The Paladin Prophecy

by Mark Frost

  “Come in quickly,” said Ajay.

  Ajay closed and locked the door behind them, noting the cautious way Will carried in his tablet.

  “I take it your doppelgänger has finally arrived,” said Ajay.

  “This thing’s freaking me out.”

  “Perfectly natural reaction. I couldn’t even stay in the same room with mine at first. Set it on the desk next to mine. We’ll need it.”

  Gauzy sheer panels of material hung down from the ceiling of Ajay’s room. Big soft throw pillows covered the floor. An animated wall poster of the periodic table adorned one wall, molecules lazily circling around each other. Ajay’s desk stood under a suspended muslin pyramid covered with bright red satin. A printed banner spanned the bookshelf above the desk:

  GOD DOES NOT PLAY DICE WITH THE UNIVERSE.

  —EINSTEIN

  Will set his tablet next to Ajay’s. Ajay’s double sat on-screen in a precise reproduction of Ajay’s room, working at his desk.

  “Power on,” said Will to his tablet.

  His screen lit up. Will’s double reappeared, now in the same virtual version of Ajay’s room. “Ajay” greeted him with pleased surprise, hurried toward him—moving from his screen to Will’s!—and shook “Will’s” hand.

  “Weird,” said Will. “They just met each other.”

  “Yes. They’ll be friends, just as we are.” Ajay spoke to the screens. “Go big screen.” The image on their small screens now also appeared on the large screen on Ajay’s wall, replacing the animated periodic table.

  “This thing you gave me is a flash drive,” said Ajay, holding up the mysterious metal strip Will had given him earlier. He held it to the side of his tablet; a port opened and he plugged it in.

  A large square steel box materialized on Ajay’s big screen, resting on the floor of his virtual room. DO NOT OPEN was printed on its top and sides. “Ajay” and “Will” walked over to take a look.

  “Open it,” said Ajay.

  Ajay and Will opened the top; it hinged back like a real box. Ajay reached inside and lifted out a smaller box—another solid graphic object, with FILE stamped on the side—and placed it on the desk.

  “Open file,” said Ajay to his double.

  Ajay’s syn-app opened the smaller box, revealing a small photograph. “It’s a JPEG,” said Ajay. “Expand to full screen, please.”

  The photo grew until it filled the big screen with a landscape unlike any Will had ever seen. Craggy snowcapped mountains were threaded with waterfalls that dropped hundreds of feet into a network of geothermal pools in a lush green valley. Weird rock formations rose abruptly, angular pinnacles shrouded in mists that drifted up from the pools. It was as majestic and ghostly as an alien world.

  “Ajay” and “Will” looked up at it from the small screens on the desk, which still showed the simulation of Ajay’s room. Will heard them make faint “oohs” and “aahs,” equally captivated.

  “Where is this?” asked Will.

  “I have no idea,” said Ajay. “It’s the only item on the drive.”

  “No captions or information, no other clues?”

  “Correct, but I found something strange. A digital image like this shouldn’t occupy more than thirty megs. This file is over nine gigabytes.”

  “How is that possible?” asked Will, looking closer.

  “Additional layers of data embedded in the image would be the only way to account for it. I started to poke around and was able to extract a bit more.” Ajay said to his double on his tablet, “Show MPEG.”

  The image on the big screen sprang to life. The water ran in the streams and rippled in the pools. The ghostly fog swirled around the rocks, and clouds drifted overhead. They could hear birds, the crash of the waterfalls, and wind rustling tall stands of bamboo.

  “So it’s a video file, not a photo?” asked Will.

  “It’s both,” said Ajay. “Which still doesn’t come close to accounting for its size. Now that it’s in motion, does it look any more familiar to you?”

  “No,” said Will. “I’ve never seen this place before. I’m sure of it.”

  “Nor have I. I’ll keep trying to hack it, but I need more info. When are you going to tell me where you found this?”

  Before Will could answer, someone knocked on the door in a rhythmic pattern.

  “That’s Nick,” said Ajay.

  Ajay opened the door. Nick strolled in carrying boxes of Chinese takeout, paper plates, bottles of water, and a stack of fortune cookies balanced on his nose.

