The Master of Sinanju leapt from his spot and yanked Squirrelly Chicane off the crag. She came unwillingly, but she came.
"Seek shelter!" he cried to the others.
Tons of snow and rocks roared down in a fury of sliding ice and tumbling rock. There was no time to do anything except crouch under substantial stone and pray to whatever gods could hear above the deafening roar of the mountaintop that raced down, gathering speed and substance and destruction.
When it ended, the clear, cold air rang with the sound of no sound.
A bald yellow head streaked with black popped up from the snow. The Master of Sinanju peered about narrowly. He reached down. He pulled Squirrelly Chicane up by her saffron-tinted hair.
"I did it! I did it! Didn't I do it?" she said happily.
Kula and Lobsang emerged next, shaking the snow off like bears coming out of long hibernation.
Below, the base of the mountain had been filled in. A handful of tanks had survived the onslaught. They were racing away.
Above, the helicopters had scattered like so many frightened crows.
"I did it! I did it! I conquered the wicked Chinese!" Squirrelly exulted.
"We are not free yet," intoned Chiun, looking up at the helicopters, already regathering like brazen vultures over a notquite-dead living thing.
After a few minutes all but one stood off at some distance. The remaining helicopter, Chiun saw, was the one that had led the pack and brought this calamity about.
From a belly-mounted loudspeaker came an authoritative voice, speaking perfect Mandarin. "I offer safe passage to Gonggar Airport. Will you accept this generous offer?"
"Never!" Squirrelly shrieked, shaking her fist at the helicopter. "Isn't that right, men?"
When there was no answer, she said again, "I said, 'Isn't that right, men?'"
They regarded her with doubtful eyes.
"Don't you see! This is the climax. The Bunji Lama calls down a mountaintop onto the bad guys with her magnificent Bunji voice. This will really play! I'd like to see Spielberg top this! Why, I'll bet they're dancing in the streets right now, rejoicing that the bad guys finally got their comeuppance."
All eyes went to Lhasa. There was no question that many who heard the sound of the avalanche had seen the forces of the People's Liberation Army crushed into oblivion.
"They should be pouring into the streets any time now," Squirrelly said breathlessly.
But Lhasa remained quiet.
"What's with them? Don't they understand they've been liberated?"
When it became clear that the answer was no, Squirrelly cupped her hands before her mouth and tried to shout the joyous news across the Lhasa Valley.
The top of the mountain gave a brief warning rumble.
A quick hand touched her throat, and Squirrelly found herself squeaking like an excited mouse, and then nothing came out of her mouth at all.
You're all just jealous because a woman saved you! she tried to shout. They were talking among themselves as if she were a mere extra.
"I have come to set the Bunji Lama on the Lion Throne," the Master of Sinanju said slowly. "This I have done."
"It is true," Kula admitted readily.
"The Bunji Lama is now ruler of Tibet-by all rights."
Forget the exposition, you morons! Squirrelly screamed mentally. My public awaits!
"Perhaps," continued Chiun, "it has been ordained from the start of time that this Bunji Lama is not in truth the Bunji who is destined to liberate Tibet."
Everyone looked at Squirrelly as if she had blown her lines, big-time.
"It is possible," Kula admitted. "After all, she is a white eyes. And female."
"If it is to be, it is to be," said Lobsang. "For who among us can arrest the mighty Wheel of the Inexorable?"
Chiun said, "It is decided, then. We have done all we could. We must flee in order to await a truer hour and a more fortuitous time."
Like hell we are! Squirrelly screamed mentally.
But they had made up their minds. Squirrelly found herself gathered up in Kula's big treacherous arms, and down they went again.
It just couldn't get any worse if she were being forced to play opposite animals or, God forbid, a child actor.
Chapter 38
At the base of the mountain, the followers of the Bunji Lama took possession of an abandoned jeep. They discovered the driver as they drove off. He had been hiding under the chassis, and they left him lying on his stomach with his tongue and the contents of his stomach extruded from his dead, open mouth.
Kula drove. They were not followed into the city, not even by the PLA helicopter that had promised them safe passage. Curiously, it rattled in the direction of Gonggar Airport.
