“You are hard on them, Charles,” she said quietly.
“And you coddle ’em!” King shot back.
“Until this latest incident with the Fargos, they’ve done well for you.”
King frowned, and gave an annoyed shake of his head. “I s’pose. Still, I want you to get out there, make sure this thing don’t go too far off the rails. Somethin’s got the Fargos’ backs up. Take the Gulfstream and get out there. Fix ’em. That Alton character too. He’s useless now.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Get the Fargos to play their part. Failin’ that . . . Nepal’s a big place. Plenty of room for people to disappear.”
11
HYATT REGENCY HOTEL,
KATHMANDU, NEPAL
In the early morning, the phone on Remi’s nightstand was ringing. “Sam, did you do this on purpose? A wake-up call. Do you know what time it is?”
Sam picked up the phone and said, “We’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
“Be where?” Remi demanded.
“As I promised. A Himalayan hot stone massage for you and a deep tissue massage for me.”
“Fargo,” said Remi with wide smile, “you’re a treasure.”
She slid out of bed and dashed to the bathroom as Sam answered a knock on the door. Room service delivered the breakfast he’d ordered the night before: Remi’s favorite, corned beef hash and poached eggs, and, for him, scrambled eggs with salmon.
He’d also ordered coffee and two glasses of pomegranate juice.
While they ate, they turned their attention to the mysterious chest that sat on the couch across from their table. Remi poured a second cup of coffee as Sam dialed up Selma.
“Do you think King had Alton kidnapped?” Selma asked.
“To get us here,” Remi offered, taking a sip of coffee.
Selma chimed in, “Get you there on the pretext of looking for Frank and then . . . what?”
“False flag,” Sam murmured, then explained: “It’s an espionage term. An agent is recruited by an enemy posing as an ally. The agent thinks his mission is one thing, but it’s actually something altogether different.”
“Oh, great,” Remi remarked.
“It’s a house of cards,” Sam agreed. “If that’s what King is up to, his ego wouldn’t let him entertain the idea of the plan derailing.”
“Then you don’t know if you’re actually looking for Lewis King or not. Or whether there was even a sighting of him.”
“Charlie doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s not so much his father Charlie is chasing but perhaps what his father was chasing.”
“The chest you found?” Selma suggested.
“As I said, a guess,” replied Sam.
The night before, rather than returning to the hotel, Sam and Remi had walked south of the police station until they were out of view, then turned north and flagged a cab. Sam ordered the driver to meander around the city for ten minutes as he and Remi watched for signs of surveillance. They had little doubt the King twins intended to follow them, and they were giving them no time to set up.
Once certain they were not being followed, Sam ordered the driver to take them to a rental car agency on the southern outskirts of Kathmandu, where they hired a battered green Opel. An hour later they pulled into a motel parking lot a half mile from Chobar Gorge, where they left the car and walked the remaining distance.
Having memorized landmarks while being driven away by the police, they took less than an hour to find their exit tunnel. Their gear was still inside and apparently untouched.
“We’re sending it to you via FedEx,” Remi told Selma.
“If it is what King is after, better we get rid of it. Besides, Selma, you like puzzles; you’re going to love this one. Solve it, and we’ll buy you that fish for your tank . . . the, uh—”
“Aquarium, Mr. Fargo. A tank is something you put in a child’s bedroom. And the fish is a type of cichlid. Very rare. Very expensive. Its scientific name is—”
“In Latin, I’m sure,” Sam finished with a chuckle. “Open our Nepali puzzle box, and it’s yours.”
“You don’t need to bribe me, Mr. Fargo. This is part of my job.”
“Then call it an early birthday present,” Remi replied. She and Sam shared a smile: Selma did not enjoy celebrating birthdays, especially her own.
“By the way, I heard back from Rube,” Selma said, rapidly changing subjects. “He looked into Zhilan Hsu. He said she’s—and I quote—‘all but invisible.’ No driver’s license, no credit cards, no public records of any kind save one: her immigration record. According to it, she emigrated here on a work visa from Hong Kong in 1990 at the age of sixteen.”
“Let me guess,” Sam said. “Employed by King Oil.”
