"Now what?" Remo demanded.
"This woman is attempting to preserve this Japanese's useless life," Chiun replied casually.
"What did you do to him?"
"He did it to himself."
Seeing that the stewardess wasn't exactly equal to the task, Remo loosened her fingers, spun the tourist around and clapped him on the middle of the back once very hard.
The roll of film shot out of his mouth like a plug of black plastic chewing tobacco, and rebounded from an overhead bin.
"He take a picture of you?" Remo asked Chiun as the tourist sank gasping into his first-class seat.
"This is unproven," sniffed Chiun, hurrying up the aisle.
The confused stewardess asked, "What happened?"
"I smacked him on the back," explained Remo.
"That's the old way. It's not supposed to work anymore."
"It worked for me."
"Oh," said the stewardess, who then noticed Remo's very thick wrists. "Are you a first-class passenger?"
"You wish," said Remo, who had had enough of amorous flight attendants of late.
The stewardess's shoulders collapsed, and her pretty face sagged like dough layered in pancake flour. Flakes of makeup were actually precipitated to the carpet, so profound was her change in expression. "Maybe we can get you upgraded," she suggested.
"Not a chance. I always fly coach."
"What's wrong with first class?"
"If the plane goes down, first class always buys the farm."
She drew closer, preceded by a warm wave of frankincense, myrrh and overactive pheromones. "If I buy the farm, will you miss me?"
"Aren't you in the wrong cabin?" asked Remo, dropping into the empty seat beside the Master of Sinanju.
"I am allowed in coach," she said huffily.
"Another stray?" asked Chiun after the stewardess. had gone.
"Yeah," growled Remo. "What's wrong with stewardesses these days? They take to me like honeybees to nectar."
"They sense you are next in line to me."
"Then why don't they just skip over me and try to climb up your skirts?"
Chiun suppressed a distasteful pucker. "That is because when a Master achieves Reigning Master status, he learns to control his masculine lures without thinking."
Remo looked interested. "Teach me how."
"No."
"Why not?"
"We may yet need one of these bosomy cows to foal you a son."
"I'll pick my own brides, okay?"
"How vulgar. I do not understand how this nation can survive without the blessing of arranged marriages."
"Was your marriage arranged?"
"Of course."
"Who arranged it?"
"I did."
"Isn't that against the rules?"
"Possibly. But I was never caught."
"So? What's good enough for the Reigning Master should be good enough for the Apprentice Reigning Master."
"You will never be good enough until you unlearn your white ways," Chiun said, smoothing his plumhued skirts on his lap.
The plane was delayed over an hour. The pilot came on the PA system and explained that the bombings in New York and Oklahoma City meant they were on a heightened FAA alert status and would be taking off "momentarily."
Then they did. An hour later.
SOMEWHERE OVER the Ohio Valley, the pilot came back on and drawled that their flight was diverted to Toledo because of a "minor problem."
"Great," growled Remo. "By the time we get there, Joe Camel will have blended in with the other dromedaries."
"We do not even know who we are looking for," Chiun complained, "other than a faceless camel." From a pocket, Remo brought out a folded sheet of fax paper. It was the FBI file on Yusef Gamal. It included a Wanted poster, showing a blank face with a mailman's cap on it. A nose was sketched in-very prominent but somehow, at the same time, nondescript.
"Not much to go on," Remo muttered.
"I have seen this nose," Chiun murmured. "We are seeking a cattle Arab. A bedouin. I will recognize him when we meet, rest assured."
"How a guy with a name like Joe Camel got work in the post office beats me. You'd think someone would have gotten suspicious."
"I have read that these messengers are increasingly disgruntled, Remo. Why is this?"
"Search me. The way the country is going these days, killing your boss is a form of severance benefit."
On the ground in Toledo, they were put off the plane. Only then did it get out that a mail-bomb threat had been called against their flight.
A new plane was rolled up to the gate while the old one sat on a side runway being searched by ATF agents wearing blue bomb-disposal bunny suits.
While they were waiting to board, a flight from Oklahoma City landed. Remo noticed it and said, "You know, if I were Joe Camel, I'd be on the first flight out of town."
"You are correct, Remo. Let us quietly observe those who emerge from the aircraft. Perhaps our keen eyes will detect the one we seek."
At first it seemed like an ordinary crowd of people. Finally the last man stepped off the jetway. He wore the severe black of a Hasidic Jew.
"Well, I guess Camel wasn't on that flight," said Remo.
"None of those were cattle Arabs," Chiun agreed. As they watched the crowd disperse, a high voice floated above the airport murmur.
Remo tracked the commotion with his ears, his eye falling almost automatically on two men walking out of the airport gesturing animatedly and arguing at the top of their lungs. One was the Hasidic Jew, and the other was a red-haired man who had been waiting in the crowd.
"Listen, Remo," Chiun said quietly.
"To what? I can't understand a word"
"That man is speaking Arabic."
"Yeah? What's he saying?"
"He is calling the other man a Jew."
"The guy in black?"
"The Hasid, yes. The other is reviling him for being a Jew."
"Well, he is, isn't he?"
"Yes, but the way the man is speaking, it is a curse, not a compliment."
"That redheaded guy doesn't look Arabic to me."
"He is not. He is an Egyptian, tainted by Crusader blood."
"Well, he can't be our man. He didn't get off the Oklahoma plane."
Chiun's eyes narrowed. Then the pair disappeared out the door.
Their new flight was called, and they were soon back aboard. With a sinking feeling, Remo noticed that the first-class stewardess from the last flight was now a coach stewardess on this one.
"I have a message from the Japanese tourist in first class," she purred, speaking to Remo and Chiun at once.
"I do not wish to hear it," said Chiun.
Addressing Remo, she said, "To you, he said, Domo arrigato."
"That means 'thank you,'" translated Chiun.
"And to you he said ... " She lowered her voice, whispering a single word.
"What! He said that! To me!"
"Take it easy, Chiun. Simmer down. What'd he say?"
"It is an insult."
"Fine. You were insulted. Take it easy. I'd like to get to Oklahoma City without being held up on murder charges."
"Yes, but only because the needs of the Emperor demand it, do I endure such abuse."
Halfway to Oklahoma City, Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju and asked, "So, fess up. What'd he say?"
Chiun made a distasteful face.
"It is a very grave insult Japanese fling at one another. I am astonished that jokabare would have the temerity to cast it at me."
"Okay, so what's it mean?"
"'Your honorable self."'
Remo blinked. "That sounds like a compliment to me."
"It is not. It is very sarcastic and insulting, coming as it does from Japanese lips."
Remo shrugged. "If you say so."
"You do not understand the Japanese mind, Remo. They live out their lives in terrible frustration because they know they can never be Korean. It grates upon them."