The man groaned in his confusion. He looked up, his eyes beginning to clear. "I have saved face," he gasped. "Tibet will belong to China forever."
"There is more than one way to lose face," retorted Chiun, and his long-nailed fingers swept down like tiger's claws. Up and down on the man's exposed face they worked. When they came away, the bone mask of his skull lay exposed to the sun amid the red ribbons that had been his lying features.
The minister of state security obviously realized something was amiss. He clapped his hands over his face and found smooth bone instead of flesh. His eyes widened in their white sockets, and his mouth opened to scream.
Remo's hard boot heel drove the unborn scream back into the shattered mask of bone that was now no longer face or skull, but was instead more like a bowl filled with white gravel.
"Better luck next life, pal," Remo said harshly.
"One who would sacrifice a child to reach his evil aims does not deserve a next life," Chiun spat out.
"Okay," said Remo. "Let's get out of here."
No one tried to stop them. The Tibetans were too busy chasing raindrops. But when they reached the turboprop plane, two PLA cadres made the mistake of lifting rifles to shoulders.
Remo and Chiun hit them in concert, driving the rifle butts into their shoulders and breaking both. After that the guards lost interest in everything.
"Can you fly one of these?" Remo asked Kula as he held the door open for Chiun.
"We will find out," said Kula, clambering aboard.
The next minute the pilot came flying out, the top of his skull in one hand and his brain exposed to the light.
Remo had wondered what the popping sound was.
The engines were already running, so it was just a matter of finding seats as Kula engaged the throttles. The turboprop lumbered along, swung around, and the engines roared.
Tibetans scattered before them as the turboprop gained the air and strained toward the nearby mountain ranges.
No one tried to stop them. Not even after they had put Lhasa Valley behind them and were over the endless mountains of Tibet. No jets or helicopters scrambled to challenge them.
When it looked like they were out of the woods, Kula turned from the controls and shouted back, "I will put you all off in India."
"What are you going to do?" Remo asked.
"Lobsang and I must seek out the Bunji."
"What?"
"In the exact moment of her death," Lobsang said hollowly, "the Bunji's spirit entered the body of a child. The child must be found. As the last of the Worshipful Nameless Ones in the Dark Who See the Light That is Coming, it is my responsibility to seek out the Bunji's new body and guide him to the Lion Throne."
"And I will help because Boldbator Khan has decreed that China will surrender Tibet," added Kula.
"I will help, too," offered Bumba Fun.
"I will not walk with a Khampa," vowed Kula.
"The Bunji will not be found by a mere horse Mongol," Bumba Fun insisted.
"Don't you guys ever give up?" muttered Remo.
"We are Buddhists," said Kula. "We have only to be in the right place at the ordained hour, and glory and merit will shower down upon us."
"Sounds like you all have a full calendar," said Remo. He left them to their planning to rejoin the Master of Sinanju in the rear of the aircraft.
"Smith is going to have a lot to say to you," Remo warned.
"I appoint you official explainer of the House of Sinanju," Chiun said dismissively. "You may tell him what you will."
"But I don't know anything," Remo protested.
"At least you admit your ignorance," Chiun sniffed.
They sat in silence as the endlessness of Tibet rolled under their wings.
"So," Remo asked after a while, "who the hell was Gonpo Jigme?"
Chiun turned his face to the window. "I will tell you after we have escaped Tibet. And not before."
"Why not now?"
"I will tell you that later, as well."
And for the rest of the flight, Remo couldn't get another word out of Chiun. It was very strange.
But not as strange as the landscape below. It looked very familiar. Especially one rounded snowcap they overflew near the Indian border. A long scar ran down its face. Remo couldn't take his eyes off it. It looked most familiar of all.
After it was lost to sight, Remo caught Chiun looking at him strangely. Abruptly the Master of Sinanju looked away.
Chapter 39
Three days later Remo Williams was speaking to Harold W Smith by telephone from his Massachusetts condominium.