  “For God’s sake, don’t make a mess,” said Ajay.

  “Lighten up, broheim. When have I ever made a mess?”

  Nick juggled everything he carried into the air—Ajay nearly had a coronary—before setting it deftly down beside their tablets. Nick dished them each a plateful: kung pao shrimp, chicken pot stickers, red pepper beef, and Singapore rice threaded with chunks of barbeque pork and raw scallion.

  “I see Ajay’s getting his geek on. Will, check it out—is that your little dude? Sa-weet sassy molassey!” Then he noticed the video on the big screen. “And what the hay is this?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Will.

  “It’s a bit of a mystery,” said Ajay.

  “No mystery, dude,” said Nick, stabbing a pot sticker. “That’s only the most awesome shot of Shangri-la ever.”

  Shangri-la. Something clicked for Will. First Nando mentioned it, now this … Rule #26: ONCE IS AN ANOMALY. TWICE IS A COINCIDENCE. THREE TIMES IS A PATTERN. AND AS WE KNOW …

  “What do you mean, Shangri-la?” asked Will.

  “You know,” said Nick, chomping on a shrimp. “That Asian joint on top of the Hima-hoo-zee-whatzees.”

  “The Himalayas,” said Ajay.

  “Right. Totally famous place, where the heavyweight spiritual dudes hold conventions. Like Comic-Con for mystics. An awesome green valley way up in the mountains, like this—” Nick jabbed his chopsticks at the image. “Where monks and llamas go to do what mystical dudes do when they’re … you know … doing it.”

  “Monks and llamas,” said Ajay.

  “Hello? How do you think the monks get around up there? Riding llamas.”

  Ajay shook his lower jaw like an annoyed cartoon character. “While they’re doing what, for instance? What do they do at these ‘conventions’?”

  Will ignored them, leaning in to study the video, trying to remember: I came across a third reference to Shangri-la recently … what was it?

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?” asked Nick. “They mind-meld. They play catch without a ball. They talk to the cosmos and … get … cosmic answers.”

  “Shangri-la is not a real place, you ninny,” said Ajay. “It’s a myth. Utter bilgewater. A silly Western legend that sprang up about the ‘mystical Orient’ from the wishful thinking of some harebrained early-twentieth-century travel writers. A dozen expeditions went looking for it and never found so much as a teakettle.”

  “Says you,” said Nick, gnawing on a dumpling.

  “And you know why they didn’t find it? Because it doesn’t exist!” said Ajay, too agitated to eat. “Even the name Shangri-la is wrong. A pop culture bastardization of what these morons called it in the first place. The accurate name for such a make-believe place is Shambhala, if you must know, not Shangri-la.”

  “Step back,” said Nick. “Like that old tune ‘How does your light shine in the halls of Shambhala?’ ”

  “Three Dog Night,” said Will, still staring intently at the video.

  “I don’t know how many dogs they have, but that is the place!” said Nick.

  “Yes, that’s the place,” said Ajay. “And it’s a big wad of New Age hooey. You will not find ‘heavyweight spiritual dudes’ juggling cigar boxes with their brain waves, and certainly not in an ‘awesome green valley’ that couldn’t possibly exist at an altitude of fourteen thousand feet. Because Shangri-La is no more real than Bigfoot or the abominable snowman—”

/>   “Oh, really? Well, it so happens that Bigfoot is a yeti, and yetis are abominable snowmen, and abominable snowmen are like the watchdogs at Shangri-la.”

  “Good God, where do you absorb this drivel? More importantly, why are you repeating it?”

  “ ’Cause you can’t figure this out with just your brain,” said Nick, pointing to the banner above Ajay’s desk. “Like it says, right there, in the immortal words of Norman Einstein: God does not play dice with the universe.”

  “I desperately need an aspirin,” said Ajay, putting his head in his hands.

  “Where’s your yearbook, Ajay?” asked Will, finally remembering. “I need to show you something.”

