Target nine, p.10
Target Nine, page 10
Jacob stared in amazement. He couldn’t have carried that more than a hundred yards in this altitude. They were just shy of 3000 meters here, and even though he had acclimatized to Kathmandu’s altitude, they had just doubled it.
They had arrived by private helicopter from Kathmandu, cleared by the Nepalese military after a single call from Bledshaw.
The director of the Antiquities Division had been good to his word. So far.
Jacob strolled down a path with Jana, Bledshaw, and Agent Arjun Tamang, who had recovered from his injury and now wore a bandage wrapped around his head that made his hat look lumpy. Jacob had told his colleague that Bledshaw was with the U.S. Antiquities Division and was a federal agent. Tamang, of course, had never heard of this agency and asked a million questions. Jacob told him what he needed to know—that the Antiquities Division and its nemesis Dr. Harlow both sought artifacts from an advanced prehistoric civilization. He left out the details about the scummy dealings within the Antiquities Division. Jacob regretted not telling him more, but he was already breaching classified material. He justified that as necessary for the mission.
Jacob also regretted having to leave Detective Gurung back in the capital. The guy was more spiritual than Tamang and his insight would have been useful, but with the theft and the mass murder investigation, the Nepalese police force needed every man on the job.
That also signaled a disturbing shift in the government’s attitude. This was no longer a police matter, but an army one.
And the army had sent a minder.
To avoid attracting more attention than they already would, the helicopter had flown into a neighboring valley, where they were met by a compact young corporal who drove them in a Hummer over to the village. Like the sentry back at the army base who had followed Jacob around, Corporal Koirala claimed not to speak any English.
Jacob wasn’t fooled. Any time they were talking, Corporal Koirala kept close and kept quiet.
Still, the relative lack of oversight by the Nepalese army was surprising. Three foreigners, and one half foreigner, were being left pretty much to their own devices.
Why?
They walked up a steep path cut into the rock near the edge of the stream, heading for the village. The army had geared them up with hooded parkas and warm leggings, plus thick hats and gloves made of yak wool. Trekking glasses, with dark lenses and shades on the sides, preserved their eyes from the glare of the snow. Even bundled up like this, Jacob felt a chill every time they stopped to rest, which was far too often. While neither he or Jana were experiencing headaches or confusion or any other severe symptoms of altitude sickness, they got tired much more easily than normal. He hoped there wouldn’t be any running involved in this part of the mission.
Robert Bledshaw seemed just fine. Jacob eyed him. Had he been in high altitudes for a while now? Here in the Himalayas? If so, what had he been up to?
Jacob dismissed that question as unknowable. It wasn’t like Bradshaw was going to share that information.
The valley took a slight turn, and Jacob's breath caught.
Not from the altitude, at least not this time, but from the stunning sight ahead of them.
The sloping valley ascended more steeply past the village, angling a bit to the east. Now that they were further into the valley, they could see all the way to the back, where the valley opened onto a steep slope where snow had gathered in the shaded declivities. High above the valley floor, clinging to the side like barnacles, were a series of wooden red-columned buildings with pagoda-style roofs. It was an extensive network of buildings that Jacob estimated could easily hold a hundred people.
The monastery of the Order of the Sacred Lotus.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Agent Tamang said.
Jacob only nodded.
Corporal Koirala said a few words, and Tamang translated.
“He says the military asked the mayor of Aaru Kunde to speak with the abbot. At first the abbot was hesitant to meet with a bunch of foreigners, but given the situation he agreed.”
“Well, you’re not a foreigner.”
“I’m a half foreigner,” Tamang said, “plus I’m Hindu, not Buddhist.”
“And our young friend the corporal?”
“He’s Buddhist.”
“Good.”
They walked through the village, getting a lot of stares. The bolder among the children peppered Agent Tamang and Corporal Koirala with questions. Jana smiled and waved. Jacob saved his energy. His chest still hurt from that his Kevlar took.
By the time they had passed through the village, they had a small crowd of children following them. Just past the last of the houses stood a small, older Sherpa man waiting for them and holding several white scarves. He spoke. As Tamang translated, he put a scarf around each of the newcomers and greeted them.
Jana put her hands together and bowed her head. Jacob took her cue and did the same.
“This is Pasang Lobsang Sherpa, the mayor of Aaru Kunde. He greets us all and thanks us for coming all this way to help retrieve the Royal Vajra.”
“The military told him our mission?” Bradshaw asked, obviously unhappy with this revelation. “I can understand telling the abbot, but this man—”
Tamang cut him off. “This man got us an audience with the abbot. We needed a trusted outsider as a go-between.”
“Very well,” Bledshaw muttered.
“He’ll lead us up to the monastery.”
Jacob looked at the narrow steps cut into the steep stone slope and took a few deep breaths. He was going to need them.
They started to ascend. The children stayed at the edge of the village. Mayor Pasang Lobsang Sherpa went up those steps with the assurance of a mountain goat. He began to leave them behind until he glanced over his shoulder, saw the foreigners lagging, and stopped to wait. The faint sound of giggling came up from below. The children were watching.
