder if you will ever learn this."

"I will miss my Sagwa," Wu Ming Shi said slowly. "For he amused me, he who once considered himself so far beyond my power that he dared to make of himself a mere movie star." His eyes left the body to fix Chiun's gaze with his own.

"We have much to discuss, you and I. But not now, for I fear this excitement has put a strain on my heart. I must rest. "

Chiun bowed. "This former servant of mine was recalcitrant. I would enjoy having his obedience until we speak."

Wu Ming Shi considered this in silence. "I will hold Zhang Zingzong as a guarantee," he suggested.

"So be it," Chiun said. To Zhang he instructed, "You will do as this man bids. No harm will come to you, for this is a man of his word."

Zhang Zingzong hung his head in meek submission.

"Fang Yu will show you to quarters," Wu Ming Shi announced.

Fang Yu approached and said, "Come."

The Master of Sinanju looked down at Remo.

"Rise, O slave, and follow me," he said imperiously.

Remo Williams came to his feet as if in a dream. The Master of Sinanju padded by him. Remo fell in line behind him, going through the bronze door and into the incense-filled corridor.

"This isn't funny, Chiun," he hissed.

"These are not funny times," Chiun retorted. "You should never have followed me here."

Chapter 34

Fang Yu escorted them to a simple stone room, a monk's cell. There were no windows, only a bare cot and floor rugs for warmth. A yak-butter candle guttered in a wall niche.

"Leave us, cat-eater," Chiun told the Chinese woman coldly.

Fang Yu withdrew, her face turning crimson.

"Enter, O slave," Chiun said.

Remo did as he was told.

"Sit."

Remo sat on the cot.

"I like you better this way," Chiun cackled, closing the door behind him. "Heh heh heh."

Remo said nothing.

"Have you nothing to say?" Chiun murmured.

"How about blow it out your backside?"

"How about you keep a civil tongue!" Chiun spat. "No," he added quickly, "you will keep a civil tongue, Remo. I command this. No more will you insult me. In fact, you will immediately apologize."

"I immediately apologize," Remo said humbly.

Chiun blinked. "No, say 'I apologize profusely,' " he said.

"I apologize profusely."

Chiun started. "This is unbelievable. Have you no harsh words for me?"

"I have plenty," Remo growled, "but you won't let me say them."

Chiun raised a long-nailed finger. "Awesome Magnificence. I prefer to be addressed as Awesome Magnificence."

"Awesome Magnificence," Remo said flatly.

Chiun approached. He looked Remo over carefully. Pushing back one ear, he felt the skin. Remo couldn't feel his probing nail, so he knew it was the skin patch Chiun touched.

With a tug, Chiun removed it.

"Ouch!" Remo complained, reaching for the back of his neck.

"This is a strange device," Chiun said, examining the circular Band-Aid-like pad.

"It's a skin patch," Remo explained. "People wear them when they're seasick. They time-release drugs through the pores. "

"Are you still under its wicked influence?" Chiun wondered.

"I don't know."

"Clap your hands," Chiun commanded.

Remo clapped.

"It must wear off eventually," Chiun said. He replaced it, saying, "For now, I will leave it there. Say thank you."

"Thank you, Awesome Magnificence."

"Do you mean this?"

"No!"

"Then you are not welcome," Chiun sniffed. "This is not like you, Remo."

"Not like me!" Remo said hotly. "You're the one who took off to Outer Mongolia without even leaving a freaking note!"

"Ah," Chiun said. "I have much to explain to you."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Speak your heart."

"I'm dying to hear every word, Awesome Magnificence."

Chiun beamed. "Then I shall enlighten you," he said, going to the door. He listened intently. Hearing no eavesdroppers, he settled onto the rug. He patted the bare spot before him and said, "Sit at my knee, Remo."

Remo obeyed.

Sitting face-to-face, their legs locked in identical lotus positions, the Master of Sinanju began to speak.

"Think not I abandoned you, or America, through spite or neglect or any of those base motives."

"Why did you?"

"When you told me of the impossible footprints, I had an inkling that the mandarin Wu Ming Shi still lived. And knowing that he sought Zhang Zingzong, I knew his motives must be weighty. I confronted Zhang and wrung from him the secret of the teak box he carried with him from China." "Yeah?"

"It contained the silvered skull of Targutai, one of the advisers of Temujin, known to you as Genghis Khan. For when Lord Genghis died, he was buried in a secret place atop Mount Burkan Kaldun. And those who attended him in life-indeed those who knew of his burial place-were all put to the sword to hide forever the sacred burial place of Temujin."

"Wouldn't it have been better to cremate him and scatter his ashes over the water?"

"Mongols are very traditional. It is not done." Chiun's eyes twinkled. "I like that about Mongols."

"They're okay," Remo said. "Except for Kublai."

"What do you know of Kublai Khan?"

"Oh, I've picked up some pointers," Remo said easily. "We are in Outer Mongolia, you know. Or is it Inner Mongolia?"

"Outer. But they are no different," Chiun said thoughtfully. He resumed his tale. "Temujin died a wealthy man, and did not fully trust his sons, especially Kublai, who is as hated among modern Mongols as Genghis is revered."

"Unlike Ogatai, who's not big with Koreans."

"Who told you about Ogatai?" Chiun hissed.

"Oh, I've heard some loose talk," Remo said laconically. "You know what incorrigible gossips these Mongols are."

Chiun stroked his beard thoughtfully. He went on. "Now, Genghis ordered that the greatest part of his treasure be buried in a secret place so that when a truly worthy descendant of his came into the world, he would seek it out and take up the good work. Many tried. None succeeded. For no one could find the fabled Silver Skull of Targutai, on whose brow was inscribed a riddle which would start a seeker on the path to Temujin's glory. Legend has it that it was secreted in the Great Wall of China, but no one knew where. Until, by sheer luck, Zhang Zingzong found it. And although unable to decipher the riddle, he carried it with him as he attempted to escape China. Many Chinese helped him. But some of these were servants of Wu Ming Shi, of whom Zhang knew nothing. One of these informed Wu Ming Shi, and he gave chase all the way to America. The rest you know."

"Like heck," Remo said. "It doesn't explain the disappearing footsteps. And do you know that he has no heartbeat?"

"It beats but once a minute. I have listened. This is how Wu Ming Shi survived into the modern world. He knows the secrets of slowing down breath and heartbeat, using less energy, consuming less food, and stretching the moments of his life. For he is, if I calculate correctly, over two hundred years old!"

"What!"

Chiun nodded. "He was old when I first encountered him, and I was not a young man then."

"What is this man to you?"

"You talk like a Mongol," Chiun commented.

"It rubs off. Answer the question."

"Who is the Master here?" Chiun sniffed. "Speak truly."

"You, Awesome Magnificence."

Chiun smiled. He went on.

"When last we spoke," Chiun said, "you asked me about the emperors I served before America. Let it be known that the heartless mandarin was my last client before the gold of America was placed in my hands."

"He's an emperor? He looks like Fu Manchu." Memo stopped. He blinked. "Fu Manchu! Is that guy Fu Manchu?"

