The Mountain (A James Shaw Mission Book 2)

by Richard Turner

  “Señor Adler, may I present to you the people who will help Germany win the war,” said Khan. “I will be back for you in one hour.”

  The door was closed and locked.

  As one, the five people stood up.

  Adler smiled. At least, they hadn’t forgotten their training. “Good day to you all,” said Adler in Spanish. “I will only say this once. From today onwards, we must all speak and act as if we were nothing more than a group of Cuban nationals sent here by the University of Havana to explore the Himalayan Mountains. You may refer to me as Señor Adler, or Patrón if you wish.”

  A powerful-looking man with a thick black beard and broad chest stood and offered his hand. “Good day, señor, my name is Jose Diego.”

  Adler shook his hand. It was firm and calloused.

  “Please let me introduce your team,” said Diego. “The fellow with the curly hair, shifty eyes and a scar running down his face is Luis Zaro.”

  Zaro smiled and waved at Adler.

  “The man to his right is Lorenzo Roja,” said Diego as he indicated to a tall, thin man with a nearly baldhead.

  “Buenos dias,” said Roja politely.

  “And to his right is Hugo Silvas,” said Diego.

  Silvas nodded his head in greeting. Adler saw that Silvas stood no more than five foot six, but he had massive arms and a wide barrel chest. He didn’t doubt that the man could carry his weight on his back without breaking a sweat.

  “And the last member of the team is Señorita Cristina Ortega,” said Diego, with a smile on his face.

  “Buenos dias, señor,” said Ortega.

  She had short black hair and a narrow face. Although her physique was obscured under her clothing, Adler didn’t doubt that she was as fit as the men in the room.

  He locked his eyes on the group and said, “Understand this, I don’t care where you came from, you all volunteered for this mission with one goal in mind: helping Germany to win this war over the Godless Bolshevik hordes. If you don’t believe this with all of your heart, say so now, and we will leave you behind, no questions asked.”

  No one said a word; their eyes all gleamed with fierce determination.

  Adler grinned. The SS had chosen their people wisely. Taking a seat at the table, Adler said, “Now, before Señor Khan comes back for me, why don’t you all tell me about your climbing qualifications. I want you to begin with the highest peak you have ever climbed and finishing off with what, if any, unique skills you bring to the team. Naturally, Señorita Ortega will go last as she will explain to all of us precisely why we are here and what we are looking for.”

  Chapter 11

  Mohammed Kalakani’s palace

  Outskirts of Gangtok

  A steady procession of cars wound its way up the narrow road and up inside the imposing walled palace built atop a rocky hill a mile outside of the capital. Built in the second century, the castle stood three stories high with a single tall tower in the back that had a dominating view of the valley for miles around. Torches, burning brightly in the night sky, adorned the parapet. A colored searchlight illuminated the tower in a vivid blue color.

  “My God, that’s something you don’t see every day,” said Bruce, admiring the castle from the backseat of Amrit’s truck.

  “I was told that the castle was originally built for a Sikkimese monarch in the mid-fifteenth century,” explained Amrit. “Over the centuries, it became a military fort and then a monastery before falling into disrepair sometime last century. When Mohammed Kalakani arrived in Gangtok a few years back, his brother-in-law, the current ruler of Sikkim, granted him temporary ownership over the place. By special agreement, Kalakani is allowed to keep a small detachment of loyal Afghan soldiers with him at the palace; they are seen by the British as nothing more than a ceremonial guard. It is rumored that Kalakani spent a fortune restoring the palace to its original glory.”

  “You’ll have to forgive my ignorance of Indian history,” said Shaw. “Why does Sikkim have a ruler, isn’t it part of India?”

  “Yes and no,” replied Amrit. “Sikkim is one of several princely states in India that still exercises control over their own domestic affairs, while their foreign relations are handled by the British Crown.”

  Shaw said, “Well, the palace is truly a sight to behold. Do you know why the tower is lit up with a blue light?”

  “It is the Kalakani family color,” explained Amrit.

  As the truck approached the open front gate, a couple of Afghan guards in blue dress uniforms and rifles slung over their shoulders motioned for Amrit to stop. Rolling down her window, Amrit waited for a young officer to approach.

  “Ah, good evening, Doctor York,” said the officer with a friendly smile on his face. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

  “And you, Lieutenant Karim,” replied Amrit.

  Karim said, “I see that you have brought two guests with you this evening.”

  “Yes, these gentlemen are visiting me from New Delhi. May I introduce you to Doctors Shaw and Bruce,” said Amrit.

  Karim nodded his head politely. “Any friend of Doctor York is a welcome guest in the home of my master, his Highness, Mohammed Kalakani.”

  With a salute to Amrit, the officer ordered the soldiers to let them drive inside the palace.

  “I see you didn’t change our names,” said Shaw to Amrit.

  “If, as you say, our covers have been compromised, then all we are doing is fooling those not in the know. If the Germans or those who attacked you are here, changing your names won’t fool them,” replied Amrit.

