The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3) (28 page)

Cobb rolled his eyes. ‘Ladies, if you don’t mind …’

‘Jealous?’ Sarah teased.

Cobb started walking. ‘Behind schedule.’

As they mounted the steps and began the long climb toward the main entrance, Cobb admired the lower white walls of the fortress. The top five stories made up the actual palace while the lower eight stories were built with defense in mind. The walls themselves were little more than stacked stones, but they were sixteen feet thick in some places. The bottom was wider and thicker than the top, so it could support the weight of the smaller red palace.

Despite the altitude, Cobb and Maggie had no problems scaling the gentle staircases. Meanwhile Sarah, who was in far better shape than anyone else on the team, was breathing heavily before they made it halfway up the incline.

‘Altitude affects everyone differently,’ Maggie said.

‘Maybe so, but this is depressing,’ Sarah croaked.

Cobb glanced back at her. ‘Wheezing isn’t sexy.’

‘Yeah, well, neither is … shit! I can’t think of anything.’

Cobb and Maggie both laughed; but not for long.

The second half of the journey wiped them out, too.

When they finally reached the main doorway, they could see that it was covered by a beautiful tapestry embroidered with symbols of good fortune and luck. A lone monk swept the threshold with a broom. His complexion was naturally darker than Maggie’s, and it possessed a quality that Cobb and Sarah had rarely seen before. Having worked outdoors in high altitudes for nearly his entire life, his skin looked like the brown leather of a WWII bomber jacket: thick and rough, with plenty of creases.

His face erupted into a smile when he saw the
khata
draped over their necks.

Before the man had a chance to address them, Maggie raised her hands and pressed them together, as if in prayer. Though she didn’t speak much Tibetan, she knew the traditional greeting that loosely translated to ‘blessings and good luck’.

‘
Tashi delek
,’ she offered.

Cobb and Sarah quickly followed her lead.

The monk’s smile widened. He returned the greeting before speaking to them in English. ‘You have come early to see the palace.’

‘The palace is stunning,’ Maggie said. ‘But we did not come to see it.’

The monk examined them again. His smile stayed in place, but the wattage dimmed slightly. ‘Then why have you come?’

His English was excellent, with hardly a hint of an accent. Cobb suspected that the monk had been tasked with meeting the tourists who wandered up the mountain without a tour group. Cobb realized that the sweeping might have been just an act; the three of them surely would have been spotted and heard long before they got this far.

‘We have come to give you these
khata
,’ Maggie said with a bow. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘And to talk of times long past.’

Cobb smiled at the precision of her answer.

He knew it was a calculated response.

Maggie had explained that most Tibetans would gladly speak to foreigners about the old days as long as there were no Chinese soldiers around to listen. He also knew that there were informers on both sides of the turmoil: Chinese in league with the Tibetans and discontented monks who simply wanted the struggle to end so that they might find peace.

The monk paused, considering her request.

Then he turned quietly and opened the door. ‘Come in, please.’

The monk introduced himself as Thubten before leading them through a series of winding, twisting rooms and passageways, deep into the palace’s interior. Most of the rooms were decorated with multi-colored carpets, white and gold tapestries with blue and red accents, and furniture made from dark wood. In most of the small chambers through which they passed, the scent of incense hung thick in the air, the smell deep and rich.

Eventually Thubten brought them to a small, sparse room. There were only four chairs and a wobbly tea table between them.

‘Please wait here,’ he said before scurrying behind the lone tapestry.

A hidden doorway
, Cobb realized. He immediately closed his eyes and tried to remember how many tapestries he had passed along the way. There had been dozens of them. If only a quarter of them concealed doors, there was no telling how many people had seen them on their way to this room. For a man like Cobb, the thought was very unsettling.

‘Well, things are going well so far,’ Maggie whispered, partly as commentary for Cobb and Sarah, and partly to inform Garcia and the others who were undoubtedly listening in.

‘As long as he doesn’t come back with armed soldiers,’ Cobb replied.

Sarah glanced at Maggie. ‘Do you think he will?’

‘No.’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Cobb said.