Chiun shook his aged head. "Wu Ming Shi," he corrected. "He coveted the throne of China. He has always coveted the throne of China. His aims were thwarted by the Communists and the Nationalists before them. This is when he vanished. I worked for this man, as the Master before me and the Master before him. At first, he was a good client, his gold flowed like rain, and the work was worthy, even during the first Idiocy of the Barbarians, known to some as World War One.

"But one day, Wu Ming Shi summoned me to his place of exile and asked that I extinguish the life of a boy prince he saw as a rival in his aims. You know, Remo, because I have taught you this, that in Sinanju the lives of children are forever sacred. No gold, no honeyed promises, may dissuade us from this. We are assassins, and some criticize us for this, but we are no better than mere murderers if we do not adhere to certain precepts. Not killing children is the greatest of these."

"I know," Remo said quietly. That was his second thought. His first was an acid, "No checks." But he decided against it. Chiun's story was more important than getting in a zinger.

"I refused this instruction and Wu Ming Shi sent me away," Chiun continued. "When I returned to the village of Sinanju, I found the women weeping and the men enraged. For Wu Ming Shi had done the unthinkable. He had dispatched his Blue Bees to Sinanju to steal away certain children."

"I thought you said Fu Manchu-I mean Wu Ming Shi-never used bugs and reptiles, except in books."

"He does not. The Blue Bees are his servants. They can be found in all cities, for he has a worldwide network of adherents."

Remo thought back to the first time he had met Fang Yu. She had worn blue. And he suddenly remembered the blue-clad Chinese workers he had seen in every Mongolian town.

"I know what happens next," Remo said. "You cleaned his clock for him-right?"

"No. For I was in a place of no comfort. I could not kill children even to save other children, although I considered this. Carrying my pride before me, I ventured to the place where Wu Ming Shi held forth in exile and attempted to ransom them. I demanded satisfaction, and Wu Ming Shi refused, saying that the children of Sinanju were in another place, and would not be harmed so long as he was not harmed. I knew this to be true, for above all, Wu Ming Shi is a man of honor. I begged, and still he refused. Finally I went away, after first making clear to Wu Ming Shi that so long as the children of Sinanju lived, so would he. And he vowed to me that if I ever moved against him or his political aims, his Blue Bees would attack Sinanju on the first day I left it unguarded."

"So it was a standoff," Remo said.

"Not quite. For the honor of Sinanju was at stake. I could not kill this man, so in retaliation I inflicted upon him a certain insult. Then I returned to Sinanju, vowing never again to venture from it. For I had no heir, and I knew this man's cold-bloodedness knew no bounds. So long as I remained with my people, Remo, Sinanju was safe. But I could not work, and so the years slipped from me and the hard times came."

Chiun bowed his head recalling the sadness.

"You never told me this."

"It was ancient history," Chiun said, "or so I thought. In time, the Communists overran China. Wu Ming Shi was forced to retreat, for he was known to Mao. It was in these days that I first began training the one known to you as Nuihc, my nephew, for the line of Sinanju had to go on."

"Big mistake."

"I have told you the tale of Nuihc, Remo, but I never told you all. I trained this deceiver and he took new work. But the work came from Wu Ming Shi. I knew this after Nuihc went into the world and shortly thereafter the children of Sinanju, no longer children, were returned. That was all the village ever saw of Nuihc's work. No money came from his efforts and I was unable to venture forth to investigate this matter because then there would be no one to protect the children from Wu Ming Shi, who ached to avenge the insult I inflicted upon his person."

"What insult?" Remo asked curiously.

"A minor unimportant detail," Chiun said. "And so it was for many years until word reached me that Wu Ming Shi had passed from this earth, his long-deferred dream unattainable. Nuihc found other clients. Still no money came. This was the early days of what you called the Cold War. I had resigned myself to remaining in Sinanju, the last worthy Master of Sinanju, when the American Conrad MacCleary came, offering gold if I would train a white. It was an insult, but after so many cruel blows, what was one more? I had trained a traitor, why not a white? Or a monkey? It was all the same to me. Sinanju was over. I would accept the gold so that the village would survive a few years longer. The rest you know. Nuihc found us and now Nuihc is no more. But Wu Ming Shi lives."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this when you found out he wasn't dead?" Remo wondered.

"I dared not. Wu Ming Shi threatened all that was dear to Sinanju before. I knew that if he knew of your existence, he would threaten you in order to make me his vassal once more, now that Nuihc had perished."

"Really?" Remo said. "All this was to protect me?"

Chiun nodded. "Truly. I pretended to this man that you were an unimportant servant."

"But he was going to execute me, and you were going to stand by."

"Do not be ridiculous, Remo. You-executed by a hopping masked lacky? This Sagwa is better than one might expect, having been trained by Nuihc. But you would have figured out his trickery in time. As you did."

"With your help."

Chiun nodded. "With my help. This is a subterfuge we must continue, for the time being. Until I know the full extent of Wu Ming Shi's power. No doubt he had servants who are under orders to strike at Sinanju should he come to harm at my hands."

"So what's next?"

"Wu Ming Shi covets the treasure of Temujin, no doubt for the same reason Zhang Zingzong does. Both men see it as the instrument through which they will impose a new order on China."

"So you're going to cut him in for a piece?"

"No, I will make a present of the final skull to him."

"You, willingly giving up a treasure?" Remo asked incredulously.

"It is the only solution. I will offer this to him to atone for the insult done to Wu Ming Shi, and all will be well."

"You think so?"

"Of course not! But I will pretend otherwise. And when the time is ripe," Chiun said, standing up suddenly, "I will harvest this heartless mandarin like wheat before a thresher. This I vow."

"Think he'll go for it?"

"It will appeal to his vanity that I, the Reigning Master of Sinanju, should offer him atonement. His ego is so monstrous he will undoubtedly accept my generous offer."

"Then what?"

"In this land, they speak of the Wheel of Life. I sense the Wheel turning, Remo. Perhaps it will exalt us, perhaps it will crush us. Perhaps nothing will change. Who can say with a wheel?"

And admonishing Remo to stay alert, the Master of Sinanju departed from the room, leaving Remo to contemplate the story he had been told and the guttering yak-butter candle.

Chapter 35

Two hours past daybreak, Boldbator Khan rode up to the outskirts of Sayn Shanda, an ornate teakwood box under one padded arm.

He rode into the camp of gers north of town, where Mongol horsemen waited expectantly, their horses saddled, bows and blades in the open.

"Ho, Mongol brothers!" Boldbator cried. "I am Boldbator Khan."

He was ignored the first three times he cried his greeting. His wide face was still. This was not the greeting he had expected.

"Have you not heard of me?" he asked a man.

"We ride with Kula," the man replied without enthusiasm as he rubbed down his pony. "And we serve the white tiger."

"Where do I find this Kula?" Boldbator demanded.

The Mongol gestured to a ger.

Boldbator rode up and dismounted, clutching the teak box. He pounded on the ger door.

The Mongol who emerged was stout-boned and grim of face.

"Sain Baina, Kula. I am Boldbator Khan, here to ransom the Master of Sinanju from the Nameless One."

"I have never heard of such a person," Kula grumbled.

Boldbator blinked. "Then why do you assemble for war?"

