"It rings a bell," said Remo.
"Hence the current seller's market in a world where everybody wants the Bomb," Smith said. "If you have access to uranium in quantities, you've got it made."
"Until your stash is confiscated by the government."
"Precisely." Dr. Smith seemed pleased. "Which leaves uranium prospectors in a kind of legal no-man's-land. They have to find the stuff—no easy job, at that—and try to sell it off for what they can before the nearest sovereign moves to seize the property and add it to existing stockpiles."
"We were getting to Malaysia," Remo interjected.
"Quite. About four months ago, a freelance expedition made its way into the Tasek Bera, looking for uranium where no man's gone before, that kind of thing. Officially, they were a group of birders. Phony papers from the Audubon Society, the whole nine yards."
We're coming to the punch line, Remo thought, content to wait and listen while the doctor spelled it out. He would receive his marching orders soon enough.
"The team was out of touch for thirteen weeks," said Dr. Smith. "That's verging on excessive, even for a jungle expedition, but security is paramount in operations of this type. You don't want anybody listening when you report a major find."
"Okay."
"Eight days ago," Smith said, "some natives found a member of the expedition wandering along the Pahang River, ten or fifteen miles above the Tasek Bera. Terrence Hopper was his name, a veteran prospector with several major strikes behind him. Africa, Australia, South America."
"Uranium?" asked Remo.
"Most recently," Smith said, "but Hopper's hunted everything from oil to gold and platinum. Not much on formal schooling, but he had a major reputation in the field."
Past tense. That meant the man was dead, and Remo would not be required to send him on his way.
"What happened?"
"When they found him," Smith elaborated, "he was nude, malnourished and delirious. The fever spiked around 106, I'm told. It's not important. What concerns me—us—is Hopper's story, pieced together by a nursing sister in Bahau before he died."
"You said he was delirious."
"Indeed. That should not be confused with incoherent, though. Our Mr. Hopper, better known to friends and competition as 'the Mole,' had quite a tale to tell."
"I'm listening."
Smith paused a moment for effect. "He said his expedition was annihilated by a monster."
"So we're back to Bigfoot?"
"Worse. A dragon."
"I assume you've got a call in to Saint George."
"It's not a laughing matter, Remo."
"I can see that."
"As it happens, there have been reports of large reptilian creatures from the Tasek Bera spanning close to half a century. I don't suppose you've read Wavell's Lost World of the East."
It was a rhetorical question. Smith knew before he spoke that Remo's reading was confined, by choice, to information necessary for successful execution of his latest mission. That and certain comic strips.
"Why don't you fill me in?" said Remo.
"Back in 1951, Stewart Wavell explored a portion of the Tasek Bera, interviewed the natives, observed the culture. He brought back stories of a massive predator the tribesmen call Nagaq. That's 'giant cobra,' more or less."
"A snake?"
"A reptile," Dr. Smith corrected him. "Descriptions vary, and it's understood that few who see the beast survive."
"Sounds like a fairy tale."
"Except when you evaluate the witnesses. Wavell himself heard eerie snarling sounds and spotted giant tracks."
"Without a camera handy, I presume."
"Malaysian soldiers and policemen have reported sightings," Smith went on, ignoring Remo. "Back in '62, an expedition from the Royal Air Force went looking for the creature."
"Let me guess—they didn't find it."
"Actually, no."
"In which case—"
"The reports continue. Every year or two, some filler item, mostly in the British press."
"I think that's what they call the silly season," Remo said.
"It hardly matters at the moment. Hopper's story—ravings, if you will—have sparked new interest in the Tasek Bera. There's an expedition forming as we speak, with funding from the Museum of Natural History, to check the region out once and for all."
"Sounds like a tax write-off to me."
"In any case, the expedition will be striking off from Kuala Lumpur in fifteen days, bound for the Great Unknown."
"That's fascinating," Remo told him, stifling a yawn.
"I'm glad you think so. You'll be going with them."
"Say again?"
"They need a herpetologist," said Dr. Smith.
"Who doesn't?"
"Dr. Clarence Otto was their first choice. He's a Ph.D. from San Diego State, affiliated with the zoo at Buena Park. If you've read anything significant on reptiles in the past ten years or so, you'll recognize the name."
"Of course," said Remo, smiling through.