Coattail Karma

by Verlin Darrow

  “I am not a technically oriented person,” Bhante said. “But people in my organization have been working on this since shortly after World War II. In fact, some of the early pioneers were German scientists who’d become persona non grata.”

  “What is your organization?” I asked. “What’s its name?” It was time to get some practical answers.

  He looked down, and his face reddened. “It’s a secret,” he said. “I can’t tell you.”

  “That sounds like some kid’s TV show,” I said. “Are you the head of it?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Who is?”

  “I can’t tell you.” This time Bhante held his head up and looked me in the eyes. Apparently, he felt embarrassed about keeping the name a secret, but hiding who was the leader didn’t bother him.

  I looked at Sam. “I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I did.” She looked away, the first time I’d seen her space out.

  “Hold on,” I said. “I need to slow down.” I was enjoying my grandiose fantasies of leading the world into the Light with my saintliness, but this was also patently ridiculous. I lived in Santa Cruz, a hotbed of New Age and Eastern practices, but I was no saint. Most of my spiritual seeking had led to dates with nutty women instead of bliss or enlightenment.

  “So Sam,” I said, “if you didn’t know I was a clone, what led you—or Paul, rather—to my door? Do you have some other criteria besides Bhante’s prophecy that helps you find people? What do your texts say about all this?”

  “RGP is an organization that formed shortly after Buddha left his body,” Sam began, sounding like a teacher now herself. She’d ceased transmitting energy, but I still felt it in my chest as a warmth—no, a glow. “That was twenty-five hundred years ago,” Sam continued. “We’ve preserved teachings no one else knows. Even Bhante here would be surprised to learn much of it. But it wouldn’t be helpful to make any of it public—not yet. So revealing the reason we sought you out in particular would cause more harm than good.”

  “In other words, it’s all a big secret, and neither of you are going to tell me shit,” I said, glaring at both of them in turn. Bhante flinched at my profanity. Sam smiled. “So where do we go from here, Bhante? Do I get to pick which group to join? Because I like the one that doesn’t kidnap people better. For that matter, the hell with both of you. Send me home. I’ve got to think all this over.”

  Just then, an alarm bell went off, echoing loudly against the limestone walls.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked.

  “We’re under attack,” Bhante said.

  Chapter Five

  Bhante sprang to his feet and led us to one of the imposing bookcases to our right. He seemed quite calm. And very spry for an old man.

  “We’re prepared for this,” he said. “Just keep following me, no matter what happens.”

  Reaching up to the corner of a shelf, he swung the bookcase open, revealing a dimly lit passageway cut into stone. Jason waited there.

  “We need to hurry,” he said. “They’re armed, and they’ve got helicopters. It’s probably Jackson’s people. Someone’s betrayed us, and my bet’s on Frank.”

  Fear raced up my gut and tightened my chest. It was hard to breathe again. More guns? Helicopters? Who is Jackson?

  Bhante swung the hidden doorway closed, and we ran down the passageway. Jason led the way but soon outdistanced us. That guy could really move. Even in the dim light—low wattage bulbs lined the side wall—it was beautiful to watch.

  At the end of a long straightaway, we rounded a curve and found ourselves facing yet another flight of stairs. These were cut more roughly on a steeper upward angle than the others. Bhante led the way; Jason was no longer in sight.

  The older man shoved open the spring-loaded door at the top and slithered through. I took a deep breath and followed. We entered the back of a low-ceilinged, shallow cave with bright daylight in sight ahead of us. I traced my fingers over a series of cave paintings unlike any I’d ever seen in books. Various flightless birds in faded greens and blues stood in a meadow, their wings spread. Another mural depicted a rocky beach in the foreground with a limestone cliff behind it.

  “Bhante,” Sam said, peering at the birds. “Those are prehistoric, aren’t they?”

  “Not quite,” he answered.