  A minute later, Amrit parked her truck beside a polished Rolls Royce and then turned her head to face Shaw and Bruce. “Let me do most of the talking. I know most of the people who will be attending the party here tonight. If you both go off asking a million questions, someone is bound to grow suspicious.”

  “Can’t argue with your logic,” said Shaw. “Besides, as the night wears on, the alcohol will loosen up enough tongues for us to find out what is really going on around here.”

  Shaw opened the door and got out of the truck. He wore a light-gray double-breasted jacket with matching pants, white shirt, black tie and shoes. Shaw was as well-dressed as he could be thousands of miles from home. Bruce was wearing a similar outfit in dark blue while Amrit wore a brown women’s pantsuit with a ruffled cream-colored shirt and a long strand of pearls around her slender neck. Looking about, Shaw was not surprised to see many of the British businessmen wearing tuxedos while their wives, or more likely their young Indian mistresses, wore expensive multi-colored dresses adorned with gold.

  Quietly falling in line behind a couple of British officers wearing their traditional Mess attire of red tunic and dark blue pants, Shaw listened to them chatting about the war and how badly it was going. Both men expected to be in Burma fighting the Japanese within the month. Up ahead, the crowd slowed down to a crawl as their host, Mohammed Kalakani, personally greeted each person as they entered his home.

  As they neared, Shaw could see that Kalakani was dressed in a snug military-style dark blue uniform, covered with more medals than a real soldier could ever earn in a lifetime. He was short, fat, and had a neatly trimmed beard on his round face. His wife, a very slender, frail-looking woman, stood beside him adorned with jewels that looked as exquisite as those of the British Royal Family. Behind them stood two massive guards with long swords draped across their chests, their sharp eyes following each person as they stepped near Mohammed Kalakani.

  Seeing Amrit approach, Kalakani warmly smiled. “Good evening, my dear doctor. How are you this evening?”

  “I am well, Your Highness,” replied Amrit, delicately shaking Kalakani’s white-gloved hand.

  “I see that you have brought guests,” said Kalakani.

  “I have, Your Highness,” said Amrit. “Doctors Shaw and Bruce may I introduce to you, His Royal Highness, Mohammed Kalakani, the King of the God-Granted Kingdom of Afghanistan and its dependencies.”

&n
bsp; “Doctors, I am humbled to invite you into my home,” said Kalakani, smiling.

  “The honor is all ours,” replied Shaw, bowing slightly. He wasn’t sure if that was the proper protocol, but it was all he could think of.

  “Oh, you are American,” said Kalakani.

  “Yes, sir, I am. My friend; however; is Scottish,” replied Shaw, indicating to Bruce.

  “Ah, two nations that have at one time or another been persecuted by the troublesome English!” said Kalakani. “It’s because of the English that my family no longer sits on the throne of Afghanistan. However, God willing, I will one-day return to my homeland and take back what is rightfully mine.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Shaw, honestly not caring what happened to the man after tonight. He thought it odd that the man had chosen to take refuge in a nation controlled by the British, but decided that politics was something best left to others to worry about.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce my wife, Farah,” said Kalakani.

  “Ma’am,” said Shaw and Bruce in unison.

  Farah Kalakani inclined her head in greeting and then looked away as if already terribly bored by the evening’s festivities.

  A handsome man in an expensive black tuxedo walked out from a side door and over to Kalakani and whispered into his ear. Instantly, Kalakani smiled from ear to ear.

  “Doctors, if you will excuse me, I must leave you as a visiting film crew is here to record tonight’s wondrous activities,” said Kalakani as he turned and followed the young man.

  With a forced smile on her face, Farah continued to greet the people waiting in line.

  “Come with me,” said Amrit to Shaw and Bruce as she took them both by the arm. “I’ll show you around.”

  “So you’ve been here before,” said Bruce.

  “I have. I’m the queen’s personal physician,” said Amrit.

  “She doesn’t look too happy,” said Shaw quietly.

  “Rumor has it that she hasn’t shared the king’s bed in years. He has a bevy of mistresses from all over Asia that he rotates in and out of the royal bed on a regular basis,” said Amrit.

  “So it is true, the rich are just like you and I, only different,” observed Shaw dryly.

  Amrit led them down a hallway covered in strikingly colored paintings of Buddha or monks in meditation surrounded by deities, none of which were familiar to Shaw or Bruce, until they stepped out into a large hall filled with Kalakani’s guests. It was a sight to behold. British and Indian government officials and soldiers rubbed elbows with well-dressed businessmen and traders from India, China, and Bhutan. There were over two hundred people in the hall all busy chatting away with one another. White-jacketed servers paraded in and out of the back carrying silver trays covered with flutes of expensive champagne from the king’s private collection. A band in the corner of the room played a Jimmy Dorsey tune. Without trying to be conspicuous, Shaw looked about the sea of partygoers to see if there were any other westerners in the crowