Prime Master Bolan opened his eyes, smiled, and looked towards the heavens as Kamal received an ear clipping.
— Chapter Seventeen —
“Huh, I thought Buddhists were against violence,” mumbled Kamal under his breath with his ear still smarting from yesterday’s clipping.
On a crisp, clear morning, after they ate, Prime Master Bolan and several Gi'āna dē tākata Masters trudged through the snow with Pon and his group to the foot of Mount Vishnir. They led them up a narrow track for half a kilometre and into a large cave mouth. Prime Master Bolan pointed further inside the cave and said. “Follow the directions and you will reach the other side.”
Kamal looked at the sketch given to him by the Prime Master, who said, “Safe journey my friends. I am sorry that you could not have stayed longer, but you learned that things and people are not always what you are led to believe. Please visit us again anytime.” Prime Master Bolan and the Strength of Wisdom Masters bowed to the group.
“Thank you for your hospitality Prime Master Bolan, we learned invaluable lessons about other people along with the answers we needed. Please send our regards to Khan when you next see him and tell him I will let him know the outcome of our search for Fahed. I will try to find out if any more of his fighters were still alive and send Abdullah home.”
Pon and the others wai-ed and bowed to Prime Master Bolan and the Masters, who smiled and walked away.
With several Warriors carrying flaming torches, others turned on their goggle lights that illuminated the cavern as they proceeded on further through the dark maze of tunnels led by Kamal.
As they walked, Pon noticed that tunnels looked built between caves and shored up with wooden beams. Pon realised that these man-made sections, made centuries ago, joined the caves together and made this route. He imagined the work involved in joining the caves into a tunnel system. Having no heavy machinery and with nothing to indicate where the caves were, the ancients must have dug and cut using hand tools and guesswork, which must have taken decades, maybe longer.
After walking for three hours, they stopped to eat and Kamal checked his sketch, making sure that they were still heading in the right direction and not wanting another clipping.
The flaming torches still burned, giving out plenty of heat in the cold damp tunnel, they felt warm and cosy in their thermal suits, feeling relieved at not having to make the journey over Mount Vishnir.
A few hours later, Kamal saw a light in the distance. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked at his phone. “We are almost there, you should have a phone signal now,” he said and called to arrange their helicopter pick up.
Pon switched on his phone and smiled. ‘Good, I will call Taksin later when we find whether Fahed’s at his house,’ he thought.
Forty-minutes later, they emerged from the cave and walked a short distance down a narrow track to where the helicopters would collect them.
They sat on cold rocks and looked into the clear blue sky.
“The helicopter’s on its way, and will be here soon,” said Kamal after getting a phone call.
Chuck stood and walked a short distance away, taking out his phone.
When he returned to the group, Pon asked. “Is everything okay Chuck?”
Chuck nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine buddy.”
Pon smiled. “Did you speak with the Sherriff?”
Chuck furrowed his brow. “What,” he then smiled and shook his head. “Oh… no, I couldn’t get hold of him.”
Pon then saw two helicopters in the distance approaching.
The noisy ninety-minute ride felt uncomfortable for the men with them and their equipment again cramped into the small helicopters.
They arrived at the small airfield and the pilot landed outside a large hanger where General Mahatmacote waited for them.
They disembarked, collected their backpacks, and walked toward the hanger.
The hot humid air came as a relief to the Southeast Asians as they put down their backpacks and formed into ranks as Pon and Kamal went over to the General.
General Mahatmacote, a small Pakistani man with a pockmarked face and harsh features, had met the monks when they first arrived, but as it was early morning and he felt tired, he had just bundled them into the helicopters.
Now, in the clear light of day, he looked them up and down like an officer would his troops on parade. He smiled at the two large Caucasians, who looked out of place amongst the smaller Asians as he saw them putting down their backpacks and walking over to him.
He smiled when Pon came over and asked. “Eventful journey I trust. Did you meet with your fellow monks?”
Pon smiled and wai-ed the General.
