“Mark, what do you think the entrance will look like?”
“That’s a good question. According to the legends, the guardians of the tunnel were simple people who had a distaste for lavish things. In fact, the reason they went underground was human greed. Based on that, I would expect the entrance to be simple and probably made with natural materials found on the mountain, but that’s completely a guess on my part.”
As he finished speaking, Espinosa called out over their helmet-mounted microphones, “Drs. Randall and Talley, I’m at the coordinates you provided on the flight. Move to the forward position to begin your search.”
Upon hearing the news, Randall, Mark, and John jogged up the trail to join Espinosa. The contour of the land matched what they had seen in the aerial photographs and they found themselves staring at a dark patch of dirt, which stood in stark contrast to the mottled, gray rocks surrounding them. The patch started off wider and then narrowed to a small, arching semi-circle that fed into the mountain. The feature resembled an earthen funnel terminating at the valley’s apex. As they approached, the dark earthen spot grew taller. When they finally reached Espinosa’s side, the entrance into the rock face was clear.
“It’s a cave,” John said, stopping next to his father. Captain Steele and his men were close behind.
“Fan out and create a perimeter,” Steele said. “I’ll lead the way in.”
The four men slowly made their way into the cave opening with the captain in front. Steele made short, sweeping arcs with the barrel of his gun, illuminating the cavern with his gun-mounted light. They traversed thirty yards into the cave, which terminated in a sheer rock face. The captain shined his light from side to side. There were no other openings.
Randall approached from behind, stopping next to Steele. He trained his light directly ahead. He walked several paces past the soldier and stopped, shining his light up the rock face and then directly down. A small opening about five feet wide, spanning the length of the cave, sloped downward at a sharp angle. Two steps further and he would have tumbled directly down.
“It’s an illusion designed to trick people into thinking the tunnel terminates,” Randall said.
“The slope is too steep, we’ll need to rappel down,” Steele said, keying his mic. “Espinosa, bring us the climbing gear.”
Minutes later, Espinosa appeared in the cave with a bag of ropes, harnesses, and carabineers. He assisted his captain in setting up the equipment and then hustled back out to his defensive position.
The men rappelled down, one by one, to the lower level of the underground cave system with Mark being the final team member to join the others. The cavern wasn’t large, the ceiling less than ten feet high. Captain Steele once again took the lead, carefully working his way back into the tunnel. This time, he searched the ground, assuming they may find another sharp drop. After moving forward another twenty yards, the group hit a dead end. Randall moved to the front and studied the wall, which was solid rock. It was perfectly smooth, buffed to a glossy finish. He turned to face the group. Captain Steele, who was to his left, frowned.
“Are you sure this is the right location?” Steele asked.
Randall didn’t answer him, his eyes were fixed on the wall behind the captain. Randall brushed by him, shining his light at the wall. Working his way from the top down, he noticed a small seam in the stone, nearly filled with dirt.
Randall looked over his shoulder, “Can someone give me a brush?”
John flipped his backpack to the ground, and removed a small brush from his father’s tool kit. “Here you go.”
Shining his light at the seam, Randall meticulously ran the brush over the seam, slowly revealing a perfectly cut rectangular outline in the wall. Handing the brush back to John, he then began pushing on the rectangle. At first, nothing happened, but after applying pressure to the bottom, a panel rotated outward, revealing an alcove about three feet off the ground. Sitting in the center of the alcove was an intricately carved wooden box. Randall sensed the others closing around him as his light illuminated the container.
“Hold this,” Randall said to Steele, handing him his flashlight. Randall studied the area surrounding the box.
“What are you looking for?” Mark asked.
“Trip levers. I want to make sure we don’t set off any devices that were designed to protect the box from outsiders.”
Not finding any, he stepped back for a moment.
Randall retrieved his flashlight from Steele. “Mark, would you like to do the honors?”
“If you insist,” Mark said, grinning broadly.
The two men stood shoulder to shoulder as Randall illuminated the wooden box. Mark gingerly lifted the lid, revealing a cloth-lined interior on which rested a twelve inch cylindrical container. Mark lifted the container out of the box and held it in both hands. He cradled it for a moment, like a proud father holding his newborn. Randall shone the light on one end of the cylinder, revealing a rolled document inside.
“Let’s take it back up and examine it in natural light,” Mark said.
John retrieved a foam-lined metal box from his backpack and Mark placed the tube inside for protection. The four men rapidly made the ascent up the ropes and back out the mouth of the cave.
The sun had nearly set, but there was still sufficient light to examine the contents of the cylinder. A flat rock served as a makeshift workstation. Mark held the tube in one gloved hand, peering into the open end. He slowly tilted the container and the document slipped out into his other gloved hand. He carefully set the paper down on the cloth-covered rock, holding it gingerly but firmly, lest the wind blow it off. He carefully unrolled the document, finding the material to be in relatively good shape despite its age. The writing matched that of the stone Randall had retrieved from the underwater cavern.