“Correct. But here’s the kicker. She was six months pregnant at the time. I’ve done the math. Her due date roughly coincides with the birth date of Russell and Marjorie.”
“It’s official,” Remi said. “I doubly don’t like Charlie King. He probably bought her.”
“A safe bet,” Sam agreed.
Selma asked, “What’s your next step?”
“Back to the university. We got a voice mail from Professor Kaalrami. She’s finished the translation of the Devanagari parchment—”
“Lowa,” Remi corrected. “She said it was written in Lowa.”
“Right. Lowa,” Sam replied. “With any luck, her colleague can shed some light on the tomb we found—or at least rule out a connection.”
“And what about Frank?”
“Assuming King’s behind his kidnapping, our only chance to get him back is leverage. If King thinks we have something he wants, we’ll be in a better position to bargain. Until then, we can only hope King is smart enough not to kill Frank.”
KATHMANDU UNIVERSITY
After making certain they were not being followed, Sam and Remi found a FedEx office and mailed the chest. It would take two days and six hundred dollars, the agent told them, but the package would be on a plane by early evening. A bargain, Sam and Remi decided, knowing the chest would be beyond Marjorie and Russell’s reach—provided it was, in fact, of interest to King. Anyway, they had neither the time nor the resources to devote to opening the chest. It was better off in the hands of Selma, Pete, and Wendy.
Sam and Remi reached the university campus shortly after one o’clock and found Professor Kaalrami in her office. After exchanging pleasantries, they settled around her conference table.
“This was challenging,” Professor Kaalrami began. “The translation took me nearly six hours.”
“We’re sorry it took so much of your time,” Remi replied.
“Nonsense. It was better than spending the evening watching television. I enjoyed the brain exercise. I have a written translation for you.” She slid a typewritten sheet of paper across the table to them. “I can confirm the essence of the document. It is a military decree ordering the evacuation of the ‘Theurang’ from the capital city of Lo Monthang, in the Kingdom of Mustang.”
“When?” asked Sam.
“The decree does not say,” said Professor Kaalrami. “The man we are going to meet after this—my colleague—may be better equipped to answer that. There may be some clue in the text that I missed.”
“This Theurang . . .” Remi prompted.
“Aside from it also being referred to as the ‘Golden Man,’ I’m afraid I found no explanation. But as I said, my colleague may know. I can tell you the reason the decree was issued: an invasion. An army was approaching Lo Monthang. On behalf of the Royal House, the leader of the Mustang Army—I gather the position is similar to that of a marshal or chief of staff—ordered that the Theurang be carried from the city by a special group of soldiers known as Sentinels. There is no description beyond that. Just their name.”
“Evacuated to where?” asked Sam.
“The decree does not say. The phrase ‘as ordered’ is used several times, which suggests the Sentinels may have received a separate, more specific briefing.”
“Anything else?” Remi asked.
“One item that caught my attention,” Professor Kaalrami replied. “The decree praises the Sentinels’ willingness to die in order to protect the Golden Man.”
“Fairly standard military language,” Sam said. “A pep talk by the general before—”
“No, I’m sorry, Mr. Fargo. I used the wrong word. The praise was not for their willingness to give their lives in the line of duty. The language used was one of certitude. Whoever wrote this document fully expected the Sentinels to die. None of them were expected to return to Lo Monthang alive.”
Shortly before two o’clock, the time Professor Kaalrami had arranged for them to meet with her colleague Sushant Dharel, they left her office and walked across campus to another building. They found Dharel—a pencil-thin man in his mid-thirties, wearing khaki pants and a short-sleeved white shirt—finishing a class in a wood-paneled classroom. They waited until all the students had filed out, and then Professor Kaalrami made the introductions. Upon hearing Kaalrami’s description of Sam and Remi’s interest, Dharel’s eyes lit up.
“You have this document with you?”
“And the translation,” Professor Kaalrami replied, and handed them over.
Dharel scanned both, his lips moving wordlessly as he absorbed the contents. He looked up at Sam and Remi. “Where did you find this? In whose possession was—” He stopped suddenly. “Forgive my excitement and my bad manners. Please, sit down.”