And in Lhasa the rattle of automatic-weapons fire came now and again. Here and there the black smoke lifted to the blue sky.
"The Chinese are fighting," Kula muttered.
"But who are they fighting?" Chiun wondered aloud.
"They are fighting Tibetans," Lobsang said proudly. "The people of Lhasa, knowing that the Bunji is among them, are in open revolt."
"Tibetans do not fight," Kula said contemptuously.
But as they approached the city, the sounds of combat escalated.
The fighting seemed centered around the Public Security Bureau headquarters. Kula swung around it, taking Aefong Beilu south to XingFu Donglu and cutting up and down empty streets whose windows framed frightened Tibetan faces until the road back to Gonggar came within sight.
Turning a corner, they avoided a head-on collision with a military truck by a margin so narrow that both vehicles exchanged paint samples.
"Khampa drivers!" Kula grumbled. "They are the worst."
"Khampas are fighters," Lobsang said.
"Khampas are bandits and sissies," Kula growled. But something in his rearview mirror brought him up in his seat. The truck was pulling a screeching U-turn and careering after them at high speed.
Kula pressed the accelerator, saying, "I will show them!"
The jeep sped ahead. The truck came roaring after it. Neck and neck they raced toward Gonggar. Every time the truck pulled alongside, Kula wrung more horsepower out of the jeep.
In the end the jeep seemed the clear winner until an annoyed voice lifted over the gunning engine sounds.
"Hey! Pullover! It's me!"
Chiun perked up in his seat. "Remo?"
"Who do you think?" Remo Williams shouted from behind the wheel.
Kula, eyes wide, said, "But you are dressed as a Khampa, White Tiger."
"It's a freaking disguise!" Remo shouted. "Now, pull over."
Kula started braking. A sandaled foot helped his foot stomp on the gas pedal, and a long-fingered hand took the wheel and inexorably steered the jeep to the shoulder of the road.
Remo jumped out of the truck, his silver-fox turban askew.
Chiun leapt out to meet him. "What are you doing in Tibet?" the Master of Sinanju demanded angrily.
"I've been trying to find you for hours," Remo complained. "You've really done it this time, you know. There's a huge international stink brewing."
"I am on sabbatical," Chiun snapped. "No shadow of what I do should properly fall upon America."
"Tell that to Beijing. Smith is having fits. The President is on his back because the First Lady is on his back. Look, we gotta get all of you out of Tibet fast."
"Who is this?" Kula asked of Remo, pointing to Bumba Fun.
Bumba Fun struck his chest, saying, "I am Bumba Fun, the strong right arm of Gonpo Jigme."
"Who is Gonpo Jigme?" asked Kula.
"I am," said Remo.
Chiun inserted himself in front of Remo. "You are Gonpo Jigme?"
"Yeah."
"But you sound like Remo."
"I am Remo."
"You just said that you are Gonpo Jigme."
"I am Gonpo Jigme. Look, this is starting to sound like one of those Bumba Fun conversations I keep having everywhere I go. Let's just get ou
t of here, okay?"
Squirrelly Chicane presented herself to Remo at that moment. She made frantic motions at herself, at Chiun and at her unworking voice.
Remo restored her voice with a touch of a neck nerve.
"What's the idea of blowing in here and stealing my show?" Squirrelly demanded.
"Huh?"
"This is my movie, you-you scene-stealer! And you're way too late if you're here to costar. It's the third act already."
"What's she babbling about?" Remo asked Chiun.
"No one knows," said Chiun. "But we must get you out of Tibet with utmost dispatch."
"Get me out of Tibet! I came half way around the world to get you out of Tibet."
"I'm going nowhere!" Squirrelly protested. "I'm the Bunji Lamb and in Tibet the word of the Bunji Lamb is absolute law. Now, here's my plan. First, we-"
Remo and Chiun both stifled any further protest with warning gestures of their voice-deadening fingers, and they all climbed back into their respective vehicles and roared off in the direction of Gonggar Airport.
Chiun had joined Remo in the truck. Remo was driving, and Bumba Fun was hunkered down in the truck's bed.