"We have lost the white tiger, a mighty warrior."

"What has befallen this white tiger?"

"A Chinese wench named Fang Yu made off with him. They are in the city, but we know not where. Not even the priests know, and priests always know every dirty little town secret."

"The Master of Sinanju rode off in the company of a Chinese woman named Fang Yu," Boldbator related.

It was Kula's turn to consider. He waved Boldbator inside. The ger door spanked shut, and the rising sun inflamed its scarlet-and-gold designs.

It was not long after that that the Master of Sinanju rode into the camp astride a pony, calling, "Boldbator the Mongol! I seek Boldbator the Mongol!"

Word reached Kula's ger. Boldbator emerged, Kula behind him.

Mongols of every stripe gathered around to listen to this Korean man who spoke the high Khalkha Mongol of the old empire days with the fluency of a herdsman.

"You are safe, O Master," Boldbator said happily. "I had feared I would have to ransom you."

"It is good you have come, Boldbator Khan," Chiun returned in stiff tones. "For I will need what is in that box to ransom myself."

Boldbator Khan hesitated. "What this box contains rightfully belongs to the Golden Horde, in part measure. As agreed."

"A share that I, Chiun, vow will be yours," retorted Chiun. "You have my word on this."

Boldbator handed up the box. Chiun took it. He placed the box on his saddle pommel and worked the designs until the lip popped. Then he extracted the cracked skull. He took it up in both hands, running his long-nailed fingers over it searchingly. Satisfied, he held it so that he looked into the skull's empty sockets, his thumbs touching its temples.

Boldbator Khan watched in silence. The Master of Sinanju stared long into the skull as if into eternity. Then he gave it a twist of his hands. Boldbator heard the abrupt scrape of bone. Chiun spat on the skull's ancient brow.

Then the Master of Sinanju returned the skull to its resting place.

"I go," he intoned, "but I will return. Do not seek me, Boldbator Khan. But await me here."

Chiun turned to the audience of Mongols.

"This holds for you all, sons of the steppes," he said, stern-voiced. "No one of you will follow me where I go, or you will face the wrath of your khan."

The Mongols looked back with hard bronze expressions.

Their gimlet gaze followed the bouncing haunches of the Korean's pony as it cantered back into the heart of Sayn Shanda.

Kula turned to Boldbator. "Who was that man that he orders Mongols around like mere Manchus?"

"That was the Master of Sinanju," Boldbator said. "There is none greater."

Kula snorted. "You have never ridden with the white tiger."

"I have never heard of this white tiger," Boldbator grunted.

"And I have heard the Master of Sinanju is a myth, not a man."

Chapter 36

The mandarin Wu Ming Shi sat on his rosewood-and-ivory throne like an entombed prince. His eyes were shut, the lids so brown and waxy they looked as if they would never open again.

They remained closed when the double bronze door valved open and Fang Yu padded into the room, trailed by the Master of Sinanju.

"Honorable teacher," Fang Yu said with quiet force.

The eyes came open like unveiled secrets.

They flicked to the black back of his chauffeur, standing with arms folded on the edge of the dais, and then to Fang Yu as she rose from her bow. The Master of Sinanju stood beside her, his clear eyes on the chauffeur. Wu Ming Shi's eyes were on the teakwood box.

"Bring the box of Temujin to me," he hissed.

Fang Yu accepted the box and brought it to the edge of the dais, where she raised it to the chauffeur's outstretched hands.

"Bring it to me, Sagwa," he said.

Helpless, Remo Williams accepted the box and carried it to the man seated on the throne.

"Thank you," Wu Ming Shi said.

"Shove it up your ass," Remo Williams said.

"Return to your place, insolent slave," Wu Ming Shi said. "And still your tongue."

Obediently Remo returned to the dais edge. He folded his arms. The uniform was too tight for him. His back itched. He looked at Chiun, who avoided his gaze, thinking at least he didn't have to wear that stupid black mask.

Wu Ming Shi carefully removed his nail protectors, revealing curved talons. Taking care not to break the brittle nails, he solved the secret of the teakwood box within seconds. The lid sprang.

"I first learned of this," Wu Ming Shi said, "when one of my Blue Bees gave refuge to the so-called people's hero, Zhang Zingzong. The inscription on the skull was reported to me, but without the skull itself, it was of no use."

Wu Ming Shi stopped. His eyes locked on the skull's cracked brow.

"This is not the Skull of Targutai!" he said with sibilant violence.

"True," Chiun said smoothly. "That skull led to the broken dragon, whose skull bore an inscription which led to another skull buried in Karakorum. That skull is the one you now hold in your hands. You have my word on this."

The hateful glitter in Wu Ming Shi's eyes faded. His narrow chest rose and fell with his slight breathing.

"Five-Dragon Cave," he murmured. "I know it well."

Returning the skull to the box, he rose to his feet painfully, clutching the box like a square football.

"Know, Master of Sinanju, that with this gift you erase the memory of the insult that was done to me so long ago. I vow to you that from this day forward, the village of Sinanju and all who dwell within need fear naught from the mandarin Wu Ming Shi."

"If you will so inform your blue Bees, I will consider our business done," Chiun returned with a slight stiff bow.

"They will be so informed before we leave."

Chiun's wispy beard trembled. "We?"

"Many li separate Sayn Shanda from Five-Dragon Cave. The Gobi is overrun with Mongols, stirred up by a new khan. I will need protection if I am to reach the place I seek."

"I have not offered my protection."

"But you will give it," Wu Ming Shi said with a cracking of his lips into a brown smile. "Else my Blue Bees will hear nothing from me before we leave. I know you will not wish me to depart Sayn Shanda without word going out-and you will happily see me to my destination. For I am without my faithful Sagwa. "

Chiun considered. "I agree. On one condition."

"And this is?"

"Your new servant. I wish him back, for without the treasure of Genghis, I will be forced to return to America. He is not the best servant I have had, but he is at least somewhat housebroken. You may have Zhang Zingzong for him."

Wu Ming Shi looked to his chauffeur. "Ah, so he does mean something to you."

"It is as I have said," Chiun insisted quietly.

"Yes. This can be arranged. Prepare to ride." Wu Ming Shi turned to Fang Yu, saying. "Let the Blue Bees of the world know my directions. And assemble a group of them for the journey."

Fang Yu bowed and padded away.

Chapter 37

Remo walked ahead of the mandarin Wu Ming Shi only because the mandarin Wu Ming Shi commanded him to do so.

The long black limousine was parked outside the monastery. Before it, over forty blue-clad Chinese workmen sat on short-legged Mongolian horses, in rows four deep. Directly behind the limo, the Master of Sinanju waited astride a pony, as did Zhang Zingzong and Fang Yu. Zhang's head was bowed, his wrists bound to his saddle. Fang Yu sat proudly, attired in a blue work uniform.

"My Blue Bees," mandarin Wu Ming Shi said proudly.

"I'll bet they're good little Doo-Bees, too," Remo told him.

"Open the door for me."

Remo obliged, hating every second.

The mandarin Wu Ming Shi paused at the door. His dead brown teeth showed in an ugly smile.