“We’re not making a very good impression on the locals,” Jacob huffed.
"You want to race?" Tamang said in a cheerful voice. "Fifty bucks to the winner. I'll give you a ten-second head start."
“No thanks.”
“Twenty seconds?”
“Shut up.”
Jana laughed, then cut off quick and took a couple of deep breaths.
“You’ll get accustomed to it after a few days,” Bradshaw said.
A few days of doing what? Jacob wondered. Seems like you’ve been here for a while.
After what seemed like ages but was in fact probably only ten minutes, they took a break. The foreigners stood huffing and puffing, the white plumes of air from their mouths making them look like steam engines. Even Bledshaw looked a bit tired.
They clutched their scarves so the stiff breeze didn’t snatch them off. Jacob figured that wouldn’t be good symbolism.
Jacob looked up at the monastery, still high up ahead. There was a porch around the edge of the nearest building covered by a pagoda-style roof held up by red columns. No one appeared to be there, or at any of the windows he could see. He heard nothing—no prayers, no religious music, nothing.
Then he looked down at the valley below them and gasped.
The village nestled between the black peaks looked stunning, the vast range of mountains beyond it even more so. He could see for miles, and other than the village of Aaru Kunde, he saw no sign of human habitation.
“You have a beautiful country, Arjun.”
“My country is the United States, but thank you. It’s good to come back sometimes. Shall we continue?”
That got groans from all three foreigners. Arjun Tamang chuckled, said something to the mayor and the corporal, and they continued.
Up, up, up. Jacob concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. His head began to ache. They must have ascended another 200 meters at least. Hopefully this mission wouldn’t make them go any higher.
Of course it will, Jacob thought. These missions always make me do something worse than I’ve done before. Maybe I’ll write that resignation letter for real this time.
And how would Jana take that? Would she keep going on missions alone or with some other partner?
You’re stuck, buddy.
Damn.
They came to a ledge barely big enough for them all to stand huddled together. The mayor motioned for them to stop and through Tamang informed them that they had to leave their weapons here, as none were allowed in the monastery.
Everyone started unloading. Bledshaw hesitated for a moment, glanced up at the monastery, and took out a pistol that he laid on the smooth stone.
"The backup, too," Jacob told him.
“I was just getting to that.”
Sure you were.
He pulled out a smaller, holdout pistol and set it down.
Once everyone had at least apparently divested themselves of weapons, they headed up.
Jacob didn’t like going into an unknown place without any firearms or even a knife, but he had a feeling these monks could tell if he was carrying or not.
Besides, how dangerous could a Buddhist monastery be?
They huffed and puffed up the last length of stairs, the frigid wind biting every exposed bit of flesh, and at last came up to the landing. Ahead of them stood a long, single-story building, larger than it had looked from below.
Beyond the arcaded porch stood a large set of double doors that shone with black lacquer and a golden emblem that looked like stylized writing.
A clatter of a wooden bolt, and the doors opened with a creak.
Jacob had watched some videos of Buddhist monasteries in this region and they all looked like they followed the Tibetan tradition with long red robes, strange curved yellow hats, and loud ritual bands playing cymbals and long horns. The monks dressed in an ornamental fashion, each color and accoutrement a potent symbol of their religion.
That was not the case with the three monks who faced them. They wore simple red tunics and sandals that would have given Jacob hypothermia in two minutes. They stood erect, with eyes that took in everything.
Jacob’s eyes took in everything too, especially the tight, muscular bodies, the easy poise, and the callouses on their knuckles.
These were warrior monks. Jacob didn’t think they existed here. Then again, the professor back in Kathmandu had told Jana this was an ancient, isolated, and almost extinct order.
The two monks to either side pressed their hands together and bowed at the waist, making a perfect right angle with their bodies. The monk in the middle, older but no less fit, bowed slightly. Jacob figured this was not due to his age, but because of his rank. He looked like he was more fit than his younger brethren.
All the Nepalese in their group knelt and touched their heads to the ground.
Jacob bowed, but not that much. He'd show respect, but he would not show that much respect. He was a warrior too, after all.
Jana and Bledshaw both bowed deeper than he did.
One of the younger monks stepped forward, bowed again, and said in English,
“I am Prabal. We are honored by your visit. I will accompany and translate for you.”
The older monk stepped forward and again they were each given white scarves. Jacob wished they were warmer. It was getting chilly standing up on this cliff face.
Thankfully, the three monks then led them inside and closed the doors behind them. Their breath still frosted the air, but at least they had shelter from the wind. The other young monk said something in Nepali and led the mayor and the corporal away down a bare corridor. The corporal hesitated for a moment, got a sharp look from the monk, and did as he was told.
He’s probably disobeying an order right now and yet he didn’t even object, Jacob thought. Interesting. These monks have got a reputation.
Prabal and the older monk led them down the opposite corridor, again bare of ornamentation. Jacob wondered where all these wall paintings were that Jana wanted to ask about. They passed a few closed doors, then took a right and went through a door back outside onto a small courtyard barely big enough to accommodate the dozen monks sitting in the lotus position on the bare stone, eyes half closed and serene.
