Three of the newcomers now approached and as they drew closer, it was clear that one was a woman with curly brown hair. The second was a tall, thin man with a pinched, pointed face, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. Looking at Peter now, the man grinned.
‘
Gruss dich
, Herr Peter,’ he said, ‘we meet again and at the very end of the world!’
‘Oh my god!
Kurt Stein!
I don’t ever want to meet you! I mean,
never
!’ Peter said with feeling.
They had last met at a bar in Pietermaritsburg, when the man was ostensibly working for the MPLA in Angola. But their association went back still further to South America. Peter had been ‘on assignment’ in Chile, while Stein was running the Chilean part of Operation Condor, a covert dirty operation in South America funded by the CIA and aimed at bringing down socialist governments. Whoever they were up against had recruited the best – or the worst, depending on the perspective, thought Peter.
They had also picked someone who knew him and was known to him
.
The woman now came up to stand in front of Ashton. She took off her cap and, bowing low, offered her hand which he ignored.
‘Good to see you, Colonel Ashton,’ she began. ‘I am Dr Claire Donovant. I can see that one of your group is missing.’
Getting neither confirmation nor denial of her observation, she dusted her jacket and continued, ‘Despite what you might be thinking of us at this moment, I can assure you that soon you will find yourselves able to work with us.’
She looked at Ashton and saw him staring at the third man in her group.
‘Ah,’ she murmured, ‘I can see you have recognized your old friend, Colonel.’
‘Oh my god!’ was all Ashton could mutter, his head spinning, his breath emerging in deep gasps.
The man who was dressed in battle fatigues and wore a Jap cap had aged considerably, but it was still Ru San Ko – the same person who had written the letter to Ashton from the monastery at Louangphrabang!
Stein was now barking orders at his men. Peter made a quick mental calculation and deduced there were about thirty of them. They all looked Latin American, except for two Pashtuns in shalwar, tunics and turbans, who were handling the animals. The easy grace with which the men moved about, carrying the equipment and weapons, indicated their military background. Claire Donovant invited Peter and his team to sit down on camp chairs which had been set out for them. The three of them looked at each other and, not quite understanding what else they could do, complied.
Dr Donovant’s manner was one of quiet triumph, befitting someone who had seen a plan through from its inception to its culmination, but wasted no time in talking about it. With them sat Ru San Ko, his expression inscrutable.
‘First, I must congratulate you for getting here,’ Claire told her audience. ‘Quite magnificent, really – all of you. And Dr Hamilton, please accept my deepest professional admiration for being able to break the code and my heartfelt congratulations on your success. We had tried it ourselves – in vain. And believe me, when we say we tried, we had the very best working on it.’
A man brought tea in paper cups balanced on a plate that he used for a tray. Dr Donovant waited for them to accept their tea before she picked up a cup for herself.
‘I can understand that you might want a few answers. I work for a consortium which came to know of the existence of the
paiza
. We are happy to declare that Mr Ru San Ko here took an accommodative view of our endeavour.’
Her voice remained calm, her words chosen judiciously, as if she were describing a stock merger.
‘How did you track us down?’ Peter asked, stealing a glance at Susan who was staring ahead, her face expressionless.
She was still angry at him
, he thought glumly.
A trace of a smile came up on Claire Donovant’s face.
‘I think you should have been more careful about accepting gifts from your acquaintances, Mr Radigan. It has been regarded as a hazardous practice since the times of the Iliad.’
Peter’s face remained expressionless for a moment. Then slowly, a flush spread across it.
‘I’ll be a son of a bitch!
The radio!
You bastards subverted Vilayat Hussain! But it can’t be possible; the GPS satellites aren’t in place!’
‘Not all of them, I admit, but enough for a prototype,’ she answered.
Peter swore softly. ‘So when the mule with the radio fell over the ledge, you lost our fix and had to come down to find us.’
‘That’s right. And when we plotted your position, we expected you to be quite close to the destination. Also, we didn’t have reliable maps of the areas further east, which my people said were essential for a helicopter flight at this altitude.’
‘Who
are
you guys?’ Peter asked, his voice betraying a mixture of exasperation and desperation.