  Our guide urged us forward. In a few moments, I found myself back in the world, standing on a wide rock ledge several hundred yards above an expansive turquoise bay. It was my first sight of New Zealand in daylight, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the glare, a scattering of small, very green islands came into focus, and a flatter, larger one sat a few miles beyond them. The scene stretched even farther than that, and a white lighthouse gleamed at the neck of the irregularly shaped bay where it met the sea. What sea, I had no idea. Steeply sloped limestone bluffs like the one in the cave painting surrounded most of the bay. To complete the panorama, a few sailboats zipped along the glimmering surface of the water, propelled by a strong, chilly wind.

  Gunshots sounded back in the cavern complex, and someone screamed—a male voice. Is it one of my clone brothers? Oh my God. Things are getting worse and worse.

  Bhante locked eyes with me. “Yes, these people are ruthless. Make no mistake about it.”

  Sam moved closer to me and took my hand again. This time it felt softer. When I glanced at her, she winked, which seemed out of character, or at least the character I’d projected onto her. The wink served as a good distraction, though, which was perhaps what she’d intended.

  “We’re probably safe here,” Bhante said. “This side of the property isn’t accessible to intruders, and soon we’ll be hidden from the view of any helicopters.”

  As if on cue, we heard a helicopter approaching. All three of us ducked back into the cave. I found my hand was still entwined with Sam’s as we stood three abreast and peered at the slice of sky ahead of us.

  Bhante continued. “The danger now is the perilous climb down. There will be a path for part of the way, but there is a considerable amount of climbing.”

  The sound of the helicopter receded. As we waited a bit more to let it get out of visual range, my agitation built, and I spoke up. “Who’s attacking us? What’s going on?” I shouted this without meaning to, and the older Sri Lankan held a finger to his lips.

  “We can’t waste time talking,” he whispered. “We need to begin our descent. Jason will be waiting at the bottom with a boat. But he’ll be vulnerable there.”

  Bhante strode back onto the ledge, and we followed. He then sidled to its left edge, where there was a gap in the adjoining cliff side.

  “The very first part of our short journey is a bit intimidating,” he said as he grabbed a handful of rock and levered himself down and out of sight.

  He’d definitely understated things, but Sam and I managed to follow him. After a quarter mile or so, Bhante leading the way and Sam bringing up the rear, the older man stopped short, and I almost ran into him.

  “This is the tricky bit,” Bhante said, his Sri Lankan accent asserting itself. “Oh, my,” he added.

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “It’s much worse than the last time I was here,” he said. “The final section resembled steps before. Now it looks almost smooth.”

  “Can we go back?” I asked. “Maybe all the fuss is over now.” I turned and faced Sam, who stood just behind me, looking grim. Her lips were tight, and a frown turned down the corners of her generous mouth.

  “That’s not an option,” she said. Does she know more about all this than she’s letting on? “Let me through, and I’ll take a look,” she continued. “I’ve done a lot of climbing.”

  I turned sideways on the narrow trail, and she worked her way past me, choosing to face me so her breasts rubbed against my chest. She turned the other way to pass Bhante. Sam surveyed the thirty-foot stretch of limestone cliff for longer than I would’ve liked. A simple, safe solution would be easy to notice.

  “It’s doable,�
�� she pronounced. “And Jason’s already been through here, right?”

  “Yes,” Bhante said.

  Just then, we heard a helicopter again. We dropped to the ground and flattened. After a few minutes, the racket subsided.

  “As I was saying,” Sam continued once we resumed our positions, “it’s doable. We’ll need to hand traverse for a short stretch at the end. See the huecos up at eye level? Sorry, the little pockets—holes—in the rock?”

  “Yes,” Bhante said.

  “We should be able to get a few fingers in them and swing across that section without any footholds. It’s going to be more about nerve than finger strength. As your tendons and ligaments overstretch and the pain mounts, you have to stay centered.”

  I turned to Bhante. “Are you sure you can do this? Sam seems to be assuming you’re some sort of expert like her.”

  “To be honest, I have no idea if I can or not. It’ll be interesting to find out,” he answered cheerily.

  “Finding out might entail dying,” I pointed out.

  “That’s fine. Dying is just another thing to find out about,” Bhante said, smiling.