Sam, Remi, and Professor Kaalrami took chairs in the first row. Dharel pulled a chair from around his desk and sat before them. “If you would . . . Where did you find this?”
“It was among the belongings of a man named Lewis King.”
“A friend of mine from long ago,” Professor Kaalrami added. “It was long before your time, Sushant. I believe my translation is fairly accurate, but I could not give Mr. and Mrs. Fargo much context. As our resident expert on Nepalese history, I thought you might help.”
“Of course, of course,” Dharel said, eyes again scanning the parchment. After a full minute he looked up again. “Do not be offended, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo, but for the purposes of clarity, I will assume you have no knowledge of our history.”
“A safe assumption,” Sam replied.
“I should also admit that much of what I am about to tell you is considered by many as more legend than history.”
“We understand,” Remi said. “Please go on.”
“What you have here is known as the Himanshu Decree. It was issued in the year 1421 by a military commander named Dolma. Here at the bottom you can see his official stamp. It was common practice then. Stamps and seals were meticulously crafted and closely guarded tools. Often, high-ranking personnel—both military and governmental—were accompanied by soldiers whose sole purpose was to guard official seals. Given time, I can confirm or refute the provenance of this stamp, but at first glance I believe it to be genuine.”
“Professor Kaalrami’s translation suggests the decree was ordering the evacuation of an artifact of some kind,” Sam prompted. “The Theurang.”
“Yes, quite right. It is also known as the Golden Man. This is where history becomes muddled with myth, I’m afraid. The Theurang is said to have been a life-sized statue of a man-like creature or, depending on whom you ask, the skeleton of the creature itself. The story behind the Theurang is similar to that of Genesis from the Christian Bible in that the Theurang is said to be the remains of the earth’s . . .” Dharel’s voice trailed off as he searched for the correct phrase. “Life giver. The Mother of Mankind, if you will.”
“That’s quite a job title,” Sam said.
Dharel’s brows furrowed for a moment, then he smiled. “Oh, yes, I see. Yes, a heavy burden to carry, that of the Theurang. At any rate, whether real or mythological, the Golden Man became a symbol of reverence for the people of Mustang—and for much of Nepal, for that matter. But the legendary home of the Theurang is said to have been Lo Monthang.”
“This ‘birth giver’ moniker,” Remi said. “Is it believed to be metaphorical or literal?”
Dharel smiled, shrugged. “As with any religious story, the interpretation is in the mind of the believer. I think it is safe to say that at the time this decree was issued, there were more literal believers.”
“What can you tell us about these Sentinels?” asked Sam.
“They were elite soldiers, the equivalent of today’s Special Forces. According to some texts, they were trained from youth for one purpose: to protect the Theurang.”
“Professor Kaalrami mentioned a phrase in the decree—‘as ordered’—in relation to the evacuation plan the Sentinels were supposed to carry out. What are your thoughts?”
“I have no knowledge of the specific plan,” Dharel replied, “but as I understand it, there were only a few dozen Sentinels. Upon evacuation, each of them was to leave the city carrying a chest, a chest designed to confuse invaders. In one of the chests was to be the disassembled remains of the Theurang.”
Sam and Remi exchanged sideways smiles.
Dharel added, “Only a select few in the military and government knew which Sentinel carried the genuine remains.”
Sam asked, “And inside the other chests?”
Dharel shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps nothing, perhaps a replica of the Theurang. At any rate, the plot was designed to overwhelm any pursuers. Equipped with the best weapons and the fastest horses, the Sentinels would race from the city and separate in hopes of dividing the pursuers. With luck and skill, the Sentinel carrying the Theurang would escape and hide it in a predetermined location.”
“Can you describe the weapons?”
“Only generally: a sword, several daggers, a bow, and a spear.”
“There’s no account of whether the plan succeeded?” asked Remi.
“None.”
“What did the chest look like?” said Remi.
Dharel retrieved a pad of paper and pencil from his desk and sketched a wooden cube that looked remarkably similar to the chest they recovered from the cave. Dharel said, “As far as I have found, there is no description beyond this. The chest was said to have been of an ingenious design, the hope being that each time an enemy recovered one of them he would spend days or weeks trying to open it.”