Alex pulled out her laptop and journal. “Right. Let’s see what we have thus far, shall we? We know that there was a war over Buddha’s relics. The Buddha died in Kushinagar, India who tried keeping all its relics for themselves. Then all hell broke loose as seven other clans waged war against Kushinagar to claim possession of the relics.”
“So how did it end up in Cambodia?” Sam asked.
“To keep the peace, it was divided across just about every Buddhist-majority country. Then, in 1957, The Golden Urn in question was gifted to the then ruler, king Sihanouk of Cambodia by the French, in commemoration of the 2,500th anniversary of Buddha’s birth. It was enshrined in the mountain shrine here in Phnom Penh. That’s where it had been ever since.”
“Until now that is,” Sam remarked through a mouthful of greasy bacon. “So essentially, any of the countries could have stolen it back. It could be anywhere. Didn’t you say they divided 900, 000 strands of Buddha’s hair?”
“If you can believe that, yes. What we do know for a fact is that, in total, 84,000 shrines each received an urn containing different body parts of Buddha. So, if each of those shrines already have an urn, then my logic tells me they wouldn’t need another, right?”
“I would agree,” Sam said through a mouthful of nosh. “The urns are for religious ceremonial purposes alone. They wouldn’t need to offer their respects to more than one.”
Alex nodded as she took another sip of her coffee and stared pensively out the window.
Sam put another forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth, “So wait. Who verified what was in each urn?” he asked.
“I would imagine the king. Why?” Alex watched as Sam devoured his plate of food much like the bear he ate the night before.
“Well, it’s just a thought, but why did we not see any reports from the Supreme Patriarch of the leading Monastery? Why hasn’t anyone spoken to the monks? From what I understand, they’re the ones driving the Buddhism religion and are behind the people’s protests to get the government off their asses and investigate the theft of The Golden Urn in the first place. So the ritual sacrifices are for their purposes, mainly. They’re also very involved in the politics of the country. Some monasteries even rebel against the government. It wasn't until they had these protests that the government decided to start their manhunt. What if they know something or worse, were somehow involved in the theft?”
Alex smiled with pride behind her coffee cup. The theory had never even entered her mind. It is clear that Sam Quinn has grown in leaps and bounds.
“You raise a valid point there, Mr. Quinn. I’m impressed. Everyone is a suspect until ruled out, right?”
Sam smiled. “Well let’s see if I can impress you even more, Miss Hunt. “The police file made no mention of any interviews with any of the monks at the stupa. We should see if we can get some information from the senior monks as to whether the urn was authentic, firstly, and secondly, find out if it indeed carried Buddha’s remains. I can’t imagine that only the king opened the urn and knew its contents. I think we should head up to the shrine and investigate it ourselves; see if perhaps the police missed anything. There should be a monk or two at the stupa too so we can start our questioning with them.”
“Impressive indeed,” Alex remarked before adding. “It might also be a good idea to trace the origin of the scroll the Commissioner gave us. It led us nowhere thus far so I’m thinking it might be incomplete.”
Alex nodded quietly in response as she ate her last piece of French toast.
“We need to figure out who turned our rooms upside down and what the guy thought he'd find. Any ideas?” Sam added.
Alex stared blankly out the window onto the river view. She was calm, but Sam knew her well enough already to know something was up.
“Ok. Out with it. What’s bugging you?”
She wasn’t surprised at all that he caught on so didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about Ollie.”
“Ollie! Why? You discovered you in fact like the bloke?”
“Don’t be silly! No! What I mean is that I’ve been wondering why he was out in the jungle when the bear cornered us. What was he doing there? Don’t you find it strange that he’d be so far from his house at night?”
Sam thought about it for a second.
“Nope. Not really. Perhaps he was just hunting for dinner and found us caught in the middle. Maybe a stroke of luck for him, I think.”