“Yes, we met with our Buddhist brothers and they were very accommodating.”
Mahatmacote grinned. “So, you will go home now.”
“No. We need to meet someone else,” said Pon.
The General furrowed his brow, glanced at Kamal, and asked Pon. “Oh, and who might that be?”
Pon smiled and said. “Sheik Fahed Del Alaz.”
Mahatmacote glared at Pon and asked. “Why do you need to see the Sheik?”
Pon smiled. “We have business to discuss with him.”
The General frowned and glared at Pon. “And what business might that be?”
Chuck furrowed his brow and sounding brash, said. “It’s personal business buddy.”
The General glanced at Kamal who nodded and then he looked at Chuck and smiled. “Okay, how may I help?”
Chuck furrowed his brow and said. “We need transport large enough to fit us and our equipment in.”
Mahatmacote grinned. “I can arrange that, was there anything else?”
“Yeah, have you anywhere we can change out of these suits? They are getting damn hot.”
The General pointed to a screened section at the end of the large hanger.
“Phew, that was close,” said Pon as they all went behind the large screen to change. “I thought he would ask a lot more questions with Fahed being Muslim and us Buddhists. Well done Chuck.”
Chuck smirked. “He had no reason to be suspicious, but I bet he wanted a big tip.”
Pon nodded. “I will get Taksin to call him and sort things out.”
Chuck smirked, and they all took off their thermal suits, changed into the set of clothes they had all brought with them, and put their suits into their backpacks. Once changed, they all went back around the screen where the General and Kamal came over and Mahatmacote said. “Your transport will be here to collect you, and Kamal said he would be your driver.”
Pon nodded and smiled at Kamal. “Yes, Kamal knows where we are going.”
A wry smile came across Mahatmacote’s face. “Do I bill this to Mr Taksin, or would you like to pay now?”
Pon glanced at Chuck smirking, and smiled. “Send the bill to Khun Taksin at the Thai Royal palace that will be fine.”
The General grinned as a tatty green and yellow bus with tinted windows pulled into the hanger.
“That should be large enough for you all and your bags... sign here,” said the General and smirked as he handed Pon a clipboard.
Pon signed Mahatmacote’s contract written in Punjabi for the luxury coach hire... 50,000 PKR, $480 per day.
They packed their backpacks in the rear, crammed onto the bus and sat on the few seats and floor.
With Kamal in the driver’s seat, Chuck and Sedgly, being the largest, squeezed together onto the passenger seat.
The bus sputtered and blew out a cloud of black smoke from its exhaust before pulling away.
Mahatmacote, smirking as he watched them leave, took out his phone and made a call.
With the buses air-conditioned unit broken, Chuck and Sedgly felt uncomfortable, with sweat running down their heads and faces, even with the windows open.
A warm breeze circulated around the bus with the Thais and Cambodians smiling, feeling at home in this familiar atmosphere.
Kamal drove along the busy
streets of Gilgit City until they reached a suburb in the upper Jutial district.
The large suburb seemed a million miles from the hustle and bustle of the Pakistani city.
Streets in this quiet leafy suburb looked pristine, with luxurious properties surrounded by high walls.
Pon, seeing new cars parked in several driveways, feared they would be too conspicuous in the tatty old charabanc looking bus, leant over and said. “Kamal, we look out of place. We don’t want to arouse suspicion; maybe we should leave and change vehicles.”
Kamal shook his head and smiled. “Don’t worry, the elite lived here, Royalty and movie stars from all over the world have holiday residences here and used to seeing tour buses driving around showing off their properties to tourists.”
Kamal drove slow and went into tour guide mode.
“That is Princess Ammerah al-Taweel’s residence and that one over there… Salman Khan’s,” He rambled on to the uninterested party, who knew nothing about the Saudi Princess or the Bollywood superstar. Feeling disinterested and bored, Pon primed his hand.