  I was too nervous to think about that. My mind was racing with negative scenarios.

  “Okay,” Sam said. “I’m going to reach out and grab that dark-colored arête—corner—and then I’ll step over to that…let’s call it a triangular thingy, okay?”

  She smoothly stepped off solid ground and gracefully accomplished exactly what she’d described. It looked fairly easy if you forgot about the two-hundred-yard drop underneath her. She proceeded step by step to the hands-only part at the end. It really did look doable so far, as long as I could stay calm.

  Then she stuck her right hand into a small hole up above her and swung out over a whole lot of nothing. Even she couldn’t make that look easy. Her legs dangled as she reached across herself and tucked a few fingers of her other hand into an even higher indentation in the rock. When she let go of her first hold a moment later, all of her weight was on just those fingers as her body swung under her.

  She performed this maneuver three more times, each time feeling for the next indentation—and they were all over the place. But it didn’t take her long to get to a safe patch of trail beyond the pitted rock, where she stood and rubbed her hands together.

  I let out my breath, which I’d been holding for quite some time. Sweat dripped off the tip of my nose, and my hands shook.

  “Sid,” she called. “Don’t think. Your mind isn’t your friend right now. Just reach out and touch the corner of the first rock—the dark one at two o’clock. Can you do that?”

  I nodded and extended my right arm, placing my hand on the rough rock. The texture would make it easier to grip.

  “Okay,” she continued. “When I say ‘go ahead,’ you’re going to hold tight onto that corner and put your right foot on the triangle thingy—remember that? It’s not hard at all, Sid. Once you get going, you’ll be fine. Are you ready?”

  I nodded. She gave me the go-ahead, and I did it without thinking. Step by step, I followed her directions and made my way across the cliff.

  Until I got to the hand-traverse section. My body balked first, and then I began to think about all the reasons why it wasn’t a good idea to proceed any farther. Some of these were rational, but others were ridiculous—I didn’t want to show off, I still owed Chris $850, I’d never been to the NFL Hall of Fame, etc. I didn’t even like football.

  Sam could tell she’d lost me. What happened next froze my mind and pulled me back into the moment.

  “Close your eyes, Bhante,” she said, and then pulled off her top and peeled off her black sports bra.

  Her milky white breasts were medium-sized, well formed, and freckled, her rose-pink nipples erect in the cool breeze. Sam stood still and let me examine her.

  “Now don’t think,” she said after a moment. “Just stretch up with your right hand and put three fingers in that first hole.”

  I did it, tearing my eyes away from her.

  “Now grab with all your strength and let gravity bring you over to the next hole.”

  I did it. And I swung. I held on, the pain almost unbearable. Then I locked my other hand into the next crevice and let go of the first one.

  “Can I open my eyes?” Bhante asked.

  “No,” Sam answered.

  From there, I managed to execute the maneuver several more times. I remained terrified, but it no longer interfered with my ability to do what I needed to do.

  Shortly before Sam fished my leg out of the air and pulled it toward her, Bhante called to her. “I’m peeking.”

  I almost laughed. Perhaps he knew what I shortly found out. My incentive program had become purely conceptual; Sam was fully clothed again.

  “Hey!” I said once I was back on the ground. “You tricked me.”

  She whispered her reply. “They’re still here, Sid. And there’ll be other opportunities to get more acquainted.”

  “I hope so,” I said. Like her wink, this seemed out of character, but I was happy to adjust to a flirtier Sam.

  “Okay!” she called back to Bhante. “Your turn, Mr. Peeker.”

  His robe slapped around his wiry brown legs as he swung like a gibbon. All was well until the last hold. His left hand gave way just shy of his goal, and he began to fall. Instinctively, I leaned forward and grabbed him around his waist. Gravity would’ve pulled us both down, but Sam, in turn, grabbed me from behind, and our combined weight served as sufficient ballast to haul the older man in.

  The rest of the way down to the bottom, while tricky in a few spots, was anticlimactic. I paused to enjoy the view several times, eventually spying Jason standing in a long, sleek speedboat directly below us. I wasn’t sure he was really going to be there.