“See, I don’t agree. Ollie was too far off from his house. I don’t think he was hunting. For one, he wouldn’t have been able to carry any kill that far on his own, and then there was the gun strapped under his table. I don’t think him meeting us there was a coincidence.“
Sam sat back and giggled.
“So you think he broke into our rooms? Alex. Think about it. He’s out there in the middle of the jungle all by himself. Of course, he would need a gun to defend himself. Mr. Yeng-Pho said it himself. There are lots of Guerrillas out there. Any of whom could slit his throat in the middle of the night. And why on earth would he be out there for us? Seriously. Let it go. There’s nothing sinister about the man. He was our Good Samaritan, and we’d probably never see him again.”
“So you keep saying. But you told him what we’re looking for remember? Perhaps he thought we had found it already and wanted a piece of the pie so he ransacked our rooms.”
“Really? How did he do that if we left him at his cabin this morning? Unless the man can fly, I honestly doubt it, Alex. You’re being paranoid.”
“Fine, but I’m going to tell you I told you so when the papaya hits the fan. Mark my words, Sam Quinn.”
An hour later they had moved their belongings to the new upgraded rooms in the hotel and freshened up, rented a bike and was halfway to the mountain shrine in Oudong. The streets were busy. Organized chaos would be an apt way to describe the traffic as dozens of mopeds and motorbikes rambled the narrow streets. Many of these scooters carried entire families. Either on their laps or in the converted side carts resembling something more likened to a large go kart covered by an umbrella.
The sidewalks were crammed with street vendors selling anything from clothing to fresh juice and chicken kebabs. Clusters of thick black power cords hung like Christmas decorations from telephone poles as it lined the streets in an untidy mess. Yet, each cable neatly bundled displaying a number or nametag with its classification.
Through all the chaos the commuters all seemed to drive in perfect harmony to each other. Like a well executed swan dance.
Sam miraculously managed to conform to the locomotion and soon they reached the road out of the city toward the mountain shrine. They had barely approached the outskirts to the city when three motorcyclists gained on them from behind. Unlike the multitude of conventional mopeds they just left behind in the city, these bikers rode on shiny black speed machines that stood out like sore thumbs. The bikers were dressed in black leather from head to toe. Their sleek helmets matched in perfect cohesion; their visors tinted opaque with obvious intent to conceal their identities.
“Sam! These guys aren’t friendlies. Go faster!”
Alex silently thanked Sam for insisting they rent a dirt bike instead of a moped to travel to the shrine. It was by no means as fast as the sport bikes these thugs were on but if they could get to the forest path, they would certainly beat them on off-road mobility.
As if the bikers sensed their plan, two of them flanked their sides and one pulled in front of them, stinting their speed. Alex noticed the one to her right reaching for a gun from the back of his pants. The one to the left followed suit instantly.
Adrenalin pushed through her veins and, much to her surprise, revealed exhilaration instead of fear. She felt if Sam’s gun was still tucked in his waistband. It was. The familiar Alex hated guns but her mind was now seized by someone new whispering ‘it’s kill or be killed right now’. She sensed these troublemakers meant business.
“Keep it steady, Sam. I have a
plan,” she spoke into his left ear while lifting his shirt and gripping the small revolver. Her thumb flicked the safety off and her instincts kicked in. With one smooth motion she kicked the biker’s wheel to her right causing his bike to wobble and crash while she pulled the gun from Sam’s waistband and fired off a bullet into the engine of the biker to the left. Sam pulled out from behind the front biker and sped up next to him. Alex fired off another bullet into the wheel of his bike spinning it out of control as it went crashing off into the side of road.
“Whoohoo! Alex you did it!” Sam exclaimed as he gathered speed to create a safe distance before pulling off to the side of the road.