Behind them, Lhasa quaked with explosions.
"I told those Khampas not to make a mess," Remo complained. "The minute they blew into town they couldn't wait to tear into the Chinese."
"When did you become a Khampa?" Chiun sniffed.
"I'm an honorary Khampa." Remo leaned over and whispered, "They think I'm this Gonpo Jigme character."
"And who do you think you are?" Chiun asked.
Remo threw his silver-fox turban out the window and slapped an itchy spot on the back of his head.
"A guy in serious need of a bath," said Remo. Then, noticing that the Master of Sinanju's bald head was streaked with black, he asked. "What's that on your head? It looks like you've been playing in a coal bin."
"It is a part of my disguise."
"Disguise?"
"You are in disguise. Am I not entitled to the same?"
"Well, whatever it is, it's coming off," Remo pointed out.
Checking himself in a side mirror, Chiun plucked from one sleeve a small aerosol can. He used this to liberally apply a black powdery substance to his streaked scalp.
Remo caught a glimpse of the label before the can disappeared back up the sleeve. It read Hair In A Can.
Remo rolled his eyes. Getting out of Tibet couldn't come soon enough for him.
THERE WAS a reception committee waiting for them when they wheeled into Gonggar Airport. Not soldiers, although there were a few of those present but they quickly retreated into the background.
Ordinary Tibetans lined the approach road and formed a semicircle on the tarmac. Prayer wheels, both plain and ornate, spun anxiously. All eyes followed them as they pulled up near a waiting turboprop aircraft.
"I don't like the looks of this," Remo said as he searched the crowd with his eyes.
"They will not interfere," said Chiun, but his eyes were concerned as he stepped from the truck.
"Don't be silly," Squirrelly said. "It's my adoring public." She began blowing kisses. "Yoo-hoo. It's me-the Bunji Lama."
The ranks of Tibetans regarded her without emotion.
"What's the matter with them? I've been gone sixty years. You'd think they'd be thrilled to see me."
A middle-aged Chinese in military uniform stepped from the crowd. "I am the one who offered you safe passage," he announced.
"And you will be the one to pay dearly if such passage is not granted," warned Chiun in the man's own language.
"As minister of state security for all of China, I have summoned the people of this area to see you off."
"They are welcome to behold the unhappy sight," said Chiun thinly.
"It is important that the people of Tibet see that the Bunji clique does not care for them and is willing to return to the soft comforts of the West," the security minister purred.
"We go because we chose to depart," said Chiun stiffly
"But the people of Tibet will not be left without spiritual leadership," the security minister continued smoothly, his words directed to the crowd. "For one has come to this land to offer guidance during these confusing times."
With that the Chinese minister of state security gestured to the east. "For the Tashi has returned to Tibet!" he said loudly.
"The Tashi!" Lobsang hissed.
The Tibetans took up the name, repeating it over and over in hushed reverent tones that gathered in volume to a chant.
"What's the Tashi?" wondered Remo, who had not been able to follow the conversation but noticed the word repeated over and over.
"The Tashi Lama," said Chiun tightly.
"There's another llama?" Squirrelly burst out.
"Also know as the Panchen Lama," Lobsang hissed. "He is and always has been a tool of the Chinese."
"Is he very powerful?"
"He is the reincarnation of Opame, Buddha of Boundless Light."
Squirrelly's eyes went wide. "Boundless light! Is he a bigger star than me? Am I outranked? How big is his trailer? Oh God, on top of everything else, I'm being upstaged."
"The Tashi comes!" Kula growled.
"Oh my God, the Tashi Lama is coming and my hair's a mess! And look at these clothes! I have to change. Where's my dressing room?"
"Hush. This is a moment of great importance."
The crowd parted, and a quartet of abbots in red-and-gold vestments glided into view. They approached with stately steps.
"Which one is the Tashi?" Squirrelly whispered.
As if on cue, the abbots separated, revealing a tiny figure in golden robes padding along, face soft and serene beneath his miter, eyes possessing an innocence and beauty that were beyond words.
"It's just a kid," Remo said.
