Up and down the aisles, the passengers within hearing paused to listen attentively.
"In time, the dull-witted Wing Wang Wo stuck his thick head out of the cave mouth, whereupon Yong relieved him of this trophy with one swift blow. Chuk!"
Chiun brought the imaginary sword down.
"Ouch," said Remo.
"The dragon whelmed, Yong had its meat stripped away and-"
"He ate the dragon?"
Shaking his head, Chiun lifted a long finger. "No. Yong wanted only the bones. For he knew what the Chinese emperor did not. That dragon bones are a potent medicine. Mixed in an elixir and drunk, they prolonged life. Yong drank dragon elixir every month for the remainder of his days, even though twice a year would have sufficed. And that is why Yong lived to a venerable age."
"Yeah? How long do Sinanju Masters normally live?"
"Only one hundred to one hundred twenty years. It is because we work so hard and are unappreciated."
"I feel for you," suddenly remembering that Chiun had turned 100 a couple of years ago. The thought made him feel cold inside.
"Master Yong lived to be an undeserved one hundred forty-eight years in age," Chiun sniffed. "For he squandered every dragon bone brought back from Cathay in prolonging his own selfish life. And it is for this reason, Remo, that Yong is known in the annals of Sinanju as Yong the Gluttonous."
Mild applause rippled along the aisles. The passengers returned to their magazines and their meals.
"All right," Remo said slowly, trying to figure out what this had to do with a possible dinosaur in Africa. "Yong was a pig. But what-" Then it hit him.
"Hold the phone, Little Father."
"What phone?"
"You know what I mean. Are we by chance off on a wild dragon hunt?"
"I am not aware of any dragons that are not wild."
"Chiun, if you're thinking of grinding up dinosaur bones just so you can live to be as old as Methuselah, I think Smith is going to have something to say about that."
Chiun's hazel eyes grew veiled. "Of course. He is going to say how pleased he is that he will have a proper Master to serve him for many years to come. Perhaps, Remo, when I am one hundred forty, you will be wise enough in years so I can properly retire to my humble village."
"By that time, I'll be retirement age myself."
"Americans retire in their prime," Chiun said dismissively. "It is a foolish thing."
"Besides, a dinosaur is not a dragon. There is no such animal. Dragons are mythological."
"Since when are you an expert on dragons?"
"Since never. But when I was a kid, I was a major dinosaur fan. I still know all the names by heart, Iguanodon, Stegosaur, Triceratops, Allosaurus, and the overwhelming favorite of St. Theresa's Orphanage, Tyrannosaurus Rex. And what we saw on TV was a Brontosaurus-assuming the footage wasn't faked."
"It is a dragon."
"Dragons have big bat wings and breathe fire."
"Ha!" Chiun crowed. "A moment ago you refused to believe in dragons. Now you know all about them."
"I know a dragon from a dinosaur. You're chasing after a freaking dinosaur."
"Merely another word for an African dragon. Perhaps it is a Zulu word. I am sure his bones are as efficacious as a Chinese dragon. If not more so."
"No chance."
"You are obviously prejudiced against African dragons. It's a terrible thing, racism. I will have to drum this white failing out of you once this assignment is over with."
"I give up."
Chiun smiled. "I knew you would."
Chapter 9
Nancy Derringer sat in the dirt around the makeshift campfire listening to the man who claimed to lead the Congress for a Green Africa. He had identified himself as Commander Malu.
The commander made a long, windy speech about African pride and the rape of the Continent by colonial powers, imperialist thieves, and business interests that put the squandering of natural resources before the land itself.
"What does any of that have to do with hijacking us?" Nancy asked pointedly.
King whispered, "Nancy, don't antagonize him!"
"I asked a question," Nancy repeated. "And I would like an answer."
Colonel Malu scratched his bushy beard. "Very well. Just as the elephant no longer runs in herds and must be protected in preserves, so too must this fine animal be protected from harm."
"Harm! You idiots threw enough lead around to kill us all twenty times over, and you talk about harm?"
"No one was hurt."
"Which is a miracle."
*And it was. Nancy still couldn't believe it. After the shooting had died down and they had been taken at gunpoint from the train and made to sit in a circle with the captured Burger Beret team, it was discovered that there had been no fatalities. In fact, no one had so much as been wounded. Unless one counted Skip King catching his ankle in a clump of nettles and drawing blood.
"I would like to examine the reptile for injuries, if you don't mind," Nancy said in a voice she had no trouble keeping steady.
"And why should I allow this?" Commander Malu asked.
"Because I am a trained herpetologist and responsible for keeping Jack-"
"Mokele m'bembe, please."
"Mokele m'bembe healthy," Nancy said tartly.
Commander Malu's eyes shifted away. His gaze fell on Skip King, who glared back. "I will allow this," he said slowly.
"Thank you," said Nancy. Two men came up and took her by the elbows. She was lifted to her feet and her bonds removed. Then they escorted her to the train.
King's stern voice floated after them.
"If anything should happen to Nancy, you bastards, there isn't a place on earth you can hide from Skip King."
"Oh please," Nancy said.
"He is very brave, for a white man," Commander Malu allowed.
"His jock strap must be cutting off circulation to his brain."
Malu's laugh shook his great body as if he were pudding. "Ha! You have spirit. A white woman with spirit is a rare thing, I think."
"You obviously don't know any white women," Nancy retorted.
Nancy was given a flashlight, and she walked around the flatcar. The Apatosaur lay torpid, his tiny head tucked into the locomotive cab. His orange lids were closed, and the black-ringed nostrils pulsed and quivered in time to the bellows rhythm of its great dappled body.
Nancy plucked out a few trank darts earlier sweeps had missed and touched the pulsing vein on the long neck. It was steady, like a surging garden hose. The skin was cool to the touch and rather dry.
She turned to the commander.
"Jack is used to having his skin moist. It could crack if he isn't watered down."
Malu beamed. He looked to the heavens. "Perhaps it will rain this night," he said.
"Look, can we cut a deal?"
Concern flicked across his face. "Deal? What sort of a deal?"
"You say you're interested in a green Africa."
"We are."
"There isn't a greener continent on the face of the earth, but I won't argue the point. The company that sponsored this expedition is Burger Triumph. Surely, you have heard of them."
Commander Malu made a face. "Yes. They lace their hamburgers with sawdust."
"I heard that, too. And they made a fortune selling that junk. I'm sure they'd pay a wonderful ransom for the dinosaur."
"And how will we get word of our demands to these people?"
"Send King."
Malu shook his head ponderously. "I cannot do that."
"Why not?"
"A man who is named King is obviously a leader of men," Malu explained. "He may be the most valuable white man we have ever captured. The hamburger people would pay more for him than they would for this fine animal who we would never give up anyway. For mokole m'bembe belongs to Africa. And how do I know that this hamburger company has not captured great mokole m'bembe just to grind him up to take the place of sawdust in their terrible hamburgers?"