"Of plunderers and murderers," said Remo.
"Who told you those lies?" Kula demanded.
"The history books," said Remo.
"Christian histories?"
"No, American ones."
"Hah! You are well named, Remo Buttafuoco, for you speak lies even without an ass on your head."
"That's 'head up my ass,'" corrected Remo.
Kula nodded, and, his point made, addressed the Master of Sinanju.
"Why can you not help us, Master of Sinanju? Does the emperor of America fear the return of the Bunji Lama?"
"I do not know if he does or does not," said Chiun, "but while I enjoy his gold, I can work for no other, for my contract is with him"
"We will pay more gold."
"How much?"
Kula extracted a yak-hide bag from his vest. Untying the drawstring, he emptied out shapeless nuggets of gold.
Chiun made a face, as Remo knew he would. "Not enough."
Grumbling, Kula removed another bag, and the pile of gold was doubled.
Chiun's eyes grew veiled and his voice thin. "The gold of Smith would fill this room three times over," he pointed out.
Kula the Mongol threw his gaze about the room, avoiding Chiun's hazel orbs. "For how many years of service?" he asked aridly.
"One."
"We ask only for help finding the Bunji Lama."
"Which could take one year or twenty," returned Chiun.
"We have less than ten years, for the Panchen Lama has been found."
Chiun nodded wisely. "I read of this. A Chinese, discovered dwelling in America. Never has a tulku been discovered so far from Tibet."
"Since the Dalai Lama sits spineless in exile, the Panchen Lama is next in line to the lion Throne of Lhasa and will claim it when he comes of age. Unless the Bunji Lama can be found."
"It is a bad thing," Chiun agreed. "But I cannot risk angering my emperor for less than a roomful of gold."
"A roomful of gold would earn how much service?" Kula asked.
"For a roomful of gold, I would search the entire West for the Bunji Lama until he was found or my last breath was spent."
"The West! Why the West?"
"It is simple. The East has been scoured to no avail. No flame-headed one bearing the true birthmark has been found. Nor any faceless joss holding a sword. There can be but one conclusion. The Bunji Lama was born in the West."
Kula the Mongol and Lobsang Drom exchanged startled glances. Remo sat there and looked confused.
"It is impossible," Lobsang Drom spit.
"If the Panchen Lama has been found in the West, why not the Bunji Lama?" Chiun countered. "Clearly the Panchen Lama chose to be born in the West to evade Chinese oppression. Might not the Bunji Lama have foreseen the coming of the oppressors and elected to be born here in the West, so that his next body would not be imperiled?"
Kula leaned across and muttered to Lobsang Drom, "He speaks sense."
"He's conning you both," Remo said.
Chiun spanked the floor with his heel. The overhead light rattled. "Silence, Christian! Do not interfere."
"Blow it out your ass," Remo hissed.
"I must consult with Boldbator Khan before I can agree to your terms, Master of Sinanju," said Kula. "For he authorized me to offer no more than six bags of gold."
The Master of Sinanju said, "Remo, bring our honored guests a telephone."
"Want me to dial 1-800-GENGHIS for them, too?" he said acidly.
"Yes," said Kula.
Frowning, Remo returned with the phone. He sat down and punched out the numbers, but only because he wanted to see if the 800 number really existed. There was a brief clicking of overseas relays, and a musical voice said, "Sain Baina."
"Sounds like Outer Mongolia to me," muttered Remo, who recognized the traditional Mongolian greeting.
Kula took the phone. In his native tongue, he spoke in low whispers, listening often. Chiun feigned disinterest, but Remo knew that the old Korean was following every word of both sides of the conversation.
At length Kula clapped a beefy hand over the receiver and said, "Boldbator Khan, Khan of Khans, Future Overlord of Mankind, has instructed me to tell you that he will agree to pay you a roomful of gold for your services upon one condition."
"Name it," said Chiun.
"That you permit the gold to be shipped on your Federal Express account number."
"Done," said Chiun, clapping his hands.
"Since when did you get a Federal Express number?" Remo demanded of Chiun.
"It was a stipulation of my last agreement with Emperor Smith," said Chiun.
By that Remo knew Chiun meant Harold W. Smith, director of CURE, whom Chiun called emperor because it kept up appearances. His ancestors, the past Masters of Sinanju, had slain in the service of history's kings and emperors, and Chiun, who hoped to go down in the histories of the House of Sinanju as Chiun the Great, could not admit to serving anything less than a caliph.