"You are silent," he hissed. "Good. You learn."

Remo decided he had enough. He brought his foot down for where the mandarin Wu Ming Shi's instep should be. To his surprise, he stomped the hem of the mandarin's gown flat without encountering flesh and bone.

"Where do you keep your feet?" Remo asked, dumbfounded.

Wu Ming Shi swiftly eased into the limo interior, his guttural, "Close the door and take your rightful place," coming as if from a well.

Remo obeyed and climbed in behind the wheel.

The horses started off, and Remo, unable to resist the orders coming through the glass partition behind his head, followed them.

They rode south, out of Sayn Shanda and into the hard desert. Remo doubted the car would handle the rough terrain, but then he realized that was why the so-called Blue Bees rode ahead. Their pony hooves packed down the sandy gravel so the car's tires found traction.

They passed several clusters of gers, and while curious Mongol eyes followed the procession, none followed them with their bodies.

They made good time, the horses cantering, the limo moving at a steady pace. Occasionally its tires would hit a gully. The Blue Bees hastily dismounted, and wielding brooms and shovels, filled in the rough spots. And they would continue.

Remo drove monotonously. After a few hours the mandarin laid his head back against his seat and fell asleep, his head tilted back, his mouth open, as if in rigor mortis. He looked dead, his face a varnished death mask.

Remo discovered that the black seat rest beside him had a lid. He lifted it, exposing two rows of shiny black buttons. Each button was labeled in Chinese, but he guessed they controlled the limo's defensive array. He shut the lid.

Shortly after that, the Master of Sinanju cantered up beside him and Remo rolled down the car window.

"I didn't know you could ride a horse, Little Father," Remo remarked.

"Koreans are the finest horsemen in all of Asia," Chiun sniffed.

"The Mongols don't think so," Remo said.

"What do you know of Mongols?" Chiun demanded.

"Enough to clear out of their way when the dinner gong is struck," Remo said. Then, "It was all true, wasn't it, from Amelia Earhart to Fu Manchu?"

Chiun nodded. "How did you know I would be in China?"

"Smith, who else? He found that note in a bottle Zhang threw overboard."

"What! There was no note!"

Remo frowned. "He knew about Temujin too."

Chiun frowned. "It is another of Smiths sneaky listening insects." He spat. "That man is more duplicitous than the fictitious Fu Achoo."

"I thought we pulled all the bugs from the house?"

"You must have missed one," Chiun said pointedly.

"Never mind. Why does he call me Sagwa?"

"It is not a name, but a Chinese insult. It means Stupid One. "

"At least I'm trusted to drive the family car," Remo snorted. "Are you really going to give up Zhang to the PLA?"

Chiun did not reply. "When the evil one awakens," Chiun said, "do not obey his orders."

"And how am I supposed to disobey?" Remo complained. "I feel like Howdy Doody!"

"Just do as I say. Obey him until we reach Five-Dragon Cave, but after that, do as I say."

Fang Yu rode up, hissing, "Return to your place in line, Old Duck Tang!"

"She's calling you Donald Duck," Remo supplied.

"And you are Old Mouse Mi," Fang Yu laughed. "That mean-"

"Mickey Mouse," Remo said unhappily. "I get the picture."

"I return," Chiun said haughtily, "but only because I do not wish to listen to this female cat-eater."

"What you know? You Korean! They eat of dog!" Fang Yu spat after Chiun's departing form.

"I'm so glad you two are getting along," Remo said acidly.

Fang Yu matched her pony's gait to the car's smooth pace.

"You were lying to me all along, weren't you?" Remo asked.

"Not all lies. You good in sack. Better than husband."

"So you really are married?" Disappointment tinged his voice.

Fang Yu nodded. "Zhang Zingzong is my husband-the fool!"

Remo almost lost control of the wheel. "What!"

"When Zhang find skull, he share with me. Zhang not know I was a Blue Bee, just as you not know I was not Ivory Fang. I tell him about this. But he not want to become Blue Bee. He flee with skull, but not know that Blue Bees are everywhere, even in US FBI."

"What happened to the real Ivory Fang?" Remo asked.

"Real Ivory Fang got out of way. I not really spy for West. I serve my teacher, my Jiao-Shi, who will one day restore China to greatness. He is a great man, Remo. He save me from orphanage. Has worldwide swarm of Blue Bees, and many cars like you drive now, and hiding places for them all over. Blue Bees in America find Zhang, and through him, the Master of Sinanju. But Jiao-Shi arrive too late to catch them. He know this Korean would come to China, so we wait and watch. My task was to be with you because everyone know Sinanju work for American now."

"So you kept him up on what I was doing?"

"Some. Teacher was hearing own reports of Old Duck Tang. I meet with him that night in Beijing, tell him about you. But when I learn you seek Master of Sinanju too, I understand my teacher had to know this. I know teacher had gone to Sayn Shanda. That is why I suggest we go there, not for other reasons."

"Well, thanks for the ride."

Fang Yu laughed with childish cruelty. "You very welcome, Sagwa."

"Don't mention it," Remo growled. "I don't suppose you'd care to enlighten me as to how your teacher manages his disappearing acts. Every time I follow his footprints, I end up where he isn't."

"Perhaps he walk backward," she said with a tinkly laugh. "You not think of that, Sagwa?"

Fang Yu pulled back and let the trailing ponies catch up. She joined them. Remo rolled up the window to shut out the cold.

At the border of the two Mongolias, frontier guards looked on stonily as they rode by like a funeral procession.

They followed the Great Mongolian Road to a small town and then with the Blue Bees beating a path, into the snowdusted steppe and toward the foothills of a nearby mountain range.

Here, the driving became rough. The car jumped and jounced, waking the mandarin Wu Ming Shi in back. He looked like an animatronic mummy coming to life. Even awake, only his eyes looked alive.

They moved through a narrow pass between rising hills. As had been the case since leaving Sayn Shanda, Remo couldn't see where they were going. The line of horse rumps made sure of that.

Finally, with hills rising sheer on either side, the Blue Bees broke ranks and Remo hit the brakes.

He looked around. They were in a pass beside the entrance to a cave. Before them, the road led to a narrow iron bridge fording a wide river. Behind was the pass. There was no other way to go, Remo thought worriedly, except over the bridge or back the way they came.

The mandarin's voice in the speaker tube said, "Attend me, Sagwa."

Remo hesitated. The urge to obey the short command was not as strong as it had been. He looked to Chiun. Chiun nodded. He got out, wondering if he could have disobeyed the command.

As he opened the rear door, Remo's eyes shot to the mandarin's emerging feet. But the settling gown hem had already covered them-if they even existed.

Wu Ming Shi levered himself to a standing position. His heart beat once and was still. It made the hair on Remo's neck stiffen.

All around them, the Blue Bees were dismounting.

Fang Yu hurried up, carrying a teak box in both hands. She extracted the cracked skull and presented it to the mandarin.

With glittering eyes, Wu Ming Shi read the inscription on the skull aloud.

" `Now that you have beheld the seat of my mighty power, go to the lands that I have conquered. In Five-Dragon Cave, you must not walk the left path, or the false path wall claim you.' "

He looked over to the Master of Sinanju, who sat patiently on his pony.

