The Kingdom

28

JOMSOM, NEPAL

Acutely aware that, in Charles King, they’d enraged a lion that had thus far only been annoyed, Sam and Remi had instructed Selma to find them an alternate route to Mustang.

Everyone involved knew the Theurang was somewhere in the Himalayas, and King now knew that the Fargos, possessing a significant lead in the race, would have to return to Nepal. Sam and Remi had no doubt that Russell and Marjorie King, along with their mother, Zhilan Hsu, would be on the lookout for them. Only time would tell what other forces King would bring to bear, but they intended to walk very carefully until this odyssey was over.

A series of marathon flights eventually took them to New Delhi, India, where they drove two hundred fifty miles southeast to the city of Lucknow, where they picked up a single-engine charter flight another two hundred miles northeast to Jomsom. They’d left the trekker’s hub less than a week earlier, and as the plane’s wheels squealed on the airstrip tarmac both Sam and Remi felt a sense of deja vu. This sensation was only heightened as they headed for the terminal amid throngs of trekkers and guide service reps vying for their business.

As Jack Karna had promised, they slipped through customs unmolested or questioned. Waiting for them at the curb outside the terminal was another blast from the past: a Nepali man standing beside a white Toyota Land Cruiser and holding a sign bearing their name.

“I think you’re looking for us,” Sam said, extending his hand.

The man shook both their hands. “I am Ajay. Mr. Karna asked me to tell you, ‘Selma’s newest fish is called a Apistogramma iniridae.’ Have I pronounced that correctly?”

“You have,” Remi replied. “And its name is?”

“Frodo.” In their lengthy discussions, Selma and Jack Karna had discovered they were both avid fans of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. “Yes? Okay?” Ajay asked with a smile.

“Okay,” Sam replied. “Lead on.”

Not surprisingly, Ajay was not only a better tour guide than their previous one but he was also a better driver, negotiating the Kali Gandaki’s innumerable twists, turns, and hazards with expertise. A mere eight hours after leaving Jomsom they were standing before Jack Karna’s door in Lo Monthang.

He greeted them each with a warm hug. Hot tea and scones were ready and waiting in the cushioned seating area. Once they were settled and had warmed themselves, Sam and Remi retrieved the Theurang disks and placed them on the coffee table before Karna.

For a full minute, he simply stared at them, eyes agog, and a half smile on his face. Finally he picked up each disk in turn, examining it carefully. He seemed only slightly less impressed by the model.

“Aside from the symbols, it’s almost identical to the genuine article, isn’t it? Your Selma . . . she is quite a woman, I must say.”

Remi gave Sam a sideways glance and smile. Her woman’s intuition had told her there was a bit of spark growing between Selma and Jack. Sam had dismissed the idea. Now he gave her a nod of recognition.

“She’s one of a kind,” Sam said. “So, you think these will work?”

“I have no doubt. To that end, Ajay will be taking us to the caves tomorrow morning. With any luck, by the end of the day we will have found a match. From there, it will simply be a matter of following the map to Shangri-La.”

“Nothing is ever that simple,” Remi said. “Trust us.”

Karna shrugged. “As you say.” He poured them more tea and passed around the plate of scones. “Now, tell me more about Selma’s love of tea and tropical fish.”

They were up before dawn the next morning for a full English breakfast served by Karna’s houseboy: streaky bacon, eggs, black pudding, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, fried bread, sausages, and seemingly bottomless mugs of tea. When they could take no more, Sam and Remi pushed away their plates.

“Is this your regular morning fare?” Remi asked Karna.

“Of course.”

“How do you stay trim?” Sam said.

“Lots of hiking. Not to mention the cold and the altitude. You burn calories at a massive rate here. If I don’t consume at least five thousand a day, I start shedding weight.”

“Perhaps you should start a fitness boot camp,” Remi suggested.

“There’s a thought,” Karna said, standing up. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Right! Ten minutes until departure. Ajay will meet us at the gate!”

