Remo blinked. "You have your own plane?"
"How did you think I came to this country-on horseback?"
And everyone laughed at the foolish white dolt whom the Master of Sinanju had kindly taken under his wing in the hope that he would one day become Korean, or close to Korean.
THE PLANE WAS a pristine sky blue with a silver stripe running along the windows on both sides. It was a 747 and it might have belonged to some exotic airline, except there was no company name and on the tail was the silhouette of a heavy wheel mounted on a pole, from which dangled nine horsetails. Remo knew it was a representation of the nine-horsetail standard of Genghis Khan.
The pilot and copilot stood at attention at either side of the door. They wore the traditional del of the Mongol nomad and bowed when the Master of Sinanju, Kula and Lobsang Drom stepped from the parked limousine.
As Remo got the trunks, the pilots yelled at him to hurry up.
"Hold your horsetails," muttered Remo, carrying Chiun's trunks to the open cargo bay. Once they were stowed, he brought the Bunji Lama's trunk into the cabin.
Inside it was dark. From the outside there had been the usual rows of windows. Inside, the walls were hung with colorful Mongol tapestries, which also covered the windows. There were no seats, just piles of overlapping rugs on the floor. Here and there were low taborets and chests.
Remo had been in Mongol felt tents before. They looked exactly like this, except they were round and spacious, with a stove in the center and a stovepipe leading to an open smoke hole in the ceiling.
There was no stove here, and the ceiling was intact, but otherwise it looked exactly like the interior of a very long ger.
"Place the Bunji Lama in the spot of honor," Kula called, indicating a gorgeous Oriental rug.
"And close the door after you," called the pilot from up front.
Remo did both and found a place on the floor.
"I'm glad to see you haven't let all that treasure spoil you, Kula," Remo told the Mongol.
Kula beamed. "You like my skyboat? It has every modern convenience. There is a microwave oven, and through that door behind you there is a flying well."
"Where are the stewardesses?" Remo asked.
Kula looked blank.
"He means the slave girls," said Chiun.
Kula scowled. "We do not allow Mongol women to fly. Otherwise, they will give birth to two-headed babies and other freaks. Only warriors are allowed to fly."
"Do American women fly?" asked Lobsang Drom.
"All the time," said Remo.
"And what is done with the babies that are born with two heads?" he asked in a puzzled voice.
"Oh, usually the mother picks the head she likes best and chops off the other one," said Remo.
"American women are very clever," said Kula.
"Perhaps the American woman with flame for hair is the Bunji Lama after all," muttered Lobsang Drom as the jet's engines began screaming, setting the wall hangings to shaking and shivering.
They were airborne a moment later. The rugs and chests shifted until the plane leveled out.
Lobsang Drom immediately closed his eyes and began moaning one word over and over.
"Aummm. "
In one hand he spun something that looked to Remo like a wooden cat-food can on a stick. The turquoise-studded teak can spun and spun. Other than a creaky whirring, it made no noise.
"How long does this go on?" Remo muttered.
"It is a prayer wheel," Kula explained. "One writes his prayer on a strip of paper and places it in the wheel. Each time it spins, the prayer goes forth, earning much merit."
Remo groaned. "This is going to be a long flight."
Kula blinked. "How many marches to this land called California?"
"Marches?"
"It is less than five hours," announced Chiun.
"On horse?"
"By air," said Chiun.
Lobsang Drom's eyes came open instantly. He and Kula exchanged startled glances.
"So wide as that?" Lobsang said.
"It is a very great country in size," said Chiun. "Not so great in culture."
Frowning, Kula flung aside a tapestry and pressed his flat nose to a window. He squinted.
"I see no yak herds."
"They have no yaks," said Chiun.
"Not one?"
"Perhaps a few underfed buffalo," Chiun allowed.
"Not enough to reimburse the invasion army," added Remo.
Kula's scowl darkened. "Then we will bring yaks with us. As a peace offering. To lull the white man into thinking that we bring peace."
"You're pretty open with your master invasion plan," said Remo. "You don't expect to just ride into every city and town from Outer Mongolia to L.A. and announce you're now in charge."
Kula scooted away from the window. "Of course not."
"So how do you figure to pull it off?"
"It is simple. Japan has purchased many places in America and other citified lands."
"True."
"When they have bought up most of the world, we will take over Japan. Struck numb with fear, the rest will fall into place."
"Sounds like a long-term project to me."
"Rome was not sacked in a day," Kula said unconcernedly.
"You meant Rome wasn't built in a day," corrected Remo.
"Do you think one can simply sack an empire in an afternoon?"
"I got news for you. The American people will fight back."
"I will show you something," Kula said, digging a thick leather-bound book from an ornate chest. He opened it to a certain page and presented it to Remo.
Remo took it and saw that the book was open to the entry on Genghis Khan. Kula's thick finger pointed to the final paragraph.
In the past unsympathetic Persian, Chinese and Arab writers condemned Genghis as a ruthless and cruel destroyer, but his terrorism was in reality calculated psychological warfare. He never set out to annihilate a people, like Hitler, or a social class, like Stalin and Mao. Although Genghis did destroy some centers of culture, his administration was generally very tolerant in religious matters and toward ethnic minorities. Today China champions and Russia condemns him, while in Mongolia he is venerated as a symbol of Mongolian nationhood.
"What idiot wrote this?" Remo demanded.
"It is from a very wise and famous American book called the Encyclopedia," said Kula proudly.
Reno looked. He was holding an encyclopedia, all right. One found on the shelves of every library, school and university in the nation.
"This takes political correctness to new lows," he muttered, surrendering the book.
Kula beamed. "Boldbator Khan has made a study of Western thinking. As long as we slay and pillage without regard for race, creed or color, no one will condemn us. And of course we will be merciful in our conquests. If a city submits to us without resistance, only the adult males will be put to the sword."
"You are too kind to us poor backward Americans," said Remo.
"Pax Mongolia is the wave of the future," said Kula, beaming.
"It will be a good thing," said Chiun, "to bring Eastern culture to this benighted land."
Remo looked at him and demanded, "You mean to tell me that when the Mongol cavalry rides in, you're just going to watch? What about the gold America pays you?"
"The gold of Emperor Smith reserves the services of Sinanju for the express purpose of disposing of America's enemies upon demand," said Chiun. "Not in preventing possible invasions. If Emperor Smith decrees Boldbator Khan an enemy to be slain, I will slay him. With regret, of course," he added for Kula's benefit.
"And if you slay my Khan, I will be forced to seek your illustrious head in revenge," returned Kula. "Although it will pain me to lop it off."
"If the Wheel of the Inexorable decrees these events," inserted Lobsang, "what mortal hand can stay them?"
"We will all be reincarnated anyway," Kula said, laughing. "Except the White Tiger, who, being Christian, is disqualified from rebirth."