"The President has calmed down," Smith was saying.
"You mean the First Lady has calmed down," Remo corrected.
"Whatever, the crisis appears to have blown over. The Chinese had been accusing Washington of having interventionist designs, but once the President pointed out that Squirrelly Chicane perished under suspicious circumstances while being technically a guest of Beijing, their blustering abated."
"So that's it?"
"Pockets of Tibetan agitation have been put down. There have been summary executions. I'm afraid one of those was our contact in Lhasa, Bumba Fun."
"There's plenty more where he came from."
"It is fortunate that this incident did not erupt into open revolt," said Smith.
"Never happen," Remo said. "The Tibetans don't believe in fighting. Until they get a new attitude, they're stuck with the Chinese."
"Did you ever find out why Chiun intervened in Tibet?"
"No, he's being very close-mouthed about it. And he's blaming me for wrecking everything."
"On the contrary," said Smith. "Your timely arrival may have forced the best outcome among the admittedly bad possible scenarios."
"Tell that to Squirrelly Chicane's survivors," Remo said flatly.
"I understand they have been hired as consultants for a new movie based on her rather, ah, colorful life," Smith said dryly.
"I'll wait for the video," said Remo. "Speaking of video, I found that episode of 'The Poopi Silverfish Show' that started all this on tape. It's an old episode. Looks to me like Chiun saw Lobsang coming." Changing the subject, Remo asked, "You find anything on your computers about that name I asked you about?"
"Gonpo Jigme?"
"Who else?"
"Unfortunately, no. It is Tibetan. My data base is curiously deficient in that language."
"Chiun promised me he'd explain what it meant, but so far he's avoiding the subject. What gets me is why Tibet seemed so familiar. I've never been there in my life."
"Deja vu," said Smith.
"Huh?"
"A common delusion. Persons happening upon a new person or place sometimes experience false feelings of recognition. Behavioral scientists have theorized certain smells or scents associated with a person's past trigger the phenomenon. The brain recalls the scent, but the mind believes it is recalling the place."
"Yeah, well, Tibet smelled like nothing I ever encountered before," said Remo glumly.
Down below he heard the door open and close.
"Chiun's back," Remo said quickly. "I gotta run."
Hanging up, Remo ran down the stairs to greet the Master of Sinanju at the door. Chiun carried a paper sack from which the unmistakable odor of fresh fish wafted.
"Cod?" asked Remo, taking the sack.
"There was no haddock," said Chiun, closing the door. "And it is your turn to cook"
"I cooked last time," Remo pointed out as they entered the kitchen together.
"You cooked badly last time. The duck was greasy and the rice undercooked. Therefore, you will cook tonight in atonement for your past errors. "
"Tell you what, you break down and answer my questions, and I'll cook gladly."
"I do not care whether or not you cook gladly so long as you cook well," sniffed Chiun.
"Deal."
"If the food turns out to my satisfaction," allowed Chiun.
AN HOUR LATER they were
basking in the afterglow of full stomachs high in the meditation room with the dying light of day pouring in through its four great windows.
"Okay," said Remo, laying down his chopsticks. "Answer time. First tell me why you tore off to Tibet without me."
"Because I was obligated to do so," said Chiun, laying aside his rice.
"Not according to Boldbator Khan. He paid you to find the Bunji Lama, not to see her through all the way to Lhasa."
"In truth, my journey to Lhasa was repayment of an old debt."
"I'm listening," said Remo.
"I have told you the many stories of the House of Sinanju, its masters, its emperors and its clients. Of these, one state Sinanju rarely served was Tibet. Now, you would think that with its ambitious abbots and its intrigues, Sinanju would have found much gainful employment there. So it was thought by Master Pojji, who on his first contract went to Tibet at the behest of an abbot who was in truth Chinese, not Tibetan. Now, this abbot was a regent of a certain Dalai Lama who was proving recalcitrant. He would not obey his chela, which is another name for teacher. It was decided that this lama must be done away with quietly, and another, more compliant one found to take his place."