"Do you swear to me that this is the skull you found at Karakorum?" he called, crack-voiced with effort.

"I do," Chiun intoned.

"Then I am done with you."

He signaled to Fang Yu, who retreated to the limo and gave two long blasts on the horn.

From both ends of the pass came the roar of starting engines and the drumming of booted feet.

All eyes turned to the narrow iron bridge. From behind low hills came the clanking murmur of T-55 tanks and other motorized infantry.

Chiun's hazel eyes, blazing anger, sought the mandarin's face.

"You gave me your word that there would be peace between us!" Chiun said vehemently.

"It saddens me to break it," Wu Ming Shi said brittlely, "but I have grown very, very old and I can no longer indulge my honor at the expense of my dreams of empire."

"You have abided by ink too long," Chiun spat.

"Come, my trusted Blue Bees," Wu Ming Shi said. "We shall now claim our glory, and when the time is right, these tools of Beijing-which I shall restore to its ancient name of Peking-will also feel your sting."

"Not so fast!" Remo said, reaching for the Chinese's brocaded shoulder.

"Sagwa!" the mandarin hissed. "You will remain in this spot, rooted like a locust tree, and when the green ants of the PLA come for you, you will not resist them."

"Wanna bet?" Remo said. His fingers dug into bony flesh.

Look above you," Wu Ming Shi said without concern.

Remo looked up. PLA soldiers had appeared on the rock walls above them. Scores of AK-47 muzzles were directed at Remo's face.

Before they could fire, the Master of Sinanju's cold voice rang in his ears.

"Remo, you will do as you are told!"

Remo let go. He stood in place dutifully.

The mandarin Wu Ming Shi looked to Chiun. His betelnut-brown smile showed through parted lips.

"Our debt is now truly canceled," he intoned.

Then, his Blue Bees gathering around him like workers around a queen bee, the mandarin stalked stiffly and with ginger steps into the yawning mouth of the cave. Their horses followed after them.

As the tanks rolled closer, Remo's eyes sought the ground. Scores of foot- and hoofprints tracked the dusty snow. But mingled with them one single contrary pair-toes pointing in the wrong direction. They ran back to the spot next to Remo, which the mandarin had just occupied. Remo looked down. A single pair of footprints were pressed into the snow. But they faced the car. Wu Ming Shi had been facing away when he stood beside Remo.

"Chiun, maybe you can explain this to me," Remo said.

"Not now. We must deal with the so-called People's Liberation Army."

"I can't pitch in until you counter-command me."

"Remove your skin patch, Remo Williams," Chiun said, "and do what you can to hold that iron bridge. I will take the other end."

"Great!" Remo tore the patch from behind one ear. He shucked off his tight chauffeur's jacket, exposing a white T-shirt.

"No!" Zhang Zingzong spoke up. "Master, I beg you Let me do this. I will buy you all the time you need for escape."

Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed. "You wish this?"

"Very much. I must know if I am truly brave, as everyone says."

"Then go," Chiun said, rending Zhang's bonds with a slicing fingernail.

Shaking off the braided bamboo bonds, Zhang wheeled his mount and went racing for the narrow iron bridge.

Zhang Zingzong slapped his pony's flank with one hand. The bridge neared. Just short of it, he reined up and threw himself from the saddle.

He ran, and as he ran, he fumbled out a cigarette. One last smoke would do the job. He lit it with his Colibri lighter, reaching the bridge as the first dome-turreted T-55 rattled onto it, making it shudder in sympathy with the mighty engine of death.

Zhang walked across the bridge to meet it. His heart beat high and fast in his throat. He sucked in a brain-reviving cloud of tobacco smoke. It was just as it was after Tianamnen Square, in the moment that he had electrified the world. Except this time Zhang Zingzong was not burdened with bags of groceries in each hand. And here, there was no place for the tank to turn aside. It must crush him or back down.

The driver of the T-55 was a peasant from Shenyang. He was a good soldier, belonging to the Fortieth Army, which had refused to move against the pro-democracy demonstrators. He saw the man standing alone on the bridge, refusing to cower. It reminded him of another Chinese man and another Chinese tank not long ago.

He braked. He would not run this courageous man down.

Unfortunately, his tank commander had no such scruples. After a furious exchange, he reached forward into the driver's pit from the turret and pulled the stubborn driver out. He got behind the controls and sent the T-55 lurching ahead.

Still, the lone Chinese refused to back down. A second tank rolled onto the bridge behind him.

The commander hesitated. Beijing had told him that he would find the infamous counterrevolutionary Zhang here. The one who had faced down a column of PLA tanks. His orders were to take the man alive, for a propaganda trial. He grinned. What better propaganda than to force the man to back away, undoing his supposed feat?

He inched the tank ahead. Zhang Zingzong took a step forward too. The tank tracks gained another few inches. And Zhang matched them. He was not going to back down.

The tank commander hit the gas. The T-55 lurched ahead suddenly. Taken by surprise, Zhang flinched. The tank commander grinned. He would back down now, he knew. No mere student could face an oncoming tank. If not, there was plenty of time to stop.

Zhang Zingzong took a last puff of his Double Pleasure cigarette. He flicked it at the slitlike driver's periscope slot. It shed sparks going in.

The tank commander got a face full of embers as the butt bounced off his chin. He swatted it away angrily. It hit the floor. He stepped on it with his free foot.

And then his eye returned to the periscope. There was no sign of Zhang Zingzong.

He grinned. The coward had retreated. He sent the tank surging ahead with a heavy boot.

The grinding splintering sounds came from directly under his feet. His grin turned to a grimace of horror. He heard a muffled pong! and suddenly he had a vision of his own head dropping into a wicker basket-the penalty for giving the pro-democracy insurgents a greater propaganda tool than they had had in the living symbol of resistance that Zhang Zingzong had become.

Zhang Zingzong, the martyr.

The T-55 refused to go on. Somehow, those splintered bones had wedged in the tracks, freezing the tank in the middle of the bridge, and cutting off the others from access to the pass.

It would be up to the other unit now.

The tanks rolled around the bend and stopped, blocking the other end of the pass. Charging before them were PLA regulars, with bayonets fixed on their lunging AK-47's.

"C'mon, Little Father," Remo said. "I'll show you how to play pong."

"Really, Remo! Ping-Pong at a time like this?"

"Not Ping-Pong. Pong. Just watch me."

Remo rushed in to greet the first group of soldiers. Their fixed bayonets told him they were disinclined to shoot. That was a lucky break for him, but not for the soldiers whose green helmets were no protection from the rapid series of double-handed slaps that closed on them with jackhammer force.

Pong! Pong! Pong!

Three PLA soldiers dropped in their tracks, their heads crushed within the suddenly mangled shells of their duty helmets.

The sight of this had a profound effect on the soldiers directly behind them. They stopped dead in their tracks. Some started to back away in fear.

Remo turned to Chiun, saying, "See? Pong."

The Master of Sinanju floated up beside him. He took out two flanking soldiers with snapping circular kicks, landed lightly, and split the larynx of a third with a long fingernail.

"This is no time for games," Chiun said loudly.