Jacob stared. They wore the same simple robes as the others, their heads, hands, and feet bare. How could they not freeze to death?
Edging their way around these monks, who didn’t move a muscle or an eye at the appearance of the strangers, they ascended some steps hacked into the steep slope and up to another building. There they came to an open porch and under the shade of the roof in a chair of lacquered wood sat an old man in yellow robes. His face was seamed with deep lines, but his eyes were sharp and clear as he studied each of the newcomers.
The two monks bowed deeply and motioned to cushions on the floor. Everyone sat cross-legged.
“The Esteemed Abbot greets you,” Prabal said.
Everyone bowed. Jacob bowed deeper this time. If this guy was in charge of these warriors, he must have been a badass back in the day.
The abbot’s eyes settled on him. Jacob held his gaze. He found it a difficult thing to do, there was force there, but he had a feeling he’d better. The sharp, cold wind blew through the open porch, the only sound.
The abbot said something, and the monk Prabal translated.
“The Esteemed Abbot says do not be ashamed to be a reluctant warrior, for that is the only good warrior there is.”
Jacob blinked. What the hell?
The abbot turned to Jana and said through the translator, “True education expands constantly.”
Jana looked confused.
Then he turned to Tamang and said something Prabal didn’t translate. Tamang paled, sat up straighter, and gave a quick nod.
Then the abbot’s gaze settled on Bledshaw. It remained there in silence for some time. To his credit, the director of the Antiquities Division managed to hold up under this scrutiny.
“If you clean out the pig’s stall with your hands, you cannot complain of sickness when you bite your nails.”
OK, now I’m really confused.
Bledshaw didn’t exactly look enlightened either.
The abbot turned to look at Jacob again.
“You wish to know about the Royal Vajra and why someone would steal it. You are in hot pursuit of these criminals and thus I will be brief. The cyar mey was the greatest power of the Ancient Kingdom of Great Wisdom and Folly. Some say that it was used to power their cities and their amazing contrivances. It was indeed used for this, but it was more than that. It was also a weapon, the greatest weapon the world has ever known, far greater than the atomic bombs your nation inflicted on this world.”
Jacob licked his lips and said, “An archaeological field crew was excavating an old monastery of your order a few hundred miles east of here and came across a painting of a vajra on the monastery’s stone wall. Then some gunmen came and slaughtered every one of them and took all their photographic equipment. They also took the stone. One phone escaped their notice and that’s how we know of their discovery. There was some writing next to it but that’s not visible. We were wondering what that writing might signify.”
“Let me see the photo.”
Jana pulled out the phone and opened it to the photo. Prabal took it and showed it to the abbot.
Did Jacob sense an emotion in those placid features? Did his eyes widen a little, his lips open, his skin pale?
Before the abbot could speak, Jacob was distracted by something else.
A high, thin buzzing sound, growing louder.
He frowned and looked around. Where was that coming from? It was mechanical, not something he’d think to hear in this monastery at all. The monks were looking around too.
Then he realized what he was hearing.
Drones. A bunch of them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jacob leapt up and whirled around just as three drones rose up into view about ten feet past the porch and cliff face. They had armor plating, and each had a machine gun slung beneath the main body. Beyond, he saw more killer attack drones spreading out over the monastery.
Each was equipped with a machine gun or a pair of small missiles.
“Run!” he shouted, grabbing Jana, who was already halfway to her feet.
The abbot sprang to his feet, picked up his heavy wooden throne as if it were paper, and tossed it at the center drone.
It smashed into the drone, and the machine plummeted out of sight.
The other two opened fire.
The bullets concentrated on the abbot and the two monks. All of them ducked and rolled out of the way as bullets chewed up the wall behind them.
“This way!” Prabal shouted, pointing to a doorway. He still held the phone with the image of the monastery painting.
Jacob didn’t have time to admire the dexterity with which the monks had dodged the bullets. He was too busy running.
The machine guns sprayed the area. Tamang cried out and clamped a hand on his shoulder. Prabal flung the door open and the abbot disappeared through, Bledshaw right behind. The rest of them hurried through the portal.
Prabal made it. The other monk did not. He jerked and danced as a dozen bullets hit him, his red robes turning a deeper crimson.
Prabal slammed the door behind them.
“They’ll hit us with a missile and come right in,” Jacob told him. “We need to get deeper into the monastery.”
Prabal nodded, and they ran down a corridor. They hadn't made it ten feet before a detonation threw them to the ground.
The door they had shut behind them shattered, flinging pieces of wood down the corridor. One large, flat piece struck Bledshaw in the back and flung him to the floor.
Prabal flung open a bureau standing nearby and revealed a rack of weapons—wooden staves, swords, spears, and polearms with various nasty-looking blades.
The monk grabbed a simple wooden staff and performed a cartwheel with it back down to the doorway just as a pair of drones buzzed through. With blinding speed, he swung his staff, knocked one straight into the stone floor with a crash, and then poked out the camera of the second, the glass shattering.