Chiun closed his eyes as if recalling the event from memory.
"Master Pojji received his instructions from this skulking abbot in the shadow of the Potala along with a bag of gold. In the dead of night, Pojji slipped into the mighty palace and followed the directions toward the lama's sleeping room. Stealing in, he came upon the Dalai asleep, his bedclothes drawn up over his head as if in fear. In his heart, Pojji was glad, for this made his task much easier. Creeping up on the bed, he crushed the head under the blanket with a single blow. And all was well. Or so Pojji thought.
"The next day, as the body of the dead Dalai lay in state, Master Pojji received the balance of his gold. Novice that he was, he foolishly tarried to see the dead face of his victim."
Chiun's eyes grew heavy with sorrow.
"I think I can see what's coming," Remo said softly.
"The face was that of a child, Remo. Pojji had murdered a child. This, as you know, is the greatest crime a master can commit. And although Pojji was blameless insofar as intent was concerned, still it was his hand that had robbed the sweet child of his life. In his anger, Pojji slew the abbot, who was a tool of China, which coveted Tibet even then. And in his shame, Pojji vowed to one day atone to Tibet for this crime. But the opportunity never came in his lifetime. And so the debt was handed down from master to master until a suitable opportunity arose. I chose to repay that debt by going to the rescue of the Bunji."
"But she died."
Chiun made a face. "That is not my fault. Nor is it the point. The debt has been repaid. Besides, the Bunji did not die. She merely passed on to a new, possibly more worthy body."
"You don't really believe that crap."
"I do not wish to discuss my beliefs," said Chiun aridly.
"Fine. let's discuss Gonpo Jigme."
Chiun nodded quietly. "You have told me you already know the meaning of the Tibetan name, Jigme," he said. "It means 'dreadnought'. A common name among Tibetans, strange as it may seem for such a peaceful race of men."
"Got it," Remo said impatiently. "What about Gonpo?"
Chiun eyed his pupil critically. "Can you not guess?"
"No."
"Not even after you told me that you found Tibet familiar to your eyes which have never before come to rest on its grandeur?"
"Deja vu."
Chiun stroked his beard. "I do not know that name."
"Smith explained it to me. It means a sense of having been someplace even though you'd never set foot there. I had an attack of deja vu. No mystery."
"No. No," Chiun said in exasperation. "Smith is wrong. Gonpo is a god known to the people of Tibet. He is also called Mahakala. "
"Seems to me I've heard that name before," Remo admitted.
"There is yet another name for Gonpo. One far better known. Can you not guess this name, Remo?"
"I'm not up on Tibetan gods."
"Forget Tibet! I am speaking of Gonpo, who is also known as the Dreadnought."
"Yeah?"
"What is another word for dreadnought, thick one?"
"Sue me. I don't know."
"Destroyer. Destroyer is another word for dreadnought. He is Gonpo the Destroyer."
Then it hit Remo. "You mean Gonpo is another name for Shiva?"
"I mean exactly that. It is believed that Shiva the Destroyer lives atop Mt. Kailas. That is one of the reasons why although many make pilgrimages to its peak, none dare climb to the summit. What do you think of that, Remo?"
"Well, it proves I'm not Shiva or a reincarnation of Shiva. I grew up in Newark. Never heard of Mt. Kailas. "
"No. No. It proves nothing of the kind. You were recognized as Gonpo by the Tibetans. And when you flew over Mt. Kailas, you could not tear your eyes from its awesome peak."
Remo frowned. "Was that that scarred mountain near India?"
Chiun nodded. "Does that not prove that Shiva's spirit rides you?"
"Rides? That's what that nomad girl said. 'The god rides you."
"Among Tibetans they have mystics called powos who go into trances and surrender their bodies to the spirits of certain gods who then speak through their mouths. No doubt this woman recognized the spirit of Shiva had manifested itself through you."
