The Kingdom fa-3

by Clive Cussler

  The boy, now beaming, skidded to a stop before them and said, “Follow, yes? Follow?”

  “Hoina,” Remi replied.

  After leading them through the winding alleys of Lo Monthang under the curious gaze of hundreds of villagers, the boy stopped before a thick wooden door set in a whitewashed wall. He lifted the tarnished brass knocker, rapped twice, then said to Sam and Remi, “Pheri bhetaunla,” then scampered off down a side alley.

  They heard footsteps clicking on wood from inside the building, and a few seconds later the door swung open, revealing a frail mid-sixties man with long gray hair and a matching beard. His face was heavily lined and brown. To their surprise, he greeted them with an upper-crust British accent:

  “Good morning. Sam and Remi Fargo, I presume?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sam said, “Yes. Good morning. We’re looking for a Mr. Karna. Sushant Dharel from Kathmandu University arranged a meeting.”

  “Indeed he did. And indeed you have.”

  “Pardon?” Remi replied.

  “I am Jack Karna. Well, where are my manners? Please come in.”

  He stood aside, and Sam and Remi stepped inside. Similar to the exterior of the building, the interior walls were whitewashed, and the floor was constructed with old but well-scrubbed wooden planks. Several Tibetan-style rugs covered the floor, and the walls were dotted with tapestries and framed bits of parchment. Along the west wall, beneath thick casement windows, was a seating area with cushions and pillows and a low coffee table. Against the east wall was a potbellied stove. A small hallway led out of the room and into what looked like a sleeping area.

  Karna said, “I was about to send out a search party for you. You look a bit travel worn. Are you quite all right?”

  “We had a bit of a hiccup in our travel plans,” Sam offered.

  “Indeed you did. News reached me a few hours ago. Some trekkers found a guide vehicle destroyed in one of the chokes south of here. Two bodies washed ashore near Kagbeni. I feared the worst.” Before they could answer, Karna ushered them toward the pillows, where they sat down. “The tea is ready. Give me just a moment.”

  A few minutes later he placed a silver tea service on the table, along with a plate piled high with scones and crustless cucumber sandwiches. Karna poured tea and then sat down across from them.

  “Now. Do tell me your tale,” Mr. Karna prompted.

  Sam recounted their journey, beginning with their arrival in Jomsom and ending with their arrival at Lo Monthang. He left out any mention of King’s involvement in the assassination attempt. Through it all, Karna asked no questions, and, aside from a few arches of his eyebrow, gave no reaction.

  “Extraordinary,” he said at last. “And you have no idea of this impostor’s name?”

  “No,” said Remi. “He was in a bit of a hurry.”

  “I can imagine. Your escape is the stuff of Hollywood.”

  “Par for the course, unfortunately,” Sam said.

  Karna chuckled. “Before we go on, I should make the local brahmins-the council-aware of what happened.”

  “Is that necessary?” Sam asked.

  “Necessary, and of benefit to you. You are in Lo Monthang now, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. We may be a part of Nepal, but we are quite autonomous. Have no fear, you will not be held responsible for what happened, and unless the council considers it absolutely necessary, the Nepalese government will not be involved. You are safe here.”

  Sam and Remi considered what he had said, then gave their assent.

  Karna picked up a brass bell from the floor beside his cushion and rang it once. Ten seconds later the boy who greeted them on the approach road appeared from the side hallway. He stopped before Karna and bowed sharply.

  In what sounded like rapid-fire Lowa, Karna spoke to the boy for thirty seconds. The boy asked a single question, then bowed again, walked to the front door, and stepped out.

  Karna said, “Fear not. All will be well.”

  “Forgive us,” Remi said, “but the curiosity is killing us: your accent is-”

  “Oxford through and through, yes. I am in fact British, though I haven’t been home for . . . fifteen years, I suppose. I have lived in Mustang for thirty-eight years this summer. Most of that time, in this very house.”

  “How did you come to be here?” Sam asked.