  A few minutes later, we waded through chilly water and climbed into the boat. The slippery teak deck contrasted with the black fiberglass hull and the high-tech console that Jason stood behind. The boat had no downstairs or upstairs, or whatever the correct nautical terms would’ve been.

  “I was just beginning to worry about you,” Jason called, shoving the dual handles beside the steering wheel. We roared off, and the boat’s long, narrow prow nearly stood up from the hard acceleration. I had no idea where we were going, but this beautiful boat was built for speed, and we were going to get there in a hurry.

  Chapter Six

  White built-in bench seats lined the edges of the rear deck, and Jason’s abrupt maneuver threw me back onto one. Blue cushions kept me from bruising my butt.

  The Maori man’s long hair hung loose, and the wind created a wake of black locks behind his huge head as we tore into the bay. It was exhilarating, or maybe I was just excited to be off the cliff in one piece. Sam and Bhante ended up in seats near each other on the other side of the deck. Sam tried to talk to the older man, but for now the engines and the prow slapping against the water were just too loud.

  If anything, the bay was even prettier from the water. When Jason slowed down, I truly appreciated the scale of the topography. The bluff we’d survived comprised a section of a half-mile-long expanse of towering rock, and the mouth of a river fed the bay beside it. Just beyond that, a marshy estuary wandered along the shore; seabirds dive-bombed its shallows. The bay was ringed by a variety of other water sources, as well—and even a few waterfalls. Clearly, it rained a lot in New Zealand.

  We headed toward a small town almost directly across the water from Bhante’s cave. With that minor mystery solved, I felt free to close my eyes. I needed to think, and the magnificent scenery was just too distracting.

  So I guess I am a clone. That was hard to deny. But the idea that Buddha had been my original blueprint still seemed crazy. Could you really get good DNA from an old bone? I’d read somewhere it didn’t work that way. And who could be sure after all these years that a given relic truly belonged to Buddha?

  My jaw tightened, and now nausea welled up. The emptiness in my chest reminded me of when I
’d heard the news of my parents dying. I guess I was scared to fully feel whatever was lurking back there.

  I was open to the idea of reincarnation. Whether the phenomenon was literally true or not, it was certainly a good metaphor to live by—life as curriculum, replete with consequences for ignoring our customized lessons. That all fit for me. But even if reincarnation and Buddha’s prophecy were real, accepting that Buddha’s next incarnation was in his own clone was another matter entirely. Did souls really have nothing better to do than just hang around for centuries, waiting to go back into particular bodies?

  Regardless of all that, I was profoundly alarmed by what I’d just endured. Who wouldn’t be? As I thought about it, I revved up my outrage. I’d been kidnapped, for God’s sake. And if Frank and Jason were working for Bhante, then he was responsible for what they did. Why hire a creep like Frank or a hothead like Jason unless you wanted dirty work done? He could’ve sent a dutiful monk or even contacted me himself. I couldn’t trust these people—any of them.

  Sam may have been trying to ally with me, but she’d sent Paul, and everything had stemmed from that. Her organization probably wanted to exploit me in some way, too. If any of them had just asked me if I wanted to participate in their deal, it could’ve all been so different.

  My chest tightened again, and I clutched the rail beside me so hard, the pain woke me up to the full magnitude of my anger. None of this was okay with me, to say the least. I fantasized sneaking up behind Jason and punching him in the back of the head. I also had an urge to yell at Bhante and ask Sam who the fuck she really was. With my eyes still closed, it was easy to picture all this, but I knew it would fade away in the light of day. It always did. I was just too reasonable to pursue my rage fantasies in the real world.

  After some deep breathing, I wondered why everyone was in such a big hurry. Sam showed up the morning following Paul’s visit. Then Jason and Frank whisked us away a few minutes later, and we were only in the cave a short while before somebody else named Jackson attacked us. Next, we were hustled down a cliff and out onto the bay. Why? If I was Buddha, then I’d been him my whole life and I’d be him next week too.