‘Let’s just say, Peter…’ She paused to smile at him, affecting an air of artlessness, ‘I can call you Peter, can’t I?’
He glowered at her.
The woman continued, unruffled, ‘Let’s just say we are a consortium of very powerful people, but then we would have to be if we wanted to replicate the journey of Kublai Khan.’
Sure
, thought Peter,
that’s how you’ve been able to put together a motley bunch of academics and mercenaries on Soviet military helicopters across the Karakoram ranges, using satellite and surveillance technology which is still in the prototype stage
.
Goddamn! It’s got to be the Company involved in this one. That’s how Stein and gang got here. Stein has worked for the Company before; and, more importantly, he and his bunch of Chileans are the only other people in the world who can operate at these altitudes!
‘Okay, so now what?’ Susan asked stonily. ‘I mean, we’ve solved the puzzle for you and you followed us which,’ she paused for emphasis before continuing, ‘leaves us here. We don’t know where to go from here; there are no more clues on the
paiza
. Are you, then, waiting for the Jhagun?’
‘Dr Hamilton, perhaps you would do me the courtesy of laying your cards on the table, much as I have done,’ Claire Donovant said in a mildly pained tone. ‘I understand you are referring to Marco Polo’s account of the Jhagun – the personal bodyguard of Kublai Khan – which we played up in the letter Ru San Ko sent you. But the fact is, there is no proof, historical or otherwise, that the Jhagun ever existed. Or that if they did in the past, they still do so today.’
‘And yet you are prepared for a major engagement with quad bikes, rocket launchers, mortars and flame throwers – not to mention what the helicopters are carrying,’ Peter said pointedly.
‘To be prepared is half the victory,’ Claire replied, quoting glibly from
Don Quixote
. Then turning back to Susan, she went on, ‘What I am referring to are the original Zhang Zhung texts where it says that only the “chosen ones” will gain entry into Shambhala. We are, as I mentioned before, doing it the way it was done earlier: Kublai Khan picks a “chosen one” and piggybacks into Shambhala.’ She paused, cleared her throat and turned to Ashton. ‘We’re looking at you doing it for us, Colonel.’
‘Me?’ Ashton’s voice was loud with disbelief. ‘You must be insane!’
‘No, Henry, we are not.’
They all turned to Ru San Ko who had spoken for the first time.
‘What she says is true, Henry. You will be able to guide us. You have the mystic gift; it is as the Teacher had foretold. You are an
avatari
. But you would have realized this when you passed through the Gate. You did, did you not?’
There was a silence. They all stared at Ashton who looked back at Ru San Ko without a word.
After a long interval, he said, ‘You delude yourself, Ru San Ko. But even if what you said were true, why would I help you?’
‘Because that was our plan all along,’ Ru San Ko replied. ‘The markings on the
paiza
could not get us through the Gate, Henry. You alone could. But I knew that to get you, we would have to enact this entire charade. It was, in fact, we who had sent Liu Than to you. He too believed the story we had concocted. In fact, he was so convinced by it that he immolated himself to protect our identity. You were not meant to prevent us from getting here first; you were meant to
lead
us here. That letter I wrote was based on a lie, Henry. The Teacher never asked that you should stop us.’ Ru San Ko’s voice acquired a pleading note. ‘Don’t you see, if you lead us, we will all gain entry into Shambhala –
all
of us. By obtaining a prize reserved for a select few, we will all win!’
‘That is the perverse beauty of your letter, Ru San Ko,’ Ashton said bitterly. ‘It is what drew me here in the first place. Nothing changes that. As things stand, the Teacher would have
wanted
me to prevent you from entering Shambhala!’
Again, there was a silence. From the corner of his eye Peter thought he saw a flash of something in the south, but when he looked carefully, he could see nothing but the bleak, grey-brown moonscape.
Claire Donovant gave an awkward cough. ‘I’d hate to have it come to that, Colonel Ashton, but Peter here will corroborate my statement that Mr Kurt Stein, who is with us, has a reputation for being – how shall I put it – extremely disagreeable when he wants someone to do something and faces resistance.’
‘You would torture me?’ Ashton asked mildly.
‘Only in the end, Colonel – after we have finished with Dr Hamilton and Peter. Believe me, neither of us wants it to come to that, but…’ She let the sentence trail off into a meaningful silence.