John opened his bag, removed a translation sheet Dr. Chandra had created, and set it down next to the scroll, allowing his father and Mark to translate the document together. Randall, peering over a set of glasses, read the scroll, a smile slowing spreading across his face. Almost in unison, he and Mark turned to face each other, both men grinning like children who had just discovered that school had been cancelled due to heavy snow.
“We have the location of the base,” Randall announced, removing his glasses.
Mark rolled up the document, placing it back into its protective cylinder. He then tucked everything inside the metal case. He fished a notepad from his pocket, recording the location of the base. As he did, Greene joined the group.
“Radio for our ride back to base,” Steele said to Greene.
“Bird Dog, this is Bravo 1-6, package delivered, repeat, package delivered, over,” Greene said into his radio. There was no reply.
“Sir, there appears to be some sort of interference…”
“You, in the cave, lay down your weapons!” a loud voice called out from the distance.
“Shit! Everyone down! Espinosa, get eyes on that target!”
Shots rang out as Randall and the team hit the dirt.
“I have fire coming from the river, Chinese regulars!” Espinosa called out.
“Fire team, I want cover fire for assets, repeat, cover fire for assets!” Steele yelled into his throat microphone.
“We’re pinned down, sir,” Greene replied.
Gunfire erupted from multiple directions as the Chinese soldiers closed in. Each time Steele and his men attempted to move, they were met with a shower of bullets. They were trapped.
“I need information, people, where is the main fire coming from!” Steele said into his mic.
“Sir, we have unfriendly fire coming from the rubble field to your left. I count at least twenty troops moving your way.”
“Mark, you said there was a monastery nearby, which way is it?” Randall asked.
Mark frowned. “It’s along the ridgeline up and to the right, why?”
“Captain, what do you think?” Randall asked, turning to face Steele.
“We can give you cover fire and hold them off. That should give you time to make a break for it. Greene, escort them to the monastery and try to reach Bird Dog,” Steele ordered. “Fire team, on my signal, I want cover fire on approaching force. Ready, go!”
The Americans fired in unison, unleashing their own show of force. Caught off guard, the approaching Chinese soldiers were forced to drop for cover. The moment they did, Randall, John, and Mark sprinted in the direction of the monastery, with Greene taking the rear to offer cover.
The four men sprinted up and to the right, covering twenty yards before drawing the attention of the Chinese. Spotting the four Americans making a break, the soldiers trained their weapons on them and began shooting again.
“Take cover!” Greene shouted and the men dropped to the ground, searching for boulders large enough to hide behind.
“Mark, how much farther?”
“A couple hundred yards up and over that rise. The monastery is at the peak of this ridge.”
“We should have a clear line of sight to communicate with the chopper from there. I should be able to reach them with no trouble. Once they get here, you boys need to hop on board and get out of Dodge as fast as you can!” Greene barked.
“There’s no way we’re leaving you guys behind,” Randall protested.
“We knew what we were getting into when we signed up for this mission, and right now, you’re my priority. My job is to make sure that you and the document get on that transport and back to Dulce. Now we need to move before they close in on us,” Greene said. “Captain, we need another round of cover fire, over.”
“The captain’s down, Greeny. I’ll radio the team. Go on my mark!” Espinosa responded. “Now!”
The remaining soldiers concentrated fire on the advancing Chinese soldiers, offering several moments of cover. The plan worked as the Chinese regulars turned their attention to the remaining armed resistance, giving Randall’s group enough time to race up the slope toward the monastery. The ridgeline offered some protection as they stretched the distance between themselves and the approaching force. They covered more than half the distance to the peak, but once again the Chinese soldiers regained their mark on them. Resuming fire, they struck Greene as he covered their flank.
Randall, trailing Mark and John, saw the soldier go down and ran back to his side.
“What the hell are you doing,” Greene said through gritted teeth. “You need to get your ass up that hill!”
“I’m not leaving without you,” Randall said, lifting the soldier, who threw his arm over his shoulder for support. Greene groaned in pain and struggled along, aided by Randall. John and Mark, having now seen what had happened, ran back to help. John grabbed Greene on the side opposite his father, Mark taking the gun and firing shots back at the Chinese while they moved up the hill. After struggling the remainder of the way, they finally reached the monastery.
What they didn’t know was what kind of reception they would receive.
Chapter Forty-Three
The four men approached the monastery’s steps, but there were no monks in sight. They reached the huge wooden doors and set Greene down on the ground. From their vantage, they could see the valley below where Steele’s men had been fighting the Chinese army. The gunfire had been reduced to an occasional cracking sound. It appeared that the American force had been largely neutralized. Greene gathered himself and reached for his radio.
“Bird Dog, this is Bravo 1-6 come in, over,” he spoke into his microphone. The only reply was static. “Bird Dog, we need immediate evac. We’ve taken casualties and need to be air-lifted immediately. Do you copy?”
Nothing.
“It’s no good, something’s interfering with our signal. I don’t think we can count on the cavalry coming to the rescue. We need to find another way out of here,” Greene said, tossing the radio aside. He grasped at his stomach as blood gurgled from his wound.