  Ajay pulled his copy from a shelf by his desk. Will flipped through to the page with Ronnie Murso’s freshman photo and read the text below the photo:

  “ ‘Embrace paradox. Look for patterns. Beethoven holds the key but doesn’t know it yet. Hiding inside your Shangri-la you might find the Gates of Hell.’ ”

  “Dude,” said Nick triumphantly. “Tol’ja.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t see the connection—” said Ajay.

  “Ronnie Murso left that flash drive behind,” said Will. “Stashed in a hiding place he built under the floor of his room. In the hope, I think it’s safe to say, that the next occupant would come across it. Like I did this morning.”

  “Say what?!” said Nick, his mouth full of food.

  “Ronnie wrote that message in the yearbook and put this image on the drive,” said Will, folding his arms. “Draw your own conclusions.”

  Ajay studied the image on-screen: “I agree that if Ronnie embedded something in this image, it would also be in character for him to leave clues about how to unlock it.”

  “In his yearbook,” said Nick, between bites. “Staring at us the whole time. Like one of his games. Way Ronnie-esque.”

  “Or something much more serious,” said Will.

  “I have an idea how we can crack this,” said Ajay, energized. To the syn-apps on the tablets he said, “Integrate into image.”

  Their syn-apps disappeared from their tablet screens, and a moment later appeared in the image on the big screen, standing at the base of the mountain.

  “What did you just do?” asked Will.

  “Exactly what I think Ronnie wanted us to do,” said Ajay. “I hacked us into the file’s code to get to the bottom of it. Or rather, the top.”

  Will noticed the syn-apps were now carrying backpacks. He watched, astonished, as they took out an assortment of mountain-climbing gear.

  “But that’s the computers doing all this, right?” asked Will. “Our syn-apps entering the image is just a visual version of what you’re telling the software to do?”

  “If it makes you feel more comfortable to think of it that way,” said Ajay with a sly smile, “be my guest.”

  “Little dudes doing work,” said Nick, sucking in a last noodle. “Getting ’er done.”

  Will glanced at a clock on Ajay’s desk: six. “Are you ready to make that phone call to California, Ajay?”

  “Let’s do it,” said Ajay, rising from his desk. “This will take a while anyway.”

  Will held out his phone to him.

  “I won’t need anything but the number,” said Ajay. “I’ve rigged an alternate device. Come with me.”

  Ajay led them toward the door to his closet. Will glanced back. On the big screen, Will and Ajay began climbing the mountains of Shangri-la, using ropes and spikes to scale the sheer rock wall beside the tallest waterfall.

  THE HOOKUP

  Ajay opened the door to his closet. A light winked on, revealing an ordinary space filled with clothes and a wall of shelves. They stepped inside. Ajay closed the door, flipped a switch on the wall twice, then activated a small remote he took from his pocket. The shelves rotated ninety degrees, revealing a cramped space with a saddle chair and a tiny workbench, packed with tools, electronic components, and stacked rows of Altoids tins, labeled and sorted by color.

  “Please don’t touch anything,” said Ajay.

  On one shelf sat six handmade electronic gadgets plugged into chargers. Will recognized four as walkie-talkies but the other two were unidentifiable: two curved and lethal-looking blue metallic loops.

  “What are those?” asked Will, pointing to the loops.

  “A pair of electrified brass knuckles,” said Ajay. “I came across something similar on the Net and thought I could improve on the design. I haven’t had occasion to use them yet.”

  “Dude,” said Nick eagerly, “I am so going to field-test those for you.”

  Ajay pointed to something bulky on the bench, covered by an orange scarf. “This is it. Cobbled together from cannibalized parts but it should work.” Ajay yanked away the scarf, revealing a curved oval green screen connected to a hodgepodge of wires, plugs, circuit boards, and a rotary dialer from an ancient telephone.

  “Awesome,” said Nick. “What is it, like a death ray?”

  “It used to be an old TV,” said Ajay. “Now it’s a video phone.”

  “No way,” said Nick.

  “Now I see why you have so many locks,” said Will.

  “And why, needless to say, preventing Lyle from searching our rooms when you did saved my bacon,” said Ajay.

  “So this is completely against the rules,” said Will admiringly.

  “Guilty as charged, sir,” said Ajay with a grin.