"Why not? There's only a couple dozen. We can take them easy."

"Twenty-four here. Many on the walls above. Probably a hundred if not a thousand in reserve. For this is a land of a million green ants. We cannot fight them all." The tanks, forming a bulwark that jammed the pass, began to creep forward. Remo looked back over his shoulder. He lost his cocky grin. The lead tank on the bridge was bearing down on Zhang Zingzong.

"Can you hold then a little while?" he asked Chiun.

"Can a duck swim?" Chiun asked indignantly.

"Just hold that line." Remo rushed back to the limousine. He got behind the wheel and sent the limo charging in a circle. Bullets from the sharpshooters on the walls above drummed the roof and pocked the windshield. The limo was obviously bulletproof.

Out of the corner of his eye, Remo spotted Zhang Zingzong. The man was crawling under the bridge tank. Then it lurched forward, gnashing treads making a clattery sound on the bridge.

Remo tried to shut out the splintering-of-bone sound. Then he heard the distant, too-familiar pong!

Teeth clenched, Remo sent the limo's blunt nose toward the bulwark of T-55's, muttering, "Why didn't I think of this before?"

He raised the compartment lid beside his seat, exposing the twin rows of shiny black buttons.

The Master of Sinanju was dodging tanks. They lurched and lunged at him without success.

"Chiun!" he shouted. "Back away-now!" Without wait-

, Remo began stabbing buttons. The sound of hydraulics toiling came from under the hood and greenish gas spewed from the grille. Remo cranked up his window, as PLA soldiers dropped in their tracks.

He hit more buttons, and other things began happening. From his driver's seat, he couldn't tell what exactly, but there came a spray of sparks from somewhere low on the front end, a jolting recoil, and streaks of fire ripped the sir between the limo and the tank line.

Explosions began peppering the tanks.

"Rockets?" Remo said. He stabbed the button repeatedly. He got the same result. "Rockets," he said happily. Each stab discharged flame-tailed rockets. The constant recoil jammed him back in his seat, but he didn't care. He was having fun.

Remo veered away from the now-blazing tank line and pulled up at Chiun's side. "Get in," he said.

The Master of Sinanju leapt inside, saying, "We are still trapped here, and outnumbered."

"Us-outnumbered?" Remo said, looking through the windshield. The ground was littered with PLA bodies. Some dead, others actually snoring from the green gas. Bullet strikes from the sharpshooters above were visible all around them.

"The Chinese are inexaustible. We are not." Chiun sounded very worried.

Remo sent the car around in a circle, looking for a way out of the trap. His eye brightened at the cave entrance. It looked wide enough to accept the limo.

"Can't hurt to try," Remo muttered.

"No!" Chiun said abruptly. "Do not go in there."

"Why not?" Remo demanded. "It's shelter, isn't it? I'll just back in and hold 'em off with rockets."

Remo changed his mind when a cloud of dust rolled out of the cave mouth in a slow, dusty exhalation. He braked suddenly. Then came a low rumble and screaming from deep within the cave.

"What the hell happened?" Remo said, trying to see past the bullet-starred windshield.

"The mandarin Wu Ming Shi followed the instructions on the skull. He took the right tunnel and so he has perished."

"But the skull said to go right, didn't it?"

Chiun raised a wise finger. "One should not believe everything one reads-even if it is graven on a skull by Genghis Khan."

"I'd say especially if it was written by Genghis Khan." Remo frowned. Soldiers were climbing over the tanks stalled on the bridge. Others were trying to get past the blazing tank line, with less success. Spurred on by shouted orders, a few plunged through the flames. Their uniforms caught fire. They ran a few steps, then threw themselves into the snow, rolling and screaming while trying to put the flames out.

"I don't think they're in a mood to give up," Remo said.

"If we must make our last stand here," Chiun said, throwing off his kimono sleeves to reveal bare splindly arms, "then so be it. Many Chinese will perish before we breathe our last."

They got ready to jump from the car.

Then, over the din, came a low approaching sound. The growing thunder of a thousand hooves trampling the ground.

"Mongols!" Remo said.

"This is impossible!" Chiun squeaked. "My Mongols gave their word not to follow me."

"Maybe they're not your Mongols," Remo suggested lightly.

"Then whose Mongols would they be?"

"Maybe they're my Mongols," Remo said airily.

"Your Mongols!" Chiun exploded. "You do not have any Mongols!"

Then from out of the foothills they came. Howling and shouting, hurling walls of arrows before them. They swarmed over the tank line at the bridge. Their ponies splashed into the cold river and lunged up the banks, wild-eyed and sweating. Sharpshooters began falling off the high walls of the pass, feathered with willow shafts.

"That's our cue, Little Father," Remo shouted. They jumped from the car as Mongol horsemen formed a protective circle around them.

Kula led them. He reined in before Remo and Chiun. Jumping down, he ignored the Master of Sinanju and clapped his hands on Remo's shoulders in the traditional Mongol greeting.

"Ho, white tiger!" he cried. "I see we are in time to succor you."

Chiun stepped between them. "Remo, do you know this lunatic?"

Kula looked down at Chiun. "White tiger, is this old one with you?"

"White tiger?" Chiun said. His eyes narrowed.

"It's just a nickname they hung on me, kinda like the Lone Ranger," Remo offered. "How'd you know where I was, Kula?" he asked the Mongol.

"I heard that the Blue Bees had taken you. We tortured one of them until he told us where you would be found. That would-be khan, Boldbator, refused to join us, but Kula's men were not afraid."

"He was not afraid!" Chiun insisted harshly. "He was under obligation not to follow me. He is a Mongol with honor-unlike you."

"I am not under your obligation, or Boldbator's," Kula spat. "I serve the white tiger, the greatest warrior in all of Mongolia."

Remo turned to Chiun. He smiled broadly.

"I guess you had to hear it sometime," he said seriously. "It's true. I am the greatest warrior in all of Mongolia."

"You?" Chiun exploded. "You are no white tiger, but a pale piece of pig's ear!"

At that, Kula drew his knife. "Who are you to insult the white tiger?" he growled.

"I am the Master of Sinanju," Chiun said proudly, drawing himself up to his full five-foot height.

"That is what Boldbator swore," Kula returned. "I did not believe him, either."

Chiun's tiny mouth formed an outraged O. "What manner of Mongol are you that you do not know of the Master of Sinanju when you stand in his awesome presence?" Chiun demanded.

Kula gestured to his horse Mongols, as they drove the last of the surviving PLA out of their tanks and back into the hills with exultant whoops of joy.

"The kind who would lead his men into the teeth of the Chinese Army and hurl them broken into the wind," he said with pride.

"I think that translates as my Mongol can beat your Mongol," Remo whispered.

"Remo!" Chiun snapped. "Tell this man who I am!"

"Happy to." Remo turned to Kula. "Kula, this is Chiun. Chiun-meet Kula."

Kula regarded the Master of Sinanju stonily. Chiun turned to Remo, "No, tell him I am the Master of Sinanju."

"It's true," Remo said. "He is."

Kula's gong of a face looked Chiun up and down.

"There," Chiun said haughtily. "Now you may kneel. I will not require the full bow because you have assisted us."