  “I came as a student, actually. Anthropology, mainly, with a few side interests. I spent three months here in 1973, then went home. I wasn’t there for two weeks before I realized Mustang had gotten under my skin, as they say, so I returned and never left. The local priests believe I am one of them-reincarnated, of course.” Mr. Karna smiled, shrugged. “Who can say? Without doubt, though, I have never felt more at home anywhere else.”

  “Fascinating,” Sam replied. “What do you do?”

  “I suppose I am an archivist of sorts. And an historian. My main focus is documenting Mustang’s history. Not the history you read on Wikipedia, though.” He saw Remi’s confused expression and said with a smile, “Yes, I know about Wikipedia. I have satellite Internet here. Quite extraordinary, given the remoteness of the place.”

  “Quite,” Remi agreed.

  “I am-and have been for nearly twelve years-writing a book that will, with any luck, serve as a comprehensive history of Mustang and Lo Monthang. A hidden history, if you will.”

  “Which explains why Sushant thought you were the person we should see,” said Sam.

  “Indeed. He told me you were particularly interested in the legend of the Theurang. The Golden Man.”

  “Yes,” replied Remi.

  “He did not, however, tell me why.” Karna was now serious, his eyes peering hard at Sam and Remi. Before they could answer, he went on: “Please understand. I mean no offense, but your reputation has preceded you. You are professional treasure hunters, are you not?”

  “It’s not the term we prefer,” Sam replied, “but it’s technically accurate.”

  Remi added, “We keep none of what we find for ourselves. Any financial compensation goes to our foundation.”

  “Yes, I read that. Your reputation is in fact quite good. The trouble is, you see, I have had visitors before. People after the Theurang for what I fear were nefarious reasons.”

  “Did these people happen to be a young man and woman?” Sam asked. “Caucasian twins with Asian features.”

  Karna’s left eyebrow arched. “Spot-on. They were here a few months ago.”

  Sam and Remi shared a glance. Silently, they agreed they could and should trust Karna. They were in as remote a location as they’d ever been, and the attempt on their lives the day before told them Charles King had taken the gloves off. Not only did they need Karna’s knowledge but they needed a trustworthy ally.

  “Their names are Russell and Marjorie King. Their father is Charles King-”

  “King Charlie,” Karna interrupted. “I read an article about him in the Wall Street Journal last year. Bit of a cowboy, I gather. A bumpkin, yes?”

  “A very powerful bumpkin,” Remi replied.

  “Why on earth does he want you dead?”

  “Why, precisely, we’re not sure,” Sam replied, “but we’re convinced he’s after the Theurang.”

  Sam went on to recount their affiliation with Charles King. He left nothing out. He told Karna what they knew, what they suspected, and what remained a mystery.

  “Well, one mystery I can address immediately,” Karna said.

  “These evil twins, the King children, clearly gave me a bogus name. But during their visit, they did mention the name Lewis ‘Bully’ King. When I told them what I’m about to tell you, they reacted with no apparent shock. Strange, given who they are.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That Lewis King is dead. He died in 1982.”

  19

  LO MONTHANG,

  MUSTANG, NEPAL

  Shocked, Sam and Remi didn’t speak for several moments. Finally Remi said, “How did he die?”

  “Fell
into a crevasse about ten miles from here. In fact, I helped recover his body. He is buried in the local cemetery.”

  “And you told the King twins this?” Sam asked.

  “Indeed. Their reaction was one of . . . disappointment, I suppose. Now, knowing who they are, it seems particularly coldhearted, doesn’t it?”

  “In keeping with the family character,” Remi replied. “Did they tell you why they were looking for him?”

  “They were very evasive, which is why I found an excuse to cut our visit short. All I could gather was, they were looking for King and had an interest in the Theurang. I didn’t much care for the cut of their jib. It’s nice to know my instincts were right. So, it seems clear that Charles King knew his father was dead when he contacted you.”

  “And knew it when he hired Alton,” Sam said. “The report about the photo showing Lewis here was another fabrication.”

