"We will pay no tax," said Chiun firmly.
"The fuel tax is all you'll see from this row," Remo added.
The stewardess went away, and a moment later the captain came back, his face dark with an anger that ran deep into the bone.
"Jou must pay the NAFTA tax if we are to land, senores. "
Remo folded his lean arms. "Go ahead. Crash the plane. I dare you."
"Yes," said Chiun, also folding his silk-clad arms, "destroy yourselves. We do not care. We have been taxed nearly to death. You are demanding blood from two stones."
Shaking his fist in their faces the captain vowed, "Mexicans will never bend to American intimidations."
"That wasn't a threat, we just-"
But the captain had already spun on his heel and stormed back to the cabin. The door slammed shut so hard the overhead luggage bins shook in sympathy.
"We win," Chiun said blandly.
"I'm not so sure about that ...."
Seconds later the 727 nosed into a steep dive. The engines began howling. Rushing air screamed over the wings and other control surfaces. Standing passengers were thrown off their feet. Anyone seated was jammed forward in his seat. A stewardess coming out of the rear rest room landed on her stomach and, despite her best efforts to grab chair supports, inexorably slid toward the front of the aircraft, her liquid eyes full of fear.
"Now will jou pay the tax?" the captain demanded over the intercom.
"Damn," said Remo, jumping from his seat so fast his seat belt snapped in two. Chiun followed, an emerald specter.
Remo hit the cockpit door. It was locked. He was stepping back to kick it in when the Master of Sinanju floated up and inserted one long fingernail into the lock aperture. He twisted his finger left, then right. The lock went click, and he flung the door open with a grand gesture.
"Thanks," said Remo.
He stepped into the cabin.
The captain and copilot were frozen in their seats. The captain had thrown the control yoke all the way forward. Eyes welded shut, the copilot was making the sign of the cross.
Through the windshield, Remo could see the mountains of northern Mexico coming up to meet the plane like blunt brown teeth.
"Are you crazy!" he exploded.
"The tax or muerte! Viva Mexico!"
Remo took the captain by his right earlobe. With his free hand he took the copilot's left earlobe. He squeezed.
"Aieee!" they screamed in stereo.
"Pull up now or the pain gets worse," Remo warned.
And Remo squeezed harder on the earlobe nerve that filled the veins and nervous system with a sensation exactly like that of scalding acid.
Tears squeezing from his eyes, the captain pulled back on the yoke. The plane, shuddering, brought its nose up. The air scream abated. The turbines settled down. They were soon flying level again.
"Jou may let go now, senor," the captain gasped. "I have done as jou have asked."
"You through screwing around?" Remo demanded.
"Si."
"You going to land the plane?"
"On my mother's honor."
"On the ground is all I care about," said Remo, returning to his seat.
Chiun trailed him, saying, "Without me, where would you be at this exact moment?"
"Probably pounding a beat back in Newark," Remo said unhappily.
"That is not what I meant."
"You would be dead if it were not for the elegant Knives of Eternity which grace my perfect hands."
"Okay, I'd be dead. But I'm not growing my fingernails as long as Fu Manchu."
Chiun beat him to their row so Remo couldn't steal the window seat. When he saw that the wing was still attached to the plane, his bony fingers grasped the opposite wrist, and the verdant sleeves of his silk kimono closed over both hands.
After they got settled again, the stewardess came up and said, "Jou must pay for the seat belt jou broke."
Remo sighed. "How much?"
"Thirty dollars. American. We do not accept pesos."
"Figures. How much was the NAFTA tax?"
"Thirty dollars, but it is a coincidence."
Remo handed over three tens and noticed they went into the wicker basket labeled NAFTA.
"I never liked Mexico," Remo muttered.
"The House never lowered itself to working for them."
"Didn't you once tell me the House would have loved working for the Aztecs?"
"I lied. We would only have loved their gold, not their rulers."
"That's really convincing coming from someone who won't take his eyes off the wing because that's the time they pick to fall off. Unquote."