"It's too much for you to handle."
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"I say spend," Moombasa said.
"Well. If you say so."
"I demand so," said Moombasa. "Demand. I will give it to you in cash. And there is more where that came from."
Moombasa was, of course, talking about his personal wealth. By now it exceeded the national treasury five-fold. But his honor had been insulted. He hardly listened to the Brit explain that the three were now in St. Maarten but would soon be in Bombay where a trap would be laid. The words about these assassins using the human body better than anyone ever had before meant nothing to him. Nothing.
"And so in ancient Bombay these ancient assassins will fall beneath the most modern of technology," Wissex said.
"And there's more where that came from," said Moombasa.
But later, when Wissex left, Moombasa reflected and decided that he would do a little work on his own. Just to protect his investment, which had now grown to $20 million.
"Bombay," said Terri Pomfret, returning from the beach on the western, the French side, of the island of St. Maarten. She noticed that Remo hadn't tanned even though he was lying out in the sun.
She set the rubbing of the Hamidian inscription on the table of their balcony facing the calm bay, under the hot white sun.
Word by word, phrase by phrase, she translated the coordinates of the sailing merchants and the
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descriptions of the ancient people to whose city the mountain of-gold had been moved.
"In their time, this city would have to be Bombay and the people would have to be Indian and I'm certain they refer to the Temple of the goddess Gint. That was my main clue. She is the goddess of inner peace and exists only at the city limits of Bombay. Simple, You see?"
She looked around for approval, but Chiun merely continued to stare off at the horizon. Remo yawned and continued not to tan.
"Why don't you tan?" she said.
"Don't want to."
"You know, you have a basically hostile personality."
"Why not?" Remo said.
Terri did not speak to him all the way on the three different flights to India. She noticed he did not sleep much either, perhaps fifteen minutes a night.
"I suppose you won't tell me why you need so little sleep either," she said.
"I'll tell you but you won't understand," he said.
"Try me."
"I sleep more intensely. There are different levels of sleep and I sleep all of them at once. You see, with me, I am in control of body functions that you're not in control of. Tanning, everything. I can tan because I can control the element in my skin that tans. Or I can not tan."
"Ask a silly question and you get an absolutely stupid answer," said Dr, Terri Pomfet.
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There were two problems with the Bombay Airport. One was that Remo, Chiun, and Terri were photographed by some lunatic wearing a Gunga Din costume, who kept sneaking around, trying not to be noticed and was therefore noticed.
The bigger problem with Bombay Airport was that it was downwind from a great concentration of Indians. It was downwind from the city and from the river it used as a refuse system for its sewage. When there was sewage. Mainly, the Indians just used the streets.
Tourist photographs of the city showed only the colors, the beautiful pastels, the fetching eyes peering out over diaphanous veils, the beautiful domed temples, the exquisitely carved nose rings, stately beige oxen walking down through the ages of man.
Photographs did not show what the oxen left behind them.
Stories never mentioned what Terri had to go through as she set foot off the plane and began retching with the other tourists who were now experiencing exciting India, moral leader of the Third World.
The tourist group's Indian guide explained how India was based on democratic principles and the highest moral values of mankind. What was even better was that the tourists didn't have to worry about pickpockets because the local police dealt with pickpockets by sticking pins in their eyes, very effectively blinding them forever.
"So we have two things. A moral order of the highest plane and safe streets."
But no one listened to the guide. Eyes teared up over handkerchiefs and people were giving up their
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beautiful Air India lunches which had been served with flowers. Now everyone knew why India grew such luxurious flowers.
"Plant 'em in the air and they'll be fertilized," said one tourist.
Terri looked up to Remo and Chiun who were walking along, obviously unbothered by the stench.
"How do you do it?" she gasped.
"We don't breathe as much when we don't want to," Remo said.
"Bastard," said Terri. "You joke now."
"I could help you but you are going to have to trust me."
"I'd rather vomit," said Terri.
"You make too much noise retching," said Remo, and he pressed Terri's spine and removed some of the tension in her stomach and spinal column.
"Breathe deep," he said.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can." Remo closed her nose and covered her mouth with his free hand. He let the oxygen debt build up red in her face and then released her. Terri gagged in a complete lungful of air.
She looked around startled. She waited to vomit. But suddenly the air was breathable. There was no smell to it.
"What did you do?" she asked Remo.
"I acclimated you quickly. You can't smell it because India is now a part of you. Don't breathe seeds, though, or you'll have flowers coming out of your mouth in no time."
"Well, thanks anyhow," said Terri.
In rapid-fire Korean, Chiun told Remo that one
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should never expect gratitude from the pitiful because when they were relieved of their burden of stupidity, they always turned on their benefactors.
"How can you say that?" asked Remo. "That's not always the case."
"It was with you," said Chiun and he chuckled and Remo knew that Chiun's trip to India had just been made worthwhile by that single remark.
"Heh, heh, it was with you," Chiun repeated. "Heh, heh."
"Your Master of Sinanju seems so happy, it is always a pleasure to be around him," said Terri, who still could not understand the street Korean that Chiun had spoken to Remo.
Far off in a 'little valley they could see the pink-domed temples of the goddess Gint. Lustrous glass filled curving apertures in the many windows of the goddess' home. Poles reflecting silver and gold and emeralds glistened before the delicate jade and ivory archways.
"I don't see the mountain," said Terri.
"You will find another sign," Chiun said.
"How do you know?" asked Terri.
"Someone tried this every so often," Chiun said. "You would think they would learn." But he would explain no more.
The paving leading to the pool was inlaid with ivory upon polished marble. Pictures of the goddess Gint consorting with the god of thunder were everywhere.
A pack of the faithful stood before one of the priests. They wore rags and he wore just a loincloth and lay on his back upon a bed of sharpened spikes.
It was this proof of body control that let him
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speak to the multitudes. He had not only been trained as a priest of Gint but had been to the London School of Economics, where he learned to hate America.
He also hated Britain, France, West Germany and all the Western industrialized countries. This was easy to come by in London where he had been exposed to what he and most of the other Third World students really hated about the West. They weren't part of it.
Seeing Remo and Terri, he spoke in English to the multitudes.
"Here they are. The imperialists. Why don't you have skyscrapers like they have? Because they have exploited them from you. Why don't you have as many shirts as they have? Because they have many shirts while you do not even have one. Is that fair? They consume so much of the resources of the world that you have nothing. They ride around in big cars while you walk on bare feet. Is that fair? There they are. The imperialists come to step on you."