"Hey, didn't we pull the British Empire's chestnuts out of two world wars?"
"That is another thing," a second stewardess put in, "you act as if you won them single-handedly. You came in late, you did, and hogged all the credit."
"That is true!" the first stewardess snapped.
"Yankee come lately!" various passengers shouted as Remo made his way down the aisle. A few cursed American beer and television as inferior and insidious influences upon all good Canadians.
Remo wasn't sure which was insidious and which inferior and he didn't care.
When he came to the Master of Sinanju seated over the starboard wing, Remo mouthed, "I'm stuck sitting in back."
"Yankee poodle dandy," hissed Chiun.
"Not you, too."
"War hog."
"What happened to smiting the fishmongering Canadians?"
"I intend to keep a still tongue until this ungainly bird is safely on the ground once more," Chiun undertoned, "and I suggest you do the same."
"Fine," said Remo, taking his seat.
After the plane was in the air, Remo buried himself in a magazine. It was something called Maclean's and it read as if edited by stuffy old goats with leather patches on their tweedy elbows.
He wasn't offered a drink or a complimentary meal.
When the stewardess in charge of his end of the plane rolled the serving cart back to the front without offering him anything, Remo called after her.
"I read that Air Canada has the worst service record of any major carrier."
"That may be true," his stewardess called without looking back, "but that is only when dealing with pharisees."
"Pharisees?"
"That is what Fisheries Minister Houghton calls your kind."
Remo tried to think of a comeback, but decided it would be wasted on a stupid Canuck.
To kill time he inserted his credit card into the sky-phone slot and called Harold Smith at Folcroft.
"What's the latest?" he asked when Smith answered.
"We have open war in the Pacific."
"How did the Atlantic battle end?"
"In a draw. Approximately forty boats have been sunk or burned to the waterline. The two sides have withdrawn to neutral waters. But this was only the first skirmish. Tensions are running very high."
"What's the Canadian Coast Guard doing?"
"At the moment, nothing. I suspect they will let the fishing fleets fight it out."
"Why?"
"Our Coast Guard can beat theirs. But in a fight between commercial fishermen, it could go either way. Also this gives both sides maneuvering room for a ceasefire or diplomatic solution."
Remo grunted.
"Remo, this conflict is spreading to other waters," Smith said.
"Like the Gulf of Mexico?"
"Farther. You recall the Falklands War in '82?"
"Yeah. The British and the Argentinians were fighting over a bunch of islands down in the South Atlantic."
"Not just islands, but valuable fishing territories. It is toothfish season down there, and the two nations have been at odds over fishing rights in the South Atlantic. The Argentinians resist having to pay the British for licenses to fish in waters they see as theirs. Citing the UN Secretary-General's calls to free the seas, Argentinian fishing boats are fishing freely. The British are sending the destroyer Northumberland to the scene. It looks like a repeat of the Falklands crisis."
"Does it matter to us?"
"There is more. Tensions between Turkey and Greece over the two disputed islets in the Aegean have flared up again."
"I thought that was settled."
"So did the International Court of Justice at the Hague. There is more. Russia and Japan are squabbling over the South Kurile islands, and in the Pacific, Korea and Japan are renewing their feud over the Dok-to Islands."
"Never heard of them."
"They are a handful of rocks projecting from the sea. Too small for more than standing on, but enough to fight over."
"Has everyone gone crazy?" Remo exploded. He was shushed by other passengers, including Chiun.
"Certain governments see opportunities, and they will grab them if the lid is not put back on. Remo, the Secretary-General of the UN is becoming an international troublemaker."
"Who do you want talked to first, the fisheries minister or old Anwar-Anwar?"
"I want international tensions cooled as quickly as possible."
"Trust me. It's in the bag. After the way I've been treated, there's nothing more I'd rather do than strangle a Canadian."
"Do not get carried away. The object of this mission is to defuse the situation."
On the ground Remo's passport got him through customs. But not before he got a good talking-to.
"While in this country you must observe certain rules of decorum," a stern customs Mountie recited.