True to his word, Karna was ushering them out the door a few minutes later, and soon they were in the Land Cruiser heading southeast toward the foothills. Two miles out of the city, as they topped a crest, the landscape began to change dramatically. The rolling hills steepened, and their outline grew more jagged. The soil slowly morphed from grayish to an olive brown, and what little scrub brush dotted the terrain grew even more sparse. The Land Cruiser began jostling from side to side as Ajay navigated the now boulder-strewn tract. Soon Sam and Remi’s ears began popping.

From the front seat Karna said, “There are two cases of bottled water in the cargo boot. Make sure to stay hydrated. The higher we go, the more fluid you’ll need.”

Sam grabbed two pairs of bottles, handed one to Remi and two to Karna in the front seat, then asked Karna, “How far from the Tibetan border are we?”

“Seven miles or so. Try to remember: along with most of the rest of the world, we may think of it as the Tibetan border, but the Chinese do not. It’s a distinction they zealously enforce. The official name may be the Tibet Autonomous Region, but as far as Beijing is concerned it’s all China. In fact, if you keep a sharp eye out, you’ll begin to see outposts on the ridges. We may even encounter a patrol or two.”

“A patrol?” Sam repeated. “As in, the Chinese Army?”

“Yes. Both ground units and aircraft routinely wander into Mustang, and not by accident. They know Nepal can do nothing but lodge a formal complaint, which means nothing to the Chinese.”

“And what happens if someone strays over their side of the border? A lost trekker, for example.”

“Depends on the place. Between here and the northern tip of Myanmar there are almost two thousand miles of border, much of it over remote and rugged terrain. As for here, on rare occasions the Chinese not so politely shoo wayward souls back across the border, but usually interlopers are arrested. I know of three trekkers in the last year who were snatched up.”

In the driver’s seat, Ajay silently held up four fingers.

Karna said, “I stand corrected: four trekkers. All but one of them was eventually released. Have I got that right, Ajay?”

“Right.”

“Define ‘eventually,’ ” Remi said.

“A year or so. The one they kept has been missing for six years. The Chinese are keen on setting examples, you see. Letting an invader go too early would be bad form. Next thing you know, you’ve got hordes of Western agents disguised as trekkers flooding over the border.”

“Is that how they really see it?” asked Sam.

“Some in the government do. But I suspect it’s mostly for show. There are swaths along China’s southern border that are impossible to cover from the ground, so China is strict on what areas it can control. I have it on good authority”-Karna gave a comical jerk of his head toward Ajay-“that trekkers in northern India frequently slip across the border; in fact, there are tourism companies that specialize in it. Isn’t that right, Ajay?”

“Right, Mr. Karna.”

“Not to worry, Fargos. Ajay and I have been doing this together for years. Our GPS unit is perfectly calibrated, and we know this area intimately. We won’t be stumbling into the clutches of the Chinese Army, I can assure you.”

Another hour’s drive brought them to a gorge hemmed in by cliffs so deeply eroded they looked like tiered rows of massive anthills. Ahead was a castle-like structure that appeared to be partially embedded in the cliff. The ground floor’s outer walls were painted the same burnt red color they’d seen in Lo Monthang, while the upper two stories, stacked upon jutting horizontal beams, were progressively smaller and seemed hewn from the rock itself. Faded prayer flags strung between two of the conical roofs flapped in the breeze.

“Tarl Gompa,” Karna announced.

“We’ve heard that name several times,” Remi said, “but the definition seems . . . indefinable.”

“An accurate way of putting it. In one sense, gompas are fortifications of a sort-outposts for education and spiritual growth. In another sense, they are monasteries; in yet another, military posts. Much depends on the period of history involved and the people occupying the gompa.”

“How many of these are there?”

“In Nepal alone, over a hundred that I know of. Probably triple that number remain undiscovered. If you expand the area to Tibet and Bhutan, there are thousands.”