Once stationary, Alex jumped off the bike and ran for the bushes. Her stomach flipped upside down as she retched on the side of the road. The thought that she might have killed someone made her sick and she threw up until her stomach hurt. As she finally stopped to take a breath, she realized she still had the gun clasped in her shaking hand. She tossed it onto the road behind her. It landed against the motorbike’s wheel with a loud clanking noise. Sam, who had walked a bit down the road to assess if the gang was still after them, flung around as the gun hit the metal and hurried toward her.
“Well there goes your breakfast, little lady. You ok?”
Sam tucked the gun behind his shirt. “That was some serious moves back there, Alex. Bloody amazing!” Sam rejoiced looking back onto the scene in the distance.
Alex wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and walked back to the bike.
“I have no idea who I was back there! I killed three people, Sam. No, I’m not ok.”
“You think you killed them? You shot their bikes, Alex. I assure you they’re just immobilized from a hard fall. At most a couple of broken bones and a concussion, but certainly not dead. Speaking of which, we should really get out of here before they come to.”
Sam walked over to Alex and pulled her shaking body into his arms.
“You kicked ass, Alex. Some real Jason Bourne tactics. I can’t wait to tell your Dad when we get home. He’d be so proud of you.”
Sam was clearly impressed and his calm reassurance managed to bring a smile to Alex’s face.
“I did kick ass, didn’t I?” she smirked in triumph.
“Hell yeah! Hopefully they learnt not to mess with you. Tough as nails you are, Alex Hunt. I say we hurry up and head up to the stupa before these guys send their cronies.”
Chapter Four
Oudong, Cambodia
Tucked between lush trees and bushes, at the end of a long winding path up the side of the mountain, stood the sequence of stupas known as the Oudong Temple. The dirt bike maneuvered the trail with ease where it eventually ran dead at a small clearing in front of the ancient mystical complex.
“It’s spectacular,” Alex remarked as they dismounted under a shady tree. “The architecture is overwhelming.”
“Indeed. I agree it’s fantastic, but all I see are millions of stairs to get to the top.” Sam said with his usual jest.
Alex giggled. “Five Hundred and Nine steps to be exact. And guess what? We have to climb all of them to get to the highest stupa which is where the Golden Urn was stolen from.”
Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the white set of stairs in disbelief.
“See this as your Rocky Balboa moment,” Alex teased.
“Yeah. Rocky Balboa amplified. Those steps in Philadelphia were only seventy-two. These are seven times as many. But, if the reward delivers Stallone’s muscles and hopefully a few clues to finding the Urn, let’s do it!”
The pair set off on the steep climb up the stairs stopping at the three dome-shaped stupas positioned in a row just below the fourth one, which was highest up the mountain. These stupas stood entirely separated from the one at the top making them accessible to tourists and open to the general public. There were groups of French students huddled with their sketchpads in front of the gold and ivory buildings. The fantastic ornate decorations of flowers and elephant heads on each stupa made for fascinating architectural inspiration. Each one was superbly distinguishable from the other and symbolized the three successions of Cambodian kings whose ashes were kept there.
A couple of tourists proudly posed for a photo in front of the enormous Buddha statue while a group of four devotees sat kneeled in prayer in front of a small shrine of burning incense.
“There’s this deep sense of spirituality up here, isn’t it Sam? Regardless of whether you’re a Buddhist or not, you feel such peace and sanctity.” Alex remarked as she took several photos of the shrine and ceremonial relics behind the glass windows.
“To think most of this is the surviving remains of the former royal capital city before it moved to Phnom Penh. The Khmer Rouge attacked and destroyed practically everything when they ruled between 1975 and 1979. It was devastating. Apparently, almost two million Cambodians died of starvation, execution, disease or being overworked. It was one of the biggest genocides in Eastern history. All because of social power.”
“And there she is. Alex Hunt, Historian. How do you even know all this stuff? I’ve never even heard of the Khmer Rouge, ” Sam said in awe of her knowledge.
