Once in his room, he grabbed the telephone. It had a rotary dial.
To his delight, the hotel operator spoke English. After inquiring how he liked his "freaking" room, she asked if he'd like to place a "freaking" call.
"What's the phone code for America?" Remo asked wearily.
Upon receiving the number, Remo punched it in, and then dialed one repeatedly. He was used to hitting a button and waiting, so he just kept dialing until the line rang and the sharp lemony New England consonants of Harold W. Smith pierced his ear.
"Remo, where are you?" Smith asked breathlessly.
"Believe it or not, Outer Mongolia. I've heard of Outer Mongolia all my life, but I never dreamed I'd wind up here. And I have you to thank for this."
Smith ignored the dry sarcasm of Remo's tone.
"Have you found Chiun and Zhang?" he asked.
"No, but I'm not far behind them, I think. Chiun's been cutting a swath through China and Mongolia. Did you know there were two Mongolias, by the way?"
"Yes, I did. What city are you calling from?"
"Sayn Shanda. It's in the non-Communist Mongolia. I guess that explains why the phones work."
"Remo, I am getting disturbing reports out off China. Troop movements. Concern in Beijing of a Mongolian uprising. "
Remo sighed. "Chiun. Don't ask me how, but he's got half of Asia stirred up. From what I hear, he's raised an army. You know him. He never did like the Chinese much. Do you think he's out to conquer the whole place?"
"I do not know," Smith admitted. "It does not sound like him."
"None of this sounds like Chiun," Remo said, looking out the window. It was starting to snow again, not hard, just flurries. "What the hell is he up to?" Remo asked plaintively. "Why did he run out on us?"
"Remo, listen carefully to me," Smith said, low-voiced, even though he was speaking over a secure line. "Our reconnaissance satellites show a mass of cavalry moving south for the Mongolian joint border."
Remo brightened. "Great. Then I'll just wait for Chiun and his merry band to show up."
"We have reports out of China that the Twenty-seventh Army is being sent north by rail."
"So?"
"Those were the troops used to attack Tiananmen Square, after the local units refused. They're peasant soldiers, politically unsophisticated and therefore used to obeying their commanders. It is obvious to Washington that they are out to intercept the Mongol force."
"No problem," Remo said. "I'll stop Chiun before the Twenty-seventh reaches the China-Mongolia border."
"No," Smith said. "China has a deep-seated fear of a Mongol invasion, even to this day. The Twenty-seventh will not stop at the border. That rail line passes through the heart of the Gobi to the capital of Ulan Bator. They'll engage the enemy as deep into Outer Mongolian territory as they possibly can. The Twenty-seventh Army-which is politically unpopular-will probably be used for cannon fodder while other units are massed on the border as a mobile Great Wall of China. Your job, Remo, is to stop that troop train at all costs."
"Any suggestions?"
"That is up to you. But you must do it. A Chinese incursion into Mongolia will have grave political repercussions. Outer Mongolia, although friendly with China, is allied with Russia. The Russians would see an incursion as a prelude to an attack on the SU."
"SU?"
"Soviet Union. That's what we're calling it now."
"Oh. It's hard to keep up with a changing world."
"Remo, I'm counting on you," Smith went on. "The President is counting on you. Never mind Zhang Zingzong. Stop the Twenty-seventh Army first."
"And then?"
"Stop Chiun. Just as we cannot allow China to attack Outer Mongolia, a Mongolian attack on mainland China would precipitate an equal crisis. The Chinese are already embroiled in Moslem uprisings in the eastern provinces. It's a mess."
"Tell me about it," Remo said.
"Sometimes," Smith confided, "I think the cold war was a better time. All this nationalistic strife is making global strategy exceedingly difficult to manage."
"Global strategy is your problem," Remo said. "Mine is heading off this mess. But at least I have Fang Yu."
"Ivory Fang. My contact, remember? She's been a great help. Don't know how I'd've gotten this far without her."
There was silence on the line. Remo tapped the receiver hook.
"Hello? You there, Smitty?"
Smith's voice was arid. "Remo, Ivory Fang is not a woman. Ivory Fang is a male agent."
It was Remo's turn to be silent.
"You sure about this?" Remo asked in a small voice.
"Are you certain of your facts?"
"Believe me," Remo said ruefully. "I'm an authority on her femaleness. If she's not your contact, how come she met me at the airport and helped me this far?"
"I do not know, but you had better find out quickly. She could be an agent of the Chinese Security Bureau. Proceed under the assumption that you've been compromised."
" 'Compromised' is the word," Remo said. "I kinda like her. "
"Do not let it cloud your judgment. You have a twofold mission. Every minute is crucial."
"Count on me," Remo said in a suddenly clear voice.
He hung up the phone, his features darkening. He stepped over to the window and looked out over the city of Sayn Shanda.
It was small by American standards, but surrounded by the vastness of barren Outer Mongolia, it seemed a miracle of civilization carved out of a forsaken wilderness.
The snow continued falling. Remo's sharp eyes picked up snowflakes as they swirled downward, memorizing their unique shapes. Someday, he thought, he'd spot two that were alike.
"But not today," he said aloud. He turned from the window. A second sooner and he would have missed it.
Down in the street, around a corner, came a long black limousine. It was identical to the one he had first encountered in New Rochelle. And it matched the one he'd seen from the train.
"This isn't China," Remo muttered under his breath. "No reason why a Chinese Red Flag limo should be way up here."
He decided Fang Yu could wait.
Remo flashed to the door. He moved along the corridor to the elevator. As fast as he went, he was able to catch himself as he turned the corner. Just in time.
Fang Yu stood by the elevator impatiently, her hair dry. As Remo hovered out of sight, the elevator came and took her away. Remo emerged from hiding. The indicator showed that the car was on its way to the lobby.
"That must be the quickest shower in history," Remo muttered. He plunged for the stairs.
At the bottom, he eased a fire door open and watched Fang Yu hurry through the lobby and out to the front door.
Remo followed, trying to be unsuspicious. He was still in his Mongolian riding costume.
Outside, the black limousine waited, engine purring.
A chauffeur popped from the front door and opened the rear for her. He wore black.
Fang Yu stepped inside. The door shut with quiet force. The chauffeur returned to his wheel.
Remo saw his black mask-not that he had any doubt who the man was. His pantherlike body language gave him away.
"Damn!" he said. Remo hesitated. The Twenty-seventh Army was on its way. Could he afford to follow the car?
The limousine pulled away from the curb.
"Damn it," Remo repeated. "What am I supposed to do?"
The limo slid down the street and around a corner, its rear lights red and resentful.
Under the stern gaze of the statue of Genghis Khan, Remo watched it go.
"Must get great mileage to go from New Rochelle to Outer Mongolia," he muttered. Then he walked around to the back of the hotel.
The stable was separate, of wood, but bore the same Cyrillic symbols as the hotel marquee. Remo went in and found a short Mongolian man in a gray del.
"Speak English?" he asked the shyly smiling man.
"Of course, English is a wonderful language," he said, adding, "Compared to Russian."