"Sounds like channeling. That's the kind of New Age bulldooky that Squirrelly Chicane believed in."
"Simply because a fool believes that the sun will rise each morn does not mean the sun will malinger simply to spite the fool," Chiun advised.
Remo folded his arms stubbornly. "Yeah? Well, I still don't buy any of it. Not reincarnation, Bunji Lamas, or Shiva or Gonpo or any of it."
"That is your privilege," snapped Chiun. "It was not I who pressed the matter but you. And now you castigate me for explaining it to you."
Remo was silent for a long time. In the lingering dusk, his hard face gradually softened. Chiun's did, as well. They relaxed.
"Maybe some day I'll climb Mt. Kailas and see if anything's really up there," Remo said thoughtfully. "Just to settle the question."
"Perhaps you will, my son," said Chiun slowly. "But before you do, consider this question-if Shiva truly dwells there, who will come down off Mt. Kailas wearing your flesh and bones?"
Remo had no answer to that. Instead, he said, "Well, one thing's for sure. Squirrelly Chicane wasn't the reincarnation of the Bunji Lama. She was just a starry-eyed dip with delusions of grandeur."
"You are very sure of yourself for one who professes belief in nothing other than his own stubbornness," said Chiun.
"If Squirrelly Chicane does come back," Remo said, "let her find us this time."
"Do not call down such unpleasant karma on our heads," warned Chiun. "One Squirrelly Chicane in one lifetime is too much."
And in the dying light of day, they both smiled.
EPILOGUE
On the very first day of the third month of the Tibetan Year of the Earth Dog, Dra Drang lay on a bed of clean straw in a cow byre in the town called Burang, grunting and grimacing in the joyous labor of giving birth to her first child.
At last, after much effort, the baby came, sliding out in a slippery flood of blood and amniotic fluids.
The midwife took up the child, spanked a short bleat of complaint from the tiny lungs and cut the umbilical cord with her teeth.
Enveloped in the yak wool wrap, the child, strangely serene of face and disposition, was handed over. Dra Drang took up the peaceful bundle to her gently heaving chest.
About to unwrap the cloth to see if she had just borne a boy or a girl, Dra Drang was astonished to see that there was hair on the tiny, throbbing head. And the hair was the red of rust.
She wondered what such a presentiment could signify.
NEVER. Never play opposite children or dogs. Thanks to that little snot, I have the biggest bomb since Heaven's Gate against my n
ame, and I have to go around all over again. Just when I had the perfect incarnation and my third-reel climax, too!
The bitter thoughts echoed in the darkness of her mind where there was no thought, no fear, no pain. Only recriminations.
Suddenly she felt herself moving. Like a helpless cork, she was being violently expelled from the place of floating darkness. A sharp blow struck her bottom, and she breathed again. The air smelled like a stable.
Squirrelly Chicane opened her eyes and took note of her surroundings. She saw Tibetan faces. Good. This time she wouldn't have to wait sixty years to be found. This time she'd do it right. This time she would be the Bunji Lama first and then launch her glorious film career. It would be the comeback of all time.
She looked up into the broad face of her new mother. Not so good-pocked skin and teeth so rotted they couldn't be capped. Well, she wouldn't win any beauty contests but she had to be an improvement over the last one. And by the time they went to camera, a good Tibetan actress might happen along. But not too good. No one could be allowed to outshine Squirrelly Chicane, six minutes old and already sexellent.
The body warmth of her new mother was making Squirrelly sleepy, so sleepy, and the memories of her last body were already starting to slip away. But they'd come back, she knew. When the Wheel of Time clicked into the right karmic notch.
Just before the first slumber of her new life overtook her, Squirrelly felt her blanket being unwrapped. Curious, she looked down at herself and saw a tiny pink penis.
Yuck. I'm a boy again. My public isn't going to like it if I turn up in drag.
Still, there was one consolation. She had been born a Taurus again. And everyone knew they had the best karma.
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