  “All designed to get you involved in the hunt for the Golden Man,” Karna added. “Not much of a deep thinker, this King, is he? He expected you would come here to find your friend, then pick up the hunt for the Theurang without getting suspicious, then lead the twins straight to it.”

  “So it seems,” Remi said. “The best-laid plans . . .”

  “Of country cretins and loathsome offspring,” Karna finished. “The larger question is, why is the Theurang so important to King? You don’t suppose he’s some kind of closet Nazi, do you, picking up the banner of his father’s expedition?”

  “We don’t think so,” said Sam. “We’ve started to wonder if it’s simply an obsession or a side business like his black market fossil endeavors. Either way, the Kings have kidnapped and murdered for the Theurang.”

  “Not to mention enslaved,” Remi added. “The people at the dig site can’t come and go as they please.”

  “That too. Regardless of his motives, we can’t let the Golden Man fall into his hands.”

  Karna picked up his teacup and raised it in salute. “It’s decided, then: we are at war with the King family. All for one?”

  Sam and Remi raised their cups and said in unison, “And one for all.”

  “Tell me more about the burial chamber you found,” Karna said. “Leave nothing out.”

  Remi briefly described the alcove they’d found in the Chobar Gorge cave, then retrieved her iPad from the backpack and brought up the gallery of photos she’d taken during their exploration. She handed it to Karna.

  Fascinated by the iPad, he spent a minute turning it over in his hands and playing with the interface before looking up, wide-eyed, at Sam and Remi.

  “I really must get one of these. All right . . . to business.” He spent the next ten minutes studying Remi’s photos, panning and zooming the iPad’s interface, clicking his tongue and muttering words like “wondrous” and “astonishing.” At last, he handed the iPad back to Remi.

  “You have both made history,” Karna said. “While I don’t imagine the larger world will realize the significance of the find, the people of Mustang and Nepal certainly will. What you have there, in fact, is the final resting place of a Sentinel. The four characters engraved into the top of the box . . . Do you have a better photos of them?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Where is the box right now?”

  Sam replied, “In San Diego, with Selma, our chief researcher.”

  “Oh, goodness. Is she-”

  “Fully qualified,” Remi said. “She’s trying to open it-carefully, without damaging it.”

  “Very good. I may be able to help her with that.”

  “Do you know what’s inside?”

  “I may. I’ll come to that shortly. How much did Sushant tell you about the Sentinels and the Theurang?”

  “A good overview,” Remi said, “but he made it clear you’re the expert.”

  “That’s very true. Well, Sentinels were guardians of the Theurang. The honor was handed down from father to son. They were trained from the age of six for one purpose and one purpose alone. The Himanshu Decree of 1421 was one of four times the Theurang has been evacuated from Lo Monthang. The previous three instances, all of which preceded an invasion, ended favorably, and the Theurang was subsequently returned to the capital. The invasion of 1421 was different, however. The ‘Marshal of the Army’ at the time, Dolma, convinced the King and his advisers that this invasion would be different. He was certain it would spell the beginning of the end of Mustang. Not to mention the prophecy.”

  “Prophecy?” Sam prompted.

  “Yes. I’ll spare you the particulars, most of which involve Buddhist legend and numerology, but the prophecy stated that a time would come when the Kingdom of Mustang would fall, and the only way it would ever rise again was if the Theurang was returned to its birthplace.”

  “Here?” Remi said. “That’s what Sushant told us.”

  “My dear friend is mistaken. Not his fault, really. The popular history of Mustang and the Theurang is spotty at best. First, you must understand something: the people of Mustang never considered themselves owners of the Golden Man but rather its caretakers. How exactly did Sushant describe the nature of the Theurang?”

  “Its appearance?”

  “No, its . . . nature.”

  “I think the term he used was ‘birth giver.’”

  Karna considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “As a metaphor, perhaps. Mrs. Fargo, you’re an anthropologist by training, are you not?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Good, good. Give me just a moment.” Karna stood up and disappeared down the side hall. They heard what sounded like books being shuffled on a shelf, then Karna returned carrying two leather-bound tomes and an inch-thick manila folder. He sat back down, leafed through the books until he found the pages he was looking for, then set them aside, facedown, on the floor.