It was. The Tashi Lama could not have been older than eight. His tiny face was suffused with glowing pride.
Squirrelly gasped. "But look at the size of that prayer wheel. It's humongous! And all I have is this crummy Oscar."
"That's the biz, sweetheart," said Remo.
The Tashi Lama padded up to Squirrelly Chicane with serene purpose. His guileless eyes never left her face, and he carried his great prayer wheel high, although with difficulty.
"What do I say?" Squirrelly asked nervously of Lobsang.
"Do not kneel!" Lobsang counseled.
"Is an air-kiss okay? He's so cute."
"Let him bow to you, Buddha Sent," Kula urged.
Squirrelly drew herself up to her full height and patted her hair into some semblance of order.
The Tashi stepped directly in front of her. He stood looking up with a face that was like a jewel made of perfect flesh. His eyes were unreadable. Squirrelly swallowed. She had never been very good with kids.
She hoisted her Oscar high so the crowd could see it. There was no reaction. What was wrong with these yokels? she wondered. Don't they know glamour when they see it?
Squirrelly closed her eyes and steeled herself. I'm not going to bow. No matter what. I can take this little squirt, even if I do look like a wreck. He probably wears rubber underpants. I can handle this. I know I can.
Minutes dragged past. The Tashi and the Bunji stood face-to-face at one end of the runway, surrounded by anxious-faced Tibetans, under a sky of impossible blue.
In this encounter, everyone knew, would be decided the question of the true spiritual leader of Tibet and the future of Tibet itself.
"How long does this go on?" Remo whispered to Chiun at one point.
"Until one acknowledges the other's karmic superiority."
"We could be here all day," grumbled Remo, his eyes sweeping the crowd. He noticed the minister of state security melting back into the crowd. He was walking backward, his eyes riveted on the tableau, wriggling behind a literal wall of oblivious Tibetans.
Something about that struck Remo as wrong.
Then he saw the man reach into a pocket and lift something small and
black, and when he pressed it with his thumb, there was a nearly inaudible click.
THE SCRIPTURES RECORDED that on the momentous day when the Bunji Lama and the Tashi Lama met, their combined karma met, mingled and struggled in realms unknown to men. Their indomitable wills refused to relent. There could be no victory, no defeat and no outcome but stalemate.
There being no other possible outcome, the Bunji and the tulku simply winked out of existence, each knowing that they would return in the round of existence to vie with one another in their next life.
It was reported by all witnesses that after the two winked out of existence, there were great lamentations, and to appease their disappointed followers, a bright light was left in their place as a promise that they would one day return.
And miracle of miracles, strangely colored rain fell from a clear sky.
THE GIANT PRAYER WHEEL in the Tashi Lama's tiny fist detonated with a sound like near thunder. The concussion blew every witness back at least thirty yards in a tangle of human limbs. The flare of light burned a lingering afterimage into every retina.
Remo was the only one who saw it coming. Even then there was no way to stop it. The click of the radio detonator gave him time enough to shout "Bomb!" on the run, and then he, like everyone else, was thrown off his feet and slammed backward by a hot wall of moving air.
Airborne, Remo forced his body to relax. Dropping his heels, he created drag. When he was in control of his trajectory, he cartwheeled twice and snapped to a sudden stop on his hands and knees, uninjured.
The Master of Sinanju, also thrown backward, grabbed a passing electrical pole, whipped himself around it twice and alighted on his feet, his face scarlet with rage.
"It was a trap!" Remo shouted. "That Chinese guy had a detonator."
"The Bunji!" Lobsang cried, flat on his back. "I do not see the Bunji!"
The cry was taken up by hundreds of anguished voices. Others called out for the Tashi Lama. Then the rain came. It was red, bright red and very warm as it pattered on human skin. It fell from a completely clear sky.
All around, Tibetans scrambled to capture drops of the bright red rain. In later years there would be arguments as to whose life drops had been captured-the Bunji's or the Tashi's.
In the end it did not matter. Both had been erased from the sensual world.
Remo moved among the fallen Tibetans, searching. It was Chiun who found the minister of state security, stunned and still clutching the incriminating detonator.
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