"He is very small for a Master of Sinanju," Kula told Remo. "In the time of Lord Genghis, Masters of Sinanju were great robust men who rode magnificent ponies."

"I am an expert rider!" Chiun shouted.

"Then why did you ride this machine?" Kula asked, slapping the black limousine.

"Remo, tell this barbarian to kneel!"

Remo threw up his hands in a what-do-you-expect-me-to-do? gesture. "Hey, he's a Mongol. He's gonna do what he wants."

Chiun turned on Kula, pointing a furious shaking finger.

"You, horse Mongol!" he shouted. "Summon your men. In this very cave lies the treasure of Temujin. I will pay ten percent of all we recover to the men who help me carry it back to the village of Sinanju."

Kula looked to the cave mouth, where the dust still rolled out, carrying with it the tang of blood and other bodily secretions.

"What is to stop me from going in there and wresting the treasure for myself, old dragon?"

The Master of Sinanju's wrinkled face smoothed out in sudden shock. He leapt to the cave mouth, spreading defending arms.

"No man will cross this threshold but at my leave!" he warned. "Else he dies!"

Remo caught Kula's eye. "Believe him," he said.

"Ten percent for the use of your horses," Chiun called.

"Try for twenty," Remo suggested, sotto voce.

Kula lifted his voice. "Twenty and no less."

"Twelve!" Chiun shouted back.

They settled on fifteen percent, but only because the rest of the Mongols rode up, having driven off the last PLA stragglers.

They went inside carefully, batting the dust away from their faces as they felt their way along the high inner walls. They were covered with ancient dingy murals, depicting Buddahs, Chinese demons, and dragons. Remo counted five of the latter, which explained to his satisfaction why it was called Five-Dragon Cave.

"This is the fork," Chiun said at a split in the tunnel.

The dust was coming from the right-hand tunnel. The entrance was jammed with broken rock, dirt, and other debris. Dusty, blood-caked limbs projected from the choke of rock. Some were human, and some equine.

"How are we going to clear all that away?" Remo asked, trying not to think of Fang Yu buried under all that crushing rock.

"We will not," Chiun said, striding on to the left-hand tunnel.

Remo caught up. "I thought the skull said not to take the left fork."

"No. It instructed the reverse. Before I presented the skull to Wu Ming Shi, with my nails I incised the word not in a certain place. Blinded by greed, he neglected to examine the riddle closely for signs of doctoring. And so he perished."

They came to a high-ceilinged vault of rock. Mongol yak-butter candles lit the area with shuddery yellow light.

"Dig," commanded the Master of Sinanju, pointing to the wide flat ground before them.

Not a Mongol moved.

"Go ahead," Remo said quietly.

The Mongols threw themselves into their work with enthusiasm.

"You gotta know how to handle these guys," Remo said with a straight face.

Chiun fumed wordlessly.

As they dug, Remo spoke up. "One thing I still don't understand."

"There are many things you do not understand," Chiun said testily.

"Wu Ming Shi. When he walked, he left the screwiest tracks behind him."

"Ah," Chiun said, gesturing Remo back to the tunnel fork.

There he pushed aside loose rock with a sandaled toe and uncovered a foot encased in a soft black slipper, the toe pointing up.

"That is Wu Ming Shi's foot," Chiun pronounced. "Examine it and see how foolish you feel after you behold the sublime truth."

Remo knelt down and removed the sandal. The exposed foot was wrinkled and leathery brown, the nails curved like blunt talons. The ankle skin was withered like a huge twist of beef jerky.

"He could have used a good foot manicure," Remo remarked, "but that's about it."

"Extract the cadaver," Chiun suggested.

Remo shrugged. He pulled away more rock and debris, exposing a second foot. Taking the corpse by both ankles, Remo pulled. He had to twist and turn, because the body was really stuck. He got most of Wu Ming Shi pulled loose from the rock. The body was missing an arm and the head.

But that wasn't what made Remo abruptly drop the body as if it were contaminated.

"What the hell?" he said in surprise.

For Wu Ming Shi's remains had landed chest-down, even though the toes pointed upward.

"This is crazy!" Remo blurted out. "His feet are on backward!"

"Truly," Chiun beamed. "It is the insult I inflicted upon the wicked mandarin Wu Ming Shi, to these many years ago."

"You turned his feet around?" Remo said incredulously.

"It is a simple trick. Perhaps one day I will show it to you."

Chiun padded off, the high carriage of his head telling Remo his pride had been restored.

A call came out of the left-side tunnel. Chiun picked up his skirts in his haste. Remo flashed after him.

They plunged into the candlelit vault.

"Behold!" Kula said, lifting a dirt-clotted skull from the wide hole his Mongols had excavated.

Chiun snatched it from him, wailing, "Another stupid skull! What manner of Mongol trickery is this!" He spanked the dirt from the bony forehead, revealing Mongolian script. Chiun read it with narrow suspicious eyes.

"What does it say?" Remo asked.

"It says, `Know, O hasty one, that the tortoise has more than one egg.' "

"What's that mean?"

Chiun's eyes suddenly lit up. He turned to the waiting circle of Mongol faces.

"To your steeds, sons of Temujin! We ride to Karakorum!"

The Mongols regarded the Master of Sinanju with identical metallic expressions.

"Why should we do this?" Kula asked in a reasonable voice.

"Because that is where the treasure truly lies!" Chiun hissed.

"You swore that it lay here, where we dig," Kula returned, unmoved.

"I was deceived!" Chiun flung back. "The Khagan was having a last jest on us all. We did not dig deep enough at Karakorum. It is there!"

The Mongols folded their arms stubbornly.

Remo stepped up. "Tell you guys what. We gotta get out of here before the PLA comes back. What say we ride up to" He turned to Chiun. "What did you say that name was?"

"Karakorum," Chiun muttered darkly.

"Karakorum," Remo repeated.

"To Karakorum with the white tiger!" the Mongols shouted.

They stampeded from the cave, forcing Chiun to float out of the way of their booted feet.

"I love Mongol enthusiasm, don't you?" Remo asked Chiun.

"Pah!" Chiun spat, storming from the cave.

"Guess you gotta know 'em to love 'em," he muttered happily.

Chapter 38

Elements of the People's Liberation Army made several abortive stabs at interdicting the Mongol column as it moved northward. Mongol war cries discouraged them. A snowstorm came up, rendering pursuing tanks useless. A few jeep forays ended in overturned jeeps with Mongol arrows feathering tires and Chinese bodies alike.

No Chinese had any stomach for a fight after that.

Chiun drew his horse up alongside Remo's.

"How did you learn to ride so quickly?" Chiun asked.

"Fahrvergnugen," Remo said coolly. Receiving no response, he asked, "You know, you led me on quite the merry chase this time."

"It was to protect you. And you did not do so badly, pale piece of tiger's ear."

Remo laughed. "Was Wu Ming Shi really two hundred years old?"

"It was closer to two hundred fifty, I understand. He was an evil man, but he knew many terrible secrets. Now they have died with him and a debt to the House of Sinanju has been finally settled in full."

"Too bad we lost Zhang," Remo said as the snow squall died.