  He said, “The Kingdom of Mustang was never a grand place. The architecture is more functional, more modest-like its people-but long ago they were quite learned, far ahead of the Western world in many ways.”

  Karna turned to Remi. He asked, “You’re an anthropologist, what do you know about Ardi?”

  “The archaeological find?”

  “Indeed.”

  Remi thought for a moment. “It’s been a while since I read the reports, but this is what I remember: Ardi’s the nickname given to a four-and-a-half-million-year-old fossil found in Ethiopia. As I recall, the scientific name is Ardipithecus ramidus.

  “Though there’s a lot of debate surrounding the find, the consensus is that Ardi is something of a missing link in human evolution-a bridge between higher primates, like monkeys, apes, and humans, and their more distant relatives, like lemurs.”

  “Very good. And its characteristics?”

  “Skeleton similar to a lemur’s but with primate attributes: grasping hands, opposable thumbs, clawless digits with nails, and short limbs. Did I miss anything?”

  “Top marks,” replied Karna. He opened his manila envelope, pulled out an eight-by-ten color photograph, and handed it to Sam and Remi. “This is Ardi.”

  As Remi had described, the fossilized creature, lying on its side in the dirt, looked like a cross between a monkey and a lemur.

  “Now,” Karna said, “here’s a popular artist’s rendering of the Theurang.”

  He withdrew a piece of paper from his folder and handed it across. The color printout showed a drawing of a gorilla-like creature with massive arms and a squat head dominated by a wide fang-filled mouth and an enormous jutting tongue. Instead of having legs, it was supported by a column of muscle that ended in a single webbed foot.

  “Notice any similarities to Ardi?” Karna asked.

  “None,” Sam replied. “This looks like a cartoon.”

  “Indeed. It comes from a legend involving Tibet’s first King, Nyatri Tsenpo, who was said to have descended from the Theurang. In Tibet, over the millennia, the Theurang became something of a boogeyman. The Mustang version, however, is quite different.” Karna picked up one of the bo
oks and handed it to Sam and Remi.

  The page was open to a crude but highly stylized drawing. The tone was decidedly Buddhist in nature, but there was no mistaking the subject of the rendering.

  Remi murmured. “Ardi?”

  “Yes,” Karna answered. “As if suddenly animated. This, I believe, is the most accurate portrayal of the Theurang. What you’re looking at, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo, is the Golden Man.”

  Sam and Remi were silent for a full minute as they stared at the drawing and tried to absorb Karna’s words. Finally Sam said, “You’re not suggesting this creature was-”

  “Alive in contemporary Mustang? No, of course not. I suspect the Theurang is a distant cousin of Ardi’s, probably a much later missing link, but certainly millions of years old. I have other drawings that show the Theurang with all of Ardi’s attributes: the grasping hands, the opposable thumbs. Other drawings show it with more primate-like facial features.”

  “Why is it called the Golden Man?” asked Sam.

  “Legend has it that when on display in Lo Monthang’s Royal Palace, the Theurang was fully assembled and articulated in such a way that it appeared human. In 1315, shortly after Lo Monthang was founded, the first King of Mustang-Ame Pal-decided the Theurang’s aspect wasn’t sufficiently glorious. He had the bones gilded with gold and the eye sockets adorned with gems, along with the fingertips. The teeth, which were said to have been mostly intact, were covered in gold leaf.

  “He must have been quite a sight,” Remi said.

  “‘Gaudy’ is the word I use,” Karna replied, “but who am I to argue with the Ame Pal?”

  Remi said, “Are you suggesting the people here developed a theory of evolution before Darwin did?”

  “Theory? No. A firm belief? Absolutely. In the nearly thirty years I’ve spent here, I’ve found texts and artwork that make it clear the people of Mustang firmly believed man sprang from earlier creatures-primates in particular. I can show you cave murals that depict a distinct line of progression from lower forms to modern man. More important, despite popular belief, the Theurang was revered not in a religious sense but rather an historical one.”