“Why are we stopping at this one?” asked Sam.

“Mostly out of respect. Wherever there are sacred caves, a council of elders is formed to watch over them. The caves here are not yet well known, and the elders are very protective of them. If we don’t pay the proper respect, we’ll find ourselves staring down the barrels of about a dozen rifles.”

They climbed out of the car. In Nepali, Karna called out toward the gompa, and a few moments later an elderly man in khaki pants and a bright blue parka stepped from the darkened doorway. His face was nut brown and deeply lined. From beneath wiry eyebrows he scrutinized his guests for several seconds before breaking into a wide smile.

“Namaste, Jack!” the man called.

“Namaste, Pushpa. Tapaai laai kasto chha?”

Karnauer walked forward, and the two men embraced and then began talking in low tones. Karna gestured toward Sam and Remi, and they instinctively came forward.

Ajay stopped them: “Better if you wait here. Pushpa is a sgonyer-a doorkeeper. Mr. Karna is well known to these people, but they are suspicious of outsiders.”

Karna and Pushpa continued to talk for several minutes before the old man nodded and clapped Karna on both arms. Karna walked back to the Land Cruiser.

“Pushpa has given us permission to proceed. He will inform a local guide to meet us at the first caves.”

“Inform the guide how?” Remi asked. “I don’t see any-”

“By word of foot,” Karna replied.

He pointed to one of the rocky shark’s teeth atop the opposite cliff. There, a figure was standing. As they watched, Pushpa raised his arm and formed a sequence of shapes with his hand. The figure signaled back, then disappeared behind the cliff.

Karna said, “By the time we get there, all the locals will know to expect us and that we have permission.”

“In other words, no angry villagers with pitchforks.”

“Rifles,” Sam corrected.

Karna smiled reassuringly. “Neither. Shall we go?”

Leaving Tarl Gompa in their rearview mirror, they continued heading generally east, following the gorge for two miles, before emerging on a dry riverbed. A quarter mile away, across a bridge, a collection of gompa-like structures sat at the foot of another anthill cliff, this one several hundred feet high and stretching to the north and south as far as the eye could see.

Ajay guided the Land Cruiser over the river bottom to the bridge, then across. As they neared the village, the terrain changed from scree and boulders to a fine rusty brown sand. Ajay halted the vehicle beside a low stone wall on the village’s perimeter. They all climbed out into a brisk wind. Sand pelted their jackets.

“It’s got a bite to it, doesn’t it?” Karna said.

Sam and Remi, in the middle of pulling up their hoods, nodded back. Sam called over the rush, “We’re walking from here?”

“Yes. Into those.” Karna pointed toward the anthills. “Come on.” Karna led them through a gap in the wall and started down a stone-lined path. At the end of this path they found a thick hedgerow of scrub brush. He followed the hedge to the left, then through a natural pergola. They emerged in a small cobblestoned square centered around a bubbling fountain. Around the perimeter, planter boxes overflowed with red and purple flowers.

“They divert a bit of the river for irrigation, plumbing, and fountains,” Karna explained. “They love fountains.”

“It’s beautiful,” Remi said.

It took little imagination to see how Shangri-La legends began here, she thought. In the middle of some of the bleakest terrain she and Sam had ever encountered, they’d found a tiny oasis. The juxtaposition was pleasantly jarring.

Seated nearby on a wooden bench was a short middle-aged man in a plaid sweater-jacket and a baseball cap emblazoned with the Chicago Bears logo.

He raised a hand toward them and walked over. Karna and the man embraced and spoke for a bit before Karna turned to introduce Sam and Remi.

“Namaste . . . namaste,” the man said with smile.

Karna said, “This is Pushpa.” Before they could ask, Karna added, “Yes, it’s more or less the same as the man at the gompa. To us, it sounds the exactly the same; to them, the inflection makes all the difference. Pushpa will lead us to the caves. We’ll take some tea with Pushpa, and then we’ll get down to business.”