Trapped, the three of them exchanged glances. Susan and Ashton looked at Peter who nodded, his face expressionless. Peter did not tell them that while he had met many wantonly cruel men in his profession, Kurt Stein had a reputation for the kind of ingenious, morbidly perverse brutality few people were capable of.
‘But you will if you have to,’ Ashton said finally, completing Claire’s sentence for her, his voice sounding tired, defeated. He turned to Ru San Ko now and leaning forward, looked intently at his face, before asking, ‘You must have murdered the Teacher – a man who treated you like a son. Why? For what?’
Ru San Ko looked back at him without remorse and said blandly, ‘The prize was too great, Henry.’
‘In the end, it is only thirty pieces of silver,’ Ashton spat back, not bothering to hide the contempt he felt for the man.
‘Shall we get on with it, Colonel?’ Claire Donovant asked, an edge to her voice.
‘There is no map in my head,’ Ashton responded tiredly, ‘just random flashes of images I think I have seen. If you want to follow them, you’re welcome. You’ll have to give me time, though.’
After a while, he called Dr Donovant to one side. During their conversation, he pointed out directions to her from the landmarks that were visible. After lunch, they set course due south in the direction of the river. Peter noticed that very few orders were issued and, in minimum time, they were on the move, progressing in an almost military manner. All the men were mounted. They themselves were an animal short, having lost two mules while getting through the Gate. Peter opted to walk alongside Susan. He tried speaking to her, but she sat very straight on her mule, ignoring him.
‘Looking for a ride, Herr Peter?’
It was Kurt Stein who had come up, revving on a Honda quad bike, his grin revealing shiny white teeth.
‘Looks like the fraulein does not like your attentions.’
‘I’d rather walk,’ Peter said curtly.
‘Suit yourself,’ the man responded, accelerating and going ahead to give some orders.
Kurt Stein had sent scouts about a mile ahead on both flanks and Peter could see they were in no hurry, their main body moving tactically, once the scouts had signalled to them to move ahead.
Soon, Peter found the woman who called herself Claire Donovant riding on a pony by his side. He looked up and saw her smile at him.
‘So what is the cover story?’ he asked casually.
‘Why? You don’t believe me when I say I am an academic in Eastern History at Princeton?’
‘No. There is too much farm on you,’ Peter retorted, using the common slang for the CIA training facility in Virginia.
‘The smell is that bad, eh?’ she asked, her voice quite casual. ‘And how did they get
you
on this?’ she asked him.
‘Oh, they shopped around and I liked the money.’
‘Well, they certainly got the best. The best-looking, anyway,’ she said with a hint of coquetry.
Despite himself, Peter felt an attraction for the woman. They were on opposite sides, but it was always good to meet your own kind.
‘Are you still with the CIA?’ he asked her.
‘Yes and no,’ she replied, before ending their conversation by moving ahead.
* * *
Earlier, at the Pashtun location in the Tora Bora mountains where they had landed, Claire Donovant could not have anticipated that things would work out so perfectly to their satisfaction. To begin with, Josh Wando and Dr Hal Stevens had come down with altitude sickness. They were both laid out in sleeping bags on the floor of the small cave which served as their shelter. It was a relief that Ru San Ko had held out much better.
‘We’ve lost them,’ Claire had come up and announced.
‘What do you mean “lost them”?’ Stevens had asked quietly.
‘The transmitter isn’t sending any signals. It’s either malfunctioning or they have caught on and destroyed it.’
‘What was their last position?’
‘What Falcon radioed was right here,’ she had said, her finger tracing a location in the Karakoram mountains featured on the map she carried. ‘But that was twelve hours ago.’
‘Is it where we want to go?’
‘I can’t say. Ru San Ko here doesn’t think so.’
‘And why is that?’
‘The Zhang Zhung texts say that Shambhala is guarded by two rings of mountains – an outer ring and an inner one. My guess is they may have got through the outer ring.’
‘And how far is it from this inner ring?’
Josh, who had been listening quietly, had added, ‘If we go by the texts, we should be looking for a triangular peak, the Trimukha.’ He had turned to Ru San Ko. ‘Can you make out any such peak on the map?’