A few minutes later, a small fat monk in a red robe came into the room with a tray. On it was an antique tea set and an electric kettle. He set the tray down on the table and exited the room immediately.

Sarah looked to Maggie for guidance. ‘Do you think we should have some or are we supposed to wait? I get the feeling that this is a test.’

‘It probably is,’ Maggie said. ‘Truth be told, I didn’t have tea at all the last time I was here, but we can assume it would be bad form to begin without our host.’

A minute later they heard Garcia’s voice in their ears. ‘I can’t find anything specific on Tibetan tea etiquette, but I found a Buddhist proverb. It says—’

Maggie cut him off. ‘We will wait.’

‘Okay, okay.’

Several minutes later, a new monk entered the room. He moved in slow motion, as if his leg troubled him. He was visibly older than Thubten, with far more creases on his face.

‘
Tashi delek
,’ he said in greeting. ‘My name is Kunchen.’ As he studied the visitors, his face suddenly lit up in recognition. ‘Miss Liu!’

Maggie stood. ‘
Tashi delek
, Kunchen. It has been a very long time.’

Kunchen turned to the others. ‘Miss Liu has been here before, with guests who were very compassionate and understanding.’

Maggie smiled and nodded at the praise.

Cobb extended the traditional greeting before introducing himself and Sarah, using their first names only. Kunchen smiled and bowed.

‘Are you the – I’m not sure of the correct word – the abbot of Potala?’ Sarah asked.

Kunchen chuckled. ‘No. I am merely a scholar and a historian. The highest ranking lamas in Lhasa are all lackeys to the Chinese government. I suspect you might already know some of this if Miss Liu is your guide.’

The monk showed none of Thubten’s unease at discussing things in the open. Either the room was fantastically secure, or Kunchen just didn’t care about possible reprisals.

‘We know some,’ Cobb said. ‘Thank you for seeing us today.’ He removed one of the white silk
khata
from his neck and held it out horizontally to Kunchen. ‘Please accept this with good wishes and our thanks.’

The twinkle in Kunchen’s eyes revealed his true happiness. He accepted the scarf that Cobb had offered and then the one Sarah held out in the same fashion, nodding his deep brown forehead at each of them in turn. Maggie presented hers last.

‘They are lovely,’ he gushed. ‘Thank you. Shall we have some tea?’

‘That would be great,’ Cobb said. Normally he was in a hurry to get things done when he was in the field, but not today. As counterintuitive as it might seem, he sensed the quickest way to accomplish their goal at the palace was with patience.

Kunchen placed teabags in their cups and poured hot water on them.

‘Is it green tea?’ Sarah asked.

‘Black, actually. From Assam, in India. I hope that is all right?’ Kunchen looked worried, as if he might have offended his guests.

‘It sounds delicious,’ Sarah assured him, setting his mind at ease. ‘It must be difficult for you to get. Thank you for sharing it with us.’

The monk’s broad smile returned. ‘It
is
quite difficult to get, as a matter of fact. But I have had a fondness for it since I was a child, which is when I first came to Lhasa.’

‘When was that?’ Cobb wondered.

‘Let’s just say that the Chinese were not yet here, and Tibet was a very different place.’

He handed them each a cup of tea, then stood slowly. The others did as well.

‘Toasting is a Western custom, but I have always liked it since I first saw it in a motion picture. I think we should toast old friends, new ones, and lost times.’

Cobb grinned. ‘Very appropriate.’

They sat and drank tea for a few moments. The monk continued smiling at them. Just as Cobb was about to break the silence, Maggie gently tapped him on his leg. He interpreted that to mean that it would be impolite to bring up business while sipping tea.

Sarah shifted in her seat, and Cobb could feel her impatience with the need for ceremony. She started looking around the room at the décor, and Cobb watched the monk watch her do it. Then, before her eyes were done scanning the small space, the monk’s eyes met Cobb’s again. The corner of the man’s mouth twitched as if he was holding back a broader smile.

‘You have a great stillness in you, Jack, like Miss Liu,’ he said at last. ‘But perhaps we should discuss the matter that brought you here today. I suspect you did not come solely to admire the architecture.’

