Military Orders

by Martin Roth

  “I know. That’s what you told me when I called you from Alice Springs. So that’s why I assume I must have the wrong boy. Yet so much suggests to me that I have the right boy. Anyway, what happened at the interview?”

  “This is still all just local gossip, but it seems they really are not sure if they have the right boy or not. I think there’s a bit of an argument. One of the priests seems to be leaning towards a positive identification more than the other. But a friend told me that now their head abbot is less sure, for whatever reason I have no idea. So there’s going to be more investigation. I think they’re counting on the astrologers for more visions.”

  “Look, do you think you can get some more detail? The two priests are back home, aren’t they?”

  “No, not yet. I think they’re due back later today. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Peter, can you somehow get some more detail of where in Burumarri Creek the boy lives? An exact address, preferably. Some of your friends or contacts must know that. It’s a sprawling place, though I don’t think the population is so great.”

  “I’ll do my best. I’ll try talking to some people now. Why don’t you call back in a few hours?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Harel turned on the television. Some cable channels were available and he located CNN. But just five minutes later his cellphone rang. It was his friend Frank Respier in Melbourne.

  “I have something important to tell you. Something quite startling. Are you ready? I think you should be sitting down.”

  Harel smiled. “I’m sitting down.”

  “Well, you remember those two naive young students I told you about? The ones who tried to picket the Noah’s Ark movie?”

  “Yeah, sure. The last I heard they were going to try to baptize the new Dalai Lama. If they’re having the same luck as me they’re probably lost in the desert by now.”

  “Would that that were the case. In fact, the principal has heard from these two guys.”

  “And?”

  “The news is not good. They’re in a state of panic.”

  “Panic? About what?”

  “Well, they’re not totally coherent. But as best my principal could make out, they actually managed to locate the boy. So they drove him to a local river or lake or something. They were going to do a short ceremony, baptizing him, then rush him back home to his parents. The whole thing would take just a few minutes.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But here’s the twist. This Bollywood director, the one I told you about, for reasons we can’t quite fathom, was going to film it.”

  “He’s Tibetan himself.”

  “Right. But for now we don’t know how relevant that is. Anyway, it seems the director, for his own reasons, pulled a knife on our students, grabbed the boy and drove off - in their car.”

  “So effectively your two guys have kidnapped the boy.”

  “Exactly. That’s what we’ve told them.”

  “Their naive little game has turned into something pretty serious.”

  “Our principal has told them to report to the police immediately. I hope and pray that’s where they are now, rather than trying to run away. Which they might do. As I said, they are panicking. They are not thinking rationally right now. Not that they ever were.”

  “This is quite important news. Where exactly is this boy? Did your principal find that out?”

  “Yes, he demanded that they give him all the details. So that he can call the police himself if our students don’t do it.”

  “Look, I’ve actually been searching for that boy myself. I’m probably not far away. Do you have that address?”

  “I’ll just pop down to the principal’s office. I seem to be doing that a lot recently. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

  Chapter 39

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Equipped at last with the correct address, Harel quickly found the house where the new Dalai Lama apparently lived. A police car was outside, indicating that this was indeed the right location. Again he wondered how Uncle Barra could so blithely have sent him to a different location. According to his map the two homes were about a fifteen-minute drive apart. He put it down to the elderly artist’s advanced years.

  He did not want to talk to the police. They would certainly be suspicious about why an American professor arrives at this house right after a boy has been abducted.

  He drove around for an hour, and then returned. The police car was gone.

  He took a deep breath and went and knocked on the door.

  An Aboriginal man answered. “Yeah?”

  While he was driving Harel had been thinking about what he would say when he arrived at this house. Only one strategy seemed to lend itself to the occasion - tell the truth.

  “I understand there’s a young guy here who’s meant to be the new Dalai Lama,” he told the Aboriginal man at the door. “And I’ve heard he’s disappeared.”

  “Are you a reporter? The police told us not to talk to any reporters.”

  “No, no. Look, I’m actually a professor. I’ve flown here from India.”

  The man said nothing. He eyed Harel with suspicion. Harel knew that he must keep talking, before the door was slammed shut.

  “I know this all sounds weird, but please listen. My brother used to live in India. He was a Christian missionary. Then he was killed, and I - or, rather, his wife and my parents - seem to think there’s some connection with what’s going on here. With the search for a new Dalai Lama. That’s why I’m here. I’ve come all the way from America. To try to find out who killed my brother.”

  The man stood looking at him in silence, apparently digesting all he had just heard. Harel was certain he was about to get a door slammed in his face. He tried to think of more to say. But then a woman appeared at the door. She was an extremely beautiful Asian woman.

  “What was your brother’s name?” she asked. Her English was excellent, though with the touch of an accent.