  “Did you know about all this?” Will asked Nick.

  Nick put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, I helped build the room.”

  “What’s your friend’s number, Will?” asked Ajay.

  Will read it to him. Ajay dialed it on the ancient rotary device. A moment later they heard ringing on a speaker, and then Nando answered: “This is Nando.”

  “Nando, how’s it going? Where are you?” asked Will.

  “Parked behind your garage, compadre.”

  “Any Black Caps in the area?” asked Will.

  “Negativo, all clear. Where you at, bro?”

  “With my friends the tech experts,” said Will. “They’ve set it up so we can receive video from your end.”

  “Cool,” said Nando. “I’m on a four-G smartphone with hi-def and the signal’s flying five bars. You ready to stream?”

  Ajay gave Will a thumbs-up.

  “Switching now,” said Will.

  Ajay flicked on a power switch and a green dot appeared in the middle of the tube. The dot exploded into waves of ghostly interference, and then an image materialized from a cloudburst of static: a shaky handheld shot of Will’s garage in Ojai in living color.

  “How’s it lookin’?” asked Nando. “You getting this?”

  “Coming in clear,” said Will.

  Nando turned the phone around and held it at arm’s length so they could see his face. He wore glasses and a hipster’s Heisenberg hat. Wires trailed from the phone to buds in his ears. “Buenos tardes, my friend,” said Nando, tipping his hat.

  “Good to see you, Nando,” said Will. “You can’t see us but say hi to Nick and Ajay.”

  “Hola, friends of Will.”

  “Good evening, sir,” said Ajay.

  “What’s cracking, Nando?” said Nick.

  “It’s all good. I improvised a rig for the phone, holmes,” said Nando, holding up a red elastic loop. “My wife got the idea from watching some reality show. Looks goofy, but it’ll let you see what I’m seeing.”

  “Go for it,” said Will, then to Nick and Ajay: “We’re looking for some medical records my dad left in the house.”

  “How’d you meet this guy?” asked Ajay.

  “He helped me escape the Caps,” said Will. “Totally solid guy.”

  The picture jostled around as Nando attached the phone to the strap and fastened it to the front of his hat. Fragments of images whooshed around—the garage, the backyard, Nando’s taxi, late afternoon sky—until the camera stabilized on the back of Will’s house.

  “How’s that looki
n’, guys?” asked Nando off camera.

  “Perfecto,” said Will.

  “Now tell me where to find that key.”

  “In a magnetic key box,” said Will. “Attached to the window by the back door.”

  “Copy that,” said Nando.

  On the tube they watched as Nando approached the house. They heard his feet crunch on gravel and the sound of his breathing. He pulled on a pair of thin black gloves.

  “So it’s sixty-five degrees, a lovely autumn evening here in Southern California,” said Nando, doing a TV weatherman impression. “How is it up there in San—”

  “Cold,” said Will, remembering how much he hadn’t yet told either Nando or his roommates. “Colder than that. Much colder.”

  “You find anything out about that rented jet?” asked Nando.

  “Nothing so far. Still checking.”

  “Jet?” said Nick. “What jet?”

  Will held a finger to his lips at Nick and mouthed, “I’ll explain later.”

  “Not like they walked out of Costco with a toaster under their arm. That’s a multimillion-dollar takedown, homie. Surprised I ain’t seen nothin’ on the news. Say, how’s your dad doing?”

  “He’s feeling better. Thanks for asking.”

  Ajay looked askance at Will; Will held up a hand, gesturing for patience.

  Nando reached the back door. His hands came into view and searched around the window.

  “Hey, my cousin Freddie tracked down a website for that National Scholastic Whatever Agency,” said Nando. “I emailed you the link. You get that yet?”

  “I’ll check when we’re done,” said Will.

  “Got something here.” Nando lifted a small metal box into view, slid open the lid, and pulled out a house key.

  “That’s it,” said Will.

  Nando moved to the door and inserted the key. The door swung open. “Going in,” he said. Nando stepped inside and closed the door. The floorboards creaked.

  Seeing the inside of his old house sent queasy waves of unreality through Will. Sweat dripped under his arms.