The Secret Cardinal

64

Four hours had passed since the Windrider glided away from the eastern shore of Bangong Co, and in that time the sleek craft quietly sailed over a hundred kilometers, across one international border, and through a sliver of disputed territory. The winds had remained steady throughout the voyage, and once the travelers were well inside the Indian-controlled portion of the lake, the fog finally lifted to reveal the glacier-clad Pangong Mountains to the south and the Changchenmo range to the north.

The sun hung high overhead as Gates steered a northwesterly course toward the far end of the lake. The Windrider raced over the water, its twin sails capturing enough wind to pull the hulls out of the water atop a trio of T-shaped aluminum hydrofoils. The ride was smooth and fast.

‘My God, this is beautiful,’ Gates said, awestruck by their surroundings.

‘He does very fine work,’ Yin agreed.

‘So what do you think of your first real taste of freedom?’ Tao asked.

‘I am savoring it,’ Yin replied, ‘and I hope my flock in China may one day soon enjoy it in our own land.’

Gates adjusted the sails as he guided the craft into a gentle turn toward shore. Lined up for the approach and still cruising at thirty miles per hour, he released the pins locking the hydrofoils into place and the trimaran slipped down the four-foot struts to the water’s surface. Gates locked the hydrofoils in the retracted position, readying the boat to make land. The change in speed and the sound of water rushing past the hulls roused Han from a two-hour nap on the trampoline.

‘We there yet?’ Han asked sleepily.

‘The bustling port of Spangmik is just up ahead,’ Gates replied.

Spangmik consisted of a handful of small, rough structures built from local stone and concrete, most painted white. The tiny hamlet was among a handful of villages dotting the southern shore of the lake that were summer homes for a small group of Chang-pa, the nomadic herders of Tibet and southeast Ladakh. This late in the season, the Chang-pa had moved on to their winter pastures, leaving only a small detachment of the Indian army in Spangmik to protect the border.

Gates let out the sail, and the Windrider slowed. Compared with the dash down the long alpine lake, they covered the final yards in a crawl. As the boat neared shore, several people emerged from one of the buildings and rushed to the edge of the lake.

‘We got company,’ Han said.

‘Welcoming committee,’ Gates said confidently, his attention on reefing the sails. ‘Bet Nolan has already charmed these nice people, and there’s a hot pot of chicken vindaloo just waiting for us.’

‘Max,’ Tao said, ‘they don’t look all that happy to see us.’

Gates looked toward shore and saw the reception party was armed and training their weapons on the trimiran.

‘I don’t suppose you speak any of the local dialects, Padre,’ Gates asked Yin.

‘I learned a few phrases from an Indian friend when I was a young man. Sadly, it has been many years since I had need of them.’

‘Well, I’d really appreciate it if you’d tickle a few of those old memory cells, just in case,’ Gates said. ‘Everybody else, just keep your hands where these nice folks can see ’em and hope nobody’s got an itchy trigger finger.’

The soldiers closed in as the Windrider’s bow touched shore and surrounded the craft. The leader of the group, an army captain with a thick black beard and mustache and a Sikh turban, yelled an incomprehensible order at them, but his hand motions clearly expressed his intent. They were to get out of the boat. Tao and Han were the first ashore, followed by Yin and then Gates. Several soldiers lifted the Windrider out of the water and carried it away from the water’s edge.

The captain issued another order, this time without gesticulating.

‘Padre, any idea what he wants?’ Gates asked.

‘I believe he wishes us to remove our hats,’ Yin replied.

Gates pointed at his helmet, then motioned as if he was to lift it off. The captain nodded. He scowled at Han, Tao, and Yin when he saw their faces, but seemed genuinely surprised after Gates doffed his helmet.

‘English?’ the captain asked in a tone as much London as Punjab.

‘American, actually,’ Gates replied. ‘Same with two of my associates. The third’s situation is a bit more complicated.’

‘That’s a relief. Dressed as you are, we thought you might be scouts for the Chinese army.’

‘You haven’t seen another American dressed like this?’

‘No, ought I have?’

‘We kinda thought he’d be here by now.’

‘Sorry, no sign of him here. Papers?’

‘We have none,’ Gates admitted. ‘We sort of left the People’s Republic in a bit of a hurry. You’re welcome to search us and our boat — we’re not carrying any contraband. In fact, we’re carrying only what we have on. I’m sure a few phone calls will clear this whole thing up.’

Just then a young enlisted man rushed down from the outpost. He ran up to the captain and snapped to attention with a crisp textbook salute.

‘At ease,’ the captain said as he returned the salute.

‘Communiqué from Delhi, sir.’

The captain held out his hand, and the young soldier placed in it a folded slip of paper. The captain pursed his lips as he read the page, then he handed it back and dismissed the man.

‘It seems we may be able to clear this matter up even sooner,’ the captain said.

With his hands clasped behind his back and standing ramrod straight, the captain strode over to Yin Daoming.

‘Sir, what is your name?’

‘I am Yin Daoming.’

‘Are you the Roman Catholic Bishop of Shanghai?’

‘I am.’

‘Then on behalf of my government, and with the warmest personal greetings from your friend Cardinal Velu of Bombay, I welcome you to the Republic of India.’

‘Thank you. I have been looking forward to a visit with my old friend for many years.’

‘Then, sir, I will notify Delhi of your arrival and arrange for your transport to Leh. I believe Cardinal Velu’s representative is waiting for you there.’

Less than an hour later, a Sikorsky S-92 civilian transport touched down at the helipad at Spangmik. The clean white craft bore a single emblem, a coat of arms consisting of a papal tiara above the crossed keys of Saint Peter. A small detachment of plainclothes Swiss Guards arrived and took formal custody of Yin and the others. As they prepared to leave, Yin approached the captain.

‘Captain, I wish to thank you for your hospitality during our brief stay.’

‘Your Excellency, your arrival broke the normal tedium of our posting here and provided a story that will be passed on by soldiers here for years to come.’

‘If I may ask a favor, please keep an eye out for our missing comrade.’

‘We will do what we can for him,’ the captain promised.