Fortunately for Kamal, a clipping was not forthcoming as he stopped the bus and said. “Here is Sheik Fahed Del Alaz’s residence.”
They all looked at the thick wrought iron sliding security gate at the front where CCTV cameras on the thick concrete posts pointed at the gates. A high concrete wall surrounded the large detached property with razor wire coiled along the top.
“It looked well secured at the front buddy,” said Chuck furrowing his brow unable to see through the gold coloured sheeting between the rails of the gate, said. “I imagine there will be a guard at the security box behind that gate. They could be watching us right now.”
Pon nodded and looked around the wall. He saw treetops above the front wall, rubbed his face and said. “Kamal, drive around the property.”
Kamal nodded and drove around the side of the walled perimeter.
“Look!” said Kamal pointing.
Pon looked and smiled. “Stop here,” he said noticing a large tree with its branches protruding close to the wall.
Kamal smiled and stopped the bus.
Dave frowned, “Those security cameras would see us and that razor wire will cut us to shreds,” he said pointing.
Pon smiled. “Don’t worry Dave, I will go alone and make sure it’s safe. Kamal, drive a short distance away from here.”
“There’s a small lake close by where they take tourists to eat,” said Kamal and Pon nodded.
“Have you got a plan Pon?” asked Dave as the bus pulled away.
Pon smirked and went into his backpack.
Five minutes later, the bus pulled into a field by a small lake and parked next to large plush coaches where customers stood by the lake eating snacks from small food stalls. Kamal got out and went over to a curry stand while the others waited on the bus while Pon gave instructions.
They all looked at the floating head as a Juglave disappeared. “Mingle with the tourists and eat. I will find us a safe way into Fahed’s and meet you back here,” said Pon.
Pon’s head then disappeared as he put on the Tusen hood.
Chuck and Sedgly hurried out of the bus to shade under a large tree. Chuck made a phone call while the others queued at the various Pakistani food stands. Pleasant spicy odours of satay and wood-baked chapatti and patties drifted on the warm breeze.
Pon ran back to Fahed’s and to the side-wall where he saw the branches he could get to. He looked up at the foreboding razor wire on top of the plastered concrete wall. Taking out his Juglave, he dug away plaster and made hand and foot holes up the wall as he climbed. He stepped between the coils of the razor wire, put his Juglave back in his Tusen suit pocket, and, like a spider monkey, leapt, grabbed a thick branch, and swung into the fork of the tree.
Through the foliage, he saw Fahed’s house a few hundred feet away. He lay against a thick branch and looked around.
Seeing nobody in the grounds or at the windows in front of him, Pon jumped down onto Fahed’s manicured lawn and sprinted to the main door of the mansion. He saw another surveillance camera above the door and a movie camera set up on the porch.
Pon looked at the gold handle on the thick wooden door and seeing no lock but a small infrared sensor, he sighed. “The locks must be remote controlled.” Looking up at the CCTV camera, he thought. ‘If I cut my way through the wood, they will see the Juglave... Damn.’
Pon pulled down the handle and gasped when he heard locks clicking and the door opened. Surprised, he walked into Fahed’s, closed the door, and looked around the lavish ballroom-sized living room of Fahed’s mansion. He saw several movie cameras on tripods set up around the large room and art masterpieces and murals adorning the walls, with marble and gold furniture and fitments. The marble floor had silk Persian rugs scattered around, with a well-stocked bar in one corner and large vases placed around the room with fresh cut flowers giving off strong fragrant aromas.
Although knowing he couldn’t be seen, Pon knew someone would come to investigate when detecting the door opening on CCTV. He knew that someone must be there because of the fresh flowers.
He assumed that there were motion sensors around the property and considered the probability of Fahed’s security force also wore Tusen.
Pon stood by the wide central staircase, watched, and waited.
Minutes passed, with neither sight nor sound of anybody. He couldn’t detect any smells apart from the fragrant flowers that masked any other aromas.