Cobb nodded. ‘I am afraid not. Nor did we come to discuss the tragic days of your youth when the Chinese came and Tenzin Gyatso fled.’

Cobb used the Fourteenth Dalai Lama’s name as Maggie had told him to do. She knew it would elicit sympathy while also showing that he had taken the time to learn something of the plight of Tibet and the religious leader who had been living in exile since 1959.

‘Instead,’ Cobb continued, ‘we came to speak with you about a much older time.’

The monk was intrigued. He clapped his hands and sat forward, like a giddy school boy. ‘I have not spoken with a Westerner who was interested in more than a cursory glance at Tibet in many long years. In what era are you interested?’

Maggie answered for him ‘We would be honored and privileged to have the opportunity to examine any books the Potala might have dating from the thirteenth century.’

‘Do you have a specific book in mind? We have many different libraries in this building, with hundreds of thousands of works. Many date from even earlier than the thirteenth century.’

‘Do we trust this guy?’ Garcia asked in Cobb’s ear.

Cobb answered Garcia’s question by providing the monk with additional information. ‘We are interested in a story of a Westerner and a Chinese girl named Yangchen.’

Maggie picked up from there. ‘We are particularly interested in any books you might possess that were stored here on the Red Hill, prior to the construction of the Potala Palace. Naturally, we only want to examine these documents and, with your kind permission, take some photos of them as well.’

Kunchen nodded his approval. ‘You are correct: I could not allow you to take any books from the palace, but I can certainly arrange for you to see them.’

‘Is this a common request?’ Sarah wondered.

Kunchen laughed. ‘Goodness, no. I’ve never heard of a Westerner coming here and asking to see any of our old books, as you have done. But you each have good hearts, and I believe you when you say you wish only to look. Plus, it has been many years since I have had this much fun practicing my English. Normally Americans want a photo and nothing more.’

He stood and walked toward the door, but before they had a chance to follow he stopped and turned back. ‘Please understand our need for secrecy.’

Cobb nodded sharply. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Also, you should know that we have thousands of volumes from the era that you wish to study. It might take a long time to find what you seek.’

Chen Jie pulled his jacket closer to his chest, performing the twin tasks of cutting out the chill of the wind and further hiding his Chinese Type 95 rifle.

He had a team of five men with him, and each man wore a similarly long coat to hide the compact weapons. They were strange rifles to his eyes. He’d seen them before, but he personally had never used one. With its curved magazine set behind the pistol grip and trigger guard, the ‘bullpup’ style rifle looked to him like an American M-16 that had been squashed and put together with all its pieces in the wrong places. But when it came to taking lives, he had been assured the weapons would do the trick just fine.

Chen and his men ignored each other while they blended in with the tourists, who were checking out the lower reaches of the Potala’s property. Knowing that the main part of the palace wasn’t open yet, a few intrepid souls would always wander its lower slopes in the mornings, admiring the architecture and the view over the city. The monks were used to these early-morning visitors, and mostly ignored them until opening time. On occasion they allowed a few people in before the start of the day – as they had just done with the two Americans and the Chinese woman.

Chen reviewed his mental files on the intruders. Jackson Cobb was ex-military, and the biggest threat of the three. Maggie Liu was a tour guide for the rich and famous. She had cut her hair, but Chen still recognized her at once. The third woman, a dark-haired beauty, was clearly the blonde who had been spotted with the others in Hong Kong.

Another disguise, but a minimal attempt at concealment.

One of Chen’s men had been in place to get a photograph of her in the market before the intruders had begun their ascent of the tiered stairs in front of the palace. Chen had sent the photo to Hong Kong for further research. It was the best picture they had taken of the woman so far, but he didn’t expect to receive any information on her today.

These things took time.

In the meantime, his orders were odd. He was to shadow the intruders and see where their day led them. If at any point the Americans started to dig in Chinese soil, he was to kill them immediately and prevent anyone else – including the military or the police – from examining the site. On the other hand, if they merely moved about the city he was to simply record their behavior in hopes that their movements might hint at where they were headed next.