Randall pounded on the huge monastery doors with his fist. “Is anyone in there?” After a few moments, he pushed on the door, which folded inward. He craned his neck, peering into the compound, checking for signs of life. The monastery appeared to be deserted.
“Let’s get you inside,” Randall said to Greene. “John, give me a hand.” Both men grabbed Greene under his arms and lifted him to his feet while Mark held the door open. The four men entered the monastery, closing the door behind them.
“We don’t have much time before the Chinese get here. We need to look for a place to hide or some sort of transportation,” Randall said.
The four men stood in a meticulously maintained courtyard with carefully manicured gardens and a fountain in the middle. Several stone stairways led to buildings within the main structure and each building was capped off with long sloping eaves that curled up to a point in every corner. The architecture was strikingly beautiful and stood in stark contrast to the sparse and barren landscape surrounding the monastery.
Randall scanned the grounds and found what he was looking for: several heavy wooden benches were neatly arranged in the garden to allow for thoughtful contemplation by the monks.
“Help me move these in front of the door,” Randall said, setting Greene on the ground and walking over to the nearest bench. Even with the three men working in unison, the bench was a chore to move, easily weighing two-hundred pounds. They placed it directly in front of the gate they had entered through only minutes earlier. The three men then repeated the exercise with three additional benches, stacking them two high and two deep right in front of the opening.
“That should slow them down,” John commented.
They lifted Greene and moved toward the main building in the center of the courtyard. Mark pushed the door open, holding it while Randall and John hefted Greene inside. As they had done with the gate in the courtyard, they barricaded the door.
“John, wait here with Greene while Mark and I scout the building,” Randall said.
The main room was ornately decorated with painstakingly crafted murals covering the walls and an eight-foot-tall statue of the Buddha serving as the area’s focal point. The smell of incense filled the air, clearly signaling that the monastery was inhabited, but there was no other sign of the monks. Randall and Mark walked toward an opening that led to a hallway with multiple doors feeding into the main part of the building. They slowly made their way down the long corridor, straining to hear any sounds emanating from deeper in the building. There were none.
Randall stopped short of the first door and peered around the doorframe and into the room. It appeared to be a study with a single desk situated against the far wall. Wall-mounted sconces held lit candles, providing light for the desk, which held several well-worn books and a single ceramic cup. It seemed that someone had recently been in the room, but whoever had been here was now gone.
The men continued down the hallway and came to the next room. Randall again peered across the threshold to look into the room. This one had a large carpet runner in the center and little else besides small paintings hanging on the walls. The two men shared a look.
“Where is everyone?” Mark asked.
Randall replied with a shrug.
As they reached the end of the hallway, they discovered a flight of stairs leading to a lower level of the building. The two made their way down the steps, which creaked under their weight. The stairs ended and the men found themselves standing in another small hallway that led into a main room, with a second open doorway to one side. This time, they heard the distinct sound of chanting.
Randall went first, tiptoeing down the short passageway, stopping at the entrance to the room. He leaned forward into the open doorway, seeing a large number of orange-clad men kneeling on the ground. Facing away from the opening, their heads were bowed down in front of their bodies.
“Can I help you?”
Randall jumped, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He turned to see the smiling face of an elderly man wearing glasses, his head shaven completely bald.
“Our friend is hurt and needs medical attention,” Randall blurted.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have medical staff here, but we would be happy to see if there is some way we can help him,” the monk responded.
Randall took a deep breath. “Thank you. That would be great. He’s upstairs with my son.”
Randall and Mark walked with the monk back up the stairs and into the main room where John waited with Greene. Greene looked up at them, his eyes drooping and face ashen. Upon seeing Greene, the smile on the monk’s face evaporated, replaced with a serious look.
“Thank God you’re here, Greene’s lost a lot of blood and I’m having a hard time keeping him awake,” John said, cupping the man’s head in his lap.
The monk knelt down to look at the injured soldier, who was moaning in pain, fading in and out of consciousness.
“Your friend’s condition is more serious than I thought. He requires attention that I cannot provide here. May I ask what happened and how you came to be at our monastery?” the monk asked softly.
Randall was in a bind. On the one hand, he realized that Greene needed immediate medical attention and that the Chinese could arrive at any minute. On the other hand, if he told his host that they were in possession of a document created by a secret society, which most people thought was only a legend, the monk would likely have him taken away in a strait jacket. Realizing he had no choice, he explained their predicament.
“We’re explorers seeking a scroll kept by the inhabitants of an ancient civilization that used to call this area their home. We hoped it would help us find our friends who were taken prisoner by a group called the Red Dragons, a faction of the People’s Liberation Army. We found the scroll, but the Dragons attacked us and shot our escort. We escaped and are trying to keep them from getting this document because we’re afraid they’ll destroy it. Unfortunately, we’ve also lost contact with the rest of our team who can get us out of Tibet. Can you help us?” Randall asked.
The Bermuda Connection (A Nick Randall Novel Book 2) Page 19