‘I don’t understand,’ thought Pon feeling confused. ‘I must have triggered alarms, so why has nobody come to investigate?’ He furrowed his brow. ‘Kamal was right, Fahed wasn’t here, but it made no sense why they had no security while he was away with all the valuables here.’
Feeling confused, Pon ran up the large elegant central staircase to the first floor balcony. Apart from several more movie cameras and large vases with flowers in various locations, Pon did not see or hear anything. ‘There must be no one here now,’ he thought, looking along a corridor with doors both sides and one which looked to be a large room with double-doors at the end.
Feeling despondent, and realising that with no security, Fahed would have left nothing of importance here, he walked along a marble corridor, sighed, and felt miserable. ‘I will check the rooms just in case, and then go back to the others… it was a wasted journey, so we will go home and decide what else we can do.’
He walked along the corridor looking in the unlocked rooms either side. The first few were plush bedrooms or living rooms. He looked in a smaller room with TV screens adorning the walls with desks and computer monitors, with everything switched off. ‘This must be the security station’ he thought and sighed as he went into the next room.
Pon stood in the doorway and looked around the large oval-shaped office. ‘This room looked familiar,’ he thought, trying to recall where he had seen it before. ‘I wonder why that large luminous green screen was along the front? And why are there more TV cameras set up in here? It looked like a movie set.’
Pon furrowed his brow and walked to the room at the end. He was about to try one of the doors when he heard a faint voice behind them.
Startled, he put his ear up against one door and listened.
Pon heard a voice behind the thick wooden door. He squinted as he listened, and although the thick wooden door muffled the sound, he heard one man yelling the same thing over again.
Pon could not understand what the man shouted as it sounded like Arabic. The man then stopped shouting and Pon heard fainter voices inside speaking a different language. Unable to hear clearly as the other man yelled the same thing again in Arabic, Pon pulled his Tusen hood back from his ear, screwed up his face, and listened. ‘It sounded like Krot tel tum wa al abhri,’ whatever that meant,’ he thought, and listened for several minutes as the man yelled again. “Krot tel tum wa al abhri.” The man then stopped yelling as the other people spoke, but again Pon could not hear what they were saying.
Pon, feeling bemused, slipped the Tusen hood back over his ear, and looked at the door. ‘What on earth’s going on?’ he thought. ‘There are people here, so why no security? I don’t understand.’
He jumped as the door handle moved and one of the double-doors then opened. A large Caucasian man stood in the doorway talking back to someone inside. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.” said the man and opened the door wide enough for Pon to see a man sat at the desk inside facing the door. Pon also saw several other men with their backs turned as the man in the doorway smirked, closed the door, and walked along the corridor.
Pon glared at the door as his heart beat faster and his palms sweated. ‘Fahed!’ he thought.
He then watched the man disappearing down the stairs and wondered. ‘Why are Americans here?’
He put his hand inside his Tusen suit, took hold of his Juglave, and furrowed his brow, ‘None of this makes sense,’ he thought, let go of his Juglave, and pondered. ‘I need Fahed alive, but who were those men and how well armed are they?’
Movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced at a large vase on a shelf near the end of the corridor and saw a petal on a flower quivering for a split second.
‘I need back up,’ he thought.
⸺ Chapter Eighteen ⸺
“I bet the Septic’s will be pleased if Pon and the others found Fahed,” said Spock turning the TV over to the cartoon channel.
“Yeah, he seemed a busy little Ab-dab mate, but if the Septic’s can’t find him, I don’t think it will be easy for our lot. I hope they are okay,” said Stu rubbing his chin and looking worried.
Spock nodded as Taksin walked into the kitchen looking troubled and sat with the lads.
“Cup of coffee mate?”
“No thanks Stu, I came to see if you have heard from Pon. I’ve heard nothing from him for a while and his phone has been off.”
Spock shook his head and sniggered. “We’ve heard nothing, but don’t worry matey, I bet they’re still freezing their nuts off in the mountains and out of signal range,” he said reassuring him although he and Stu shared his concern.
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