“School was a very lonely place for me, Sam. I didn’t have any friends. I never really had the time to make any because we were always traveling. So all I did was find a quiet corner and read books. I could escape the rejection and hurt of not fitting in with a book. History has always been my favorite topic. I find it fascinating. Real life events that took place all over the world. Are you kidding me? It’s incredible. Besides, I guess, secretly, I aimed to make sure I always went with my parents on their travels. If I knew more than they did, well then they’d find a reason to take me with them, and I wouldn’t have to stay behind.”
“Makes perfect sense. So who were these Khmer Rouge people?” Sam asked.
“It was a communist movement whose sole motive was to eliminate an entire social order in the country. Rouge is French for Red, which signified the bloodshed during their murderous onslaught. They were aggressive and vicious. But in early 1979 Vietnamese troops invaded Cambodia and captured Phnom Penh. They established a moderate Communist government, and the Khmer Rouge retreated back into the jungle. So they’re still out there with the motivation to strike at any time whenever a new insurgent swoops in. Most of the older generation who lived through the Rouge walk on eggshells. They live in daily fear of them returning.”
“That’s brutal,” Sam remarked. “Oh. That reminds me. The biker had a tattoo on the back of his neck. It was a black scorpion. Do you think that means anything?”
“A scorpion? It could mean something, I’m sure. I just wouldn’t know what. I do know that the Cambodians are very superstitious and they believe in magic tattoos in strategic places on their bodies. The tigers usually mean they’re fighters or in a fight club of some sorts. But I’ve never heard of people getting scorpion tattoos.”
“It might mean nothing, but you never know. I only caught sight of the thug's neck because he was in front of us,” said Sam.
“Well, we’ll ask around just in case. If those guys were of the same gang as the one who burgled our rooms, then something’s up. I still don’t know why they’re after us.”
“Those three back there meant business, Alex. They’re after something, that’s certain. Perhaps they think we have found the Urn already. Speaking of, let’s get up to the top stupa and see if something stands out in the shrine.”
Another multitude of steps further up the mountain brought them to the highest stupa that was taped off with orange police tape. As they approached the dome, two security guards flung their rifles off their shoulders and pointed it at them, stopping both Sam and Alex dead in their tracks.
“No tourist allow,” one of them said in broken English.
Sam’s hands went up in the air as Alex attempted to reach into her backpack to pull the Commissioner’s authorization letter out. This spooked one of the guards and immediately sent hi
m off in an aggressive response thinking she was trying to pull a gun. The guard raised his rifle and aimed directly at her face shouting several commands in Mandarin.
Immediately Alex dropped her backpack and threw her arms into the air.
“Non, Non, S'il Vous plaît! Nous avons la permission du commissaire!” she tried explaining in French hoping her lack of speaking Mandarin wouldn’t exacerbate the situation. The guard stood his ground and kept the rifle pointed at them. Sam swallowed hard next to her. Alex repeated the phrase again in desperation to get through to them.
The more mature guard who seemed to be in charge answered back in French asking for the permission document she claimed she had. His hand gripped his rifle harder, still pointing at her face in anticipation of danger but allowed Alex to reach into her backpack. Alex cautiously retrieved the official letter stamped by Mr. San Yeng-Pho granting them permission to enter the stupa. The guard scanned it over and handed it back with a polite apology, permitting them to pass.
The commissioner’s high rank did the trick.
“Bloody hell, that was a close call,” a relieved Sam said as they pushed past the guards up the last flight of stairs. “Is it my imagination or did they seem super aggressive?”
“I think the entire country is on tenterhooks with the theft of the Urn. The longer it takes to find it, the more on edge they all are,” Alex answered while taking her shoes off signaling for Sam to do the same. The large wooden, hand-carved door to the stupa was heavy and called for both of them needing to lean into it to push it open. The exquisite carvings in it self told an ancient story of a historical wonder; a city steeped in tradition and spirituality, but rife with political undercurrents, fear, and blood spill.
The Alex Hunt Series Page 21