"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.