  “Matt. Matthew, rather. Matthew Harel. He was…”

  “I know about your brother.” She put a hand on the shoulder of the Aboriginal man. “Can I invite him inside? I think I need to talk to him. He might even be able to help.” The man turned and walked inside.

  “Come on,” said the lady.

  She led Harel into a large living room looking out on an expanse of lawn and trees. Then she opened a side door and took him into the garden.

  Chapter 40

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Sunhee sat on the lawn, and indicated that Harel should do the same. “It’s very tense inside the house. Their son has disappeared. It’s largely my fault. I think it’s better if we’re out here. My name is Sunhee Cho.”

  “Annyong haseyo,” he replied. “Hello. I’m Rafa Harel.”

  “You speak Korean?” She recalled that Matthew’s parents had been missionaries in Korea. She thought she might even have been told that Matthew and his brother were actually born there. And with a shock it also occurred to her that Bishop Lee had said something about how the other brother - presumably the man with her now - had once helped out on one particular mission in Japan.

  “Yes, I speak Korean.”

  She looked at him. “What did you say just now about your brother?”

  But the man, now sitting down with her, was clearly emboldened. “Why is a Korean lady here? In this house? What’s really going on? What do you know about my brother?””

  She paused, unsure how much the man knew, and how much to reveal. “I’m here to protect the little boy who could be the next Dalai Lama,” she said, and added with a grim face, “Clearly I’ve not done a good job.” She looked hard at the man. “I can tell you more, but I need to know exactly what you’re doing here. Do you want some tea?”

  Harel shook his head, and launched into a detailed explanation of his activities. Then he asked again, “What do you know about my brother?”

  Sunhee decided it was not necessary to reveal all. “I
never met your brother. But I heard about him. You speak Korean. I know that your father was a missionary in Korea and your brother was born in Korea. You too?”

  Harel nodded.

  “Have you heard of the New Joy Gospel Church in Seoul?”

  She watched as the man paused. “Of course. It’s huge. The founder was a guy named Bishop Lee. That’s what he calls himself. I don’t know why he uses the term ‘bishop.’ For effect, I guess. He’s still the head, isn’t he?”

  Sunhee nodded.

  “He contacted me some years ago. Out of the blue. I was in Japan, and he asked me to give advice for some church people who were involved in a special mission in Japan.”

  “So you have worked with our church. That is amazing. I’m a member of that church.”

  “And you’re protecting this little boy? What on earth for?”

  She paused. “I can’t tell you that right now. But it is important. Believe me.”

  “And there was some connection with my brother?”

  Again she paused. “This new Dalai Lama has enemies. For various reasons our church believes it is important that we protect him. Which also meant knowing what was going on in Dharamsala, where you said you’ve just been. Your brother was deeply involved in helping us with that work. And his wife too, I believe.”

  “And that got him killed?”

  “We believe so.”

  “We?”

  “My church. People in my church.”

  “I’d really like to know more. What else can you tell me?”

  “That’s all I know. That your brother was helping us - when we were trying to learn more about the next Dalai Lama - and that he probably got killed as a result. Maybe people in my church know more, but that’s all I’ve been told.”

  “But who killed him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And why are the Indian police saying that he was stealing artworks?”

  “I don’t know about that, either.”

  “And so it seems the next Dalai Lama has been found here in Australia. And the New Joy Gospel Church sends a lady to protect him. That’s something I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk any more about that. Right now we have a crisis, as you know. The boy has disappeared.”

  “I have been told that it might have been an Indian movie director who’s involved.”

  “You have been told that? By whom? You seem to have good contacts.”

  “It seems some students from Melbourne were involved, helping this director. Theology college students, believe it or not. I heard about it from the college that the students attend. They’ve told the police everything.”

  “Yes, that’s right. That’s what the police have just told Toby’s parents. Some students have been to the police station and confessed to the abduction. They said they were working with a movie director from India, and he’s grabbed little Toby. They know what car he’s driving, and they said there are only a few main roads around here. There’s no way he can drive out. But they can’t work out what the motive might be.”

  “Have you told them that the boy is the next Dalai Lama.”

  She smiled. “Sure, we told them. I’m pretty certain they believe we’re all crazy. In fact, I think they’re actually quite suspicious about this whole thing. They certainly seem to be wondering what I’m doing here. And there was another kidnap attempt…”

  “There was?”

  “A young guy with a gun. He wanted Toby.”

  “With a gun?”

  “Just before Toby disappeared. I fought him off, and he drove away in a car. But I have the gun. I haven’t told the police that.”

  She saw the professor looking at her with what appeared to be amazement and awe. “As I understand it, a couple of senior priests from Dharamsala were here to check if this boy, Toby, really is the next Dalai Lama.”

  “So is he?”