Chiun shrugged. "Zhang's life was his to throw away."

"He went out a hero-which is more than I can say about Fang Yu." Remo's face was hard, his eyes bleak as chips of age-darkened bone.

"It is better to live, Remo," Chiun told him. "I could have been a so-called hero and eliminated Wu Ming Shi many years ago, but others would have suffered for it. Remember this if you ever face such a choice."

"Point taken. Listen, did you really do Amelia Earhart?"

Chiun nodded grimly. "It was during a time when Wu Ming Shi had no need of Sinanju. The Japanese were only a slightly less odious client."

"I can't believe you did that. She was an American hero."

"Heroes are destined for a young death. Remember this too."

"Yeah, well, when I'm head of the House, I won't stoop to taking that kind of work."

"It is too late, Remo. For you have already killed one who is a hero to some-although he was but a kung fu dancer."

Remo looked doubtful. "Who?"

"He was called Bruce. His last name escapes me, but years ago, he enjoyed some minor notoriety in absurd Chinese movies."

Remo blinked. "Not the chop-socky star?" he said hotly. "Little Father, that guy's been dead for years."

"No, he perished in the monastery. You knew him as Sagwa."

"Sagwa!" Remo snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute. The guy I'm thinking of got his acting start in a TV show called The Green Hornet back in the sixties. I remember watching it. Yeah, it comes back to me now. He played Kato, the chauffeur with the mask." Remo's eyes widened suddenly. "That so-called Chinese limo! It was the car Kato used to drive. Black Beauty."

"Black Ugly," Chiun sniffed.

"No wonder he looked familiar, even with the mask. And that's why I recognized the car." Remo stopped. "Oh, my God," he croaked. "I killed Kato."

"No," Chiun corrected. "We eliminated that upstart. For all Masters rightfully share in all credit."

"Trade you a chop-socky actor for an aviatrix?" Remo asked sheepishly.

Chiun beamed happily.

* * *

They linked up with Boldbator's Golden Horde outside of Sayn Shanda after nightfall.

An argument immediately broke out over rights to the treasure of Genghis Khan. Boldbator claimed ten percent. Kula claimed fifteen. Boldbator demanded of the Master of Sinanju why this Kula, a mere bandit, should get five percent more than he, who was the New Khan.

"Because I foolishly made a pact with him to carry the treasure away," Chiun said petulantly.

"But you made the same pact with me-for less."

"But he was at Five-Dragon Cave, not you."

"You commanded me to remain here," Boldbator thundered.

"I know that!" Chiun flared. "But how was I to know the treasure was not in Five-Dragon Cave after all? Oh, this is ridiculous." He turned to Remo in exasperation. "You were there, Remo. Explain it to this nomad."

"Don't look at me," Remo said, backing away. "He's not my Mongol."

The argument raged all day. War threatened to break out between the opposing camps, each claiming to be the ordained bearers of Temujin's treasure, until Remo took Chiun aside and said, "Look, how much of a percentage did you promise Zhang?"

"Half," Chiun whispered conspiratorially. "But only because it was his skull to start with."

"Fine, so if you cut Boldbator in for fifteen percent to match Kula's share, that's only thirty percent, right?"

Chiun eyes gleamed. "You are right, Remo. I am left with seventy percent for myself."

"Actually, sixty," Remo said.

"What do you mean?"

Remo wagged a finger in Chiun's face. "You forgot my ten percent. You made a big production of trying to give it to me back at the monastery. I have witnesses."

"All dead," Chiun retorted. "And I only said that to deceive Wu Ming Shi. Besides, I referred to the television show reward, not the magnificent treasure of Temujin."

"Hey, if I don't get my commission, I won't let my Mongols play with your Mongols. No happy jaunt to Karakorum."

"Then I will get eighty-five percent!" Chiun crowed.

"Not if my Mongols beat your Mongols to Karakorum," Remo pointed out. "That's a big group you got there, Little Father. All those camels and wagons and yurts. I don't think they can ride as fast as my guys."

Chiun pulled at his hair. "This is blackmail!" he shrieked.

"No, this is horse trading," Remo shot back. "I hear it's an honored Mongol tradition."

"What do you know of Mongols?" Chiun said indignantly.

"Not a lot," Remo said, gazing over the sea of felt tents spread before them. He grinned. "Maybe ten percent worth."

"Done," Chiun clucked glumly. "Now, let us set out for Karakorum."

Remo cupped his hands around his mouth. "Ai yah! Let's ride!" he shouted.

Dozens of Mongols jumped to their mounts like Sioux about to raid a rival village.

The rest looked to Chiun with the blank expressions of a sky full of yellow moons.

"Your turn," Remo said lightly. "I think these slow guys are yours."

Two days' ride later, they were camped on the plains of Karakorum. Mongol tools were prying up the earth's crust as Remo and Chiun, perched on the stone tortoise, watched over them.

"Ai yah!" The cry came from what had become a crater large enough to hold a three-ton meteor.

A rotting chest was passed from hand to hand until it was deposited at the Master of Sinanju's feet.

Chiun fell on it, flinging open the lid. His eyes widened at the piles of emeralds and rubies and pearls heaped within.

"Look at this, Remo!" Chiun squeaked. "Is it not fabulous?"

"It's a start," Remo said nonchalantly.

All through the night, more chests were hauled up, along with other trophies-golden gongs, jade figurines, and personal mementos of Genghis Khan. Chiun let the Mongols divide up these last, telling Remo, "It means so much to them."

"Bull," Remo countered. "You know it's not as valuable as gold or jade or any of this other stuff. Except to a museum. Actually, to a museum it would be worth more than gold."

After that Chiun insisted upon his rightful share of the Khan of Khan's personal effects.

The treasure made a huge pyramid in the middle of the plain.

"Rich! I am rich!" Chiun cried to the star-dazzled Mongolian sky.

"I don't see what you're so excited about," Remo put in soberly. "You were already rich."

"One can never be too rich," Chiun countered, examining a jade wand for flaws. He found one. It went into the Mongol pile.

No one slept that night. By dawn they had every camel and creaking cart loaded with treasure.

Remo and Chiun mounted their horses and took the lead. Boldbator, raising the nine-horsetail standard of Genghis Khan, and Kula, sipping kaoliang wine from a bladder, took positions on either side of them.

Remo lifted one arm, mimicking an actor in a cavalry movie.

"Sinanju-ho!" he cried, bringing his hand down. The New Golden Horde started off. It was a full two hours before the ponies in the rear were able to move.

As they made their hoof-drumming, wheel-creaking, yak-grunting way east to Korea and the village of Sinanju, the Master of Sinanju cast a worried look to the army that marched behind them.

"Something wrong, Little Father?" Remo asked.

"All these Mongol mouths," Chiun squeaked. "How will my poor village feed them when we reach Sinanju? We have no mutton!"

Remo laughed. "Tell you what, Chiun, you just feed your Mongols and I'll worry about mine."

"I have been thinking, Remo," Chiun said slyly.

"Yeah?"

"I have so many Mongols, and you have so few. Perhaps I will give you some of mine."

"Your generosity underwhelms me, Little Father." And Remo laughed again. It was good to be back in the saddle again.