  She wasn’t sure how much to say. But she was starting to feel she could trust this man. “I had the feeling the priests weren’t entirely convinced.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve heard from a priest friend in Dharamsala.”

  The man looked down at the ground, then back at her. “I’m trying to help Sue, Matt’s wife - widow. She asked me to find out why her husband died. Can’t you tell me more?”

  “I wish I could. But I never met Matthew. I hadn’t even heard of him until my church told me I’d be helping with this operation. So I don’t know much about him at all. Only that he was helping our church, and that somehow, as a result, he got killed. But I do think that his wife was also helping us. The church will be telling her all they know.”

  “So you don’t know anything about whether he was involved with stealing artworks?”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “Or whether I was also involved in stealing art?”

  “Look, I’ve only just met you.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and stood. “I hope you find the boy.”

  Chapter 41

  New Joy Gospel Church, Seoul, South Korea

  Bishop Lee was feeling cranky. It was 5:00 am, and he was walking slowly and painfully along a half-lit corridor under the main auditorium of his church in Seoul.

  The previous day he had slipped while walking on his treadmill, and his left hip was now heavily bruised. He also had the beginnings of a cold, even though it was summer.

  Old age is not for cowards, went the saying, and Bishop Lee knew that he was no coward. He had been blessed with a strong, wiry body, and with good health for most of his years. But old age seemed nowadays to be bearing down on him like a bullet train, and he was not enjoying the sensation. Increasingly he felt it would indeed be a blessing to be able to transfer speedily to the next life, carried in the arms of his beloved Jesus.

  He had another reason for feeling cranky. The news from Australia was not good, and several of the elders had demanded an emergency meeting, due to start now. His sore hip had hindered sleep, and he had spent much of the night awake and uncomfortable. As he normally did in such circumstance, he had prayed.

  In particular he prayed for the success of the Australian mission, and he prayed for a good outcome to this meeting.

  But as he limped to the meeting room he felt no assurance that his prayers were to be answered.

  The six governing elders were waiting. Even Brother Half Angel was there, on time, sipping from a cup of green tea.

  “They’ve lost the boy,” said one of the elders.

  “How difficult can it be to guard one child?”

  “I thought Australia was a safe country.”

  “It was a mistake to send a woman.”

  “Especially that woman.”

  “Was she too busy putting on her make-up to notice that the boy wasn’t there?”

  “And we’re hearing reports that the priests weren’t even impressed with the boy.”

  “They wonder if he’s really the Dalai Lama.”

  “Wasn’t Brother Park supposed to have spent some time coaching the boy and his parents?”

  “This operation is a disaster.”

  Bishop Lee looked over at Brother Half Angel, sipping his tea with apparent indifference.

  The criticism went on for five minutes, before subsiding. And then came a few rebuttals.

  But the mood of the meeting was clear.

  Brother Half Angel spoke. “The operation is finished,” he said softly. “Sister Sunhee will be recalled.”

  But Bishop Lee was unconvinced. He knew that Brother Half Angel was a military man and a wily tactician. He had little doubt that this was no more than a tactical retreat.

  Chapter 42

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Chodrak handed the boy another cookie. Looking after little kids was surprisingly easy. A ready supply of ice cream, chocolate and cookies was all that it took. Though this was the Dalai Lama, so he was bound to have a placid nature.

  Again he cong
ratulated himself on his scheme. He had thought of everything, and it had all gone exactly as planned. There had not been a single hitch. The enthusiasm and naivety of the two students had of course been the key.

  Australia was an exceptionally easy place in which to do business. He had been able to rent a cottage here in the outback. He had many contacts, and had been able to get a message through to people who knew certain Chinese officials. He had no doubt they would pay anything for the boy. He had demanded five million dollars - though was ready to negotiate - and a couple of false passports to help him slip easily out of Australia.

  He vaguely worried about what would happen back in India. Was there an extradition treaty with Australia? Might he have to start his film career again, under a different identity?

  These things could sort themselves out. Right now he was loving the thrill of the adventure. He had always lived for the moment. This was just like a movie.

  He had only one concern now. That his last remaining credit card would soon be running out of credit. He handed the boy another cookie and sat back and waited for the Chinese to contact him.

  Chapter 43

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Tenzin sat on the floor of the small house that was his base for this mission. He wanted to meditate, but he couldn’t. He was angry and he was nervous.

  He was angry that he had failed in what was expected to be an exceptionally simple attempt to grab the boy. Once again he had been humiliated. This time by a woman. An Asian woman. He had no idea what she was doing here. Her skills suggested she was some kind of guard, but why was an Asian woman guarding this boy in the middle of Australia?

  And he was nervous. Because Mr Wang had already communicated his displeasure, and was even now knocking at the front door.

  He stood and opened the door. Mr Wang walked in and looked around. It appeared he might be expecting something to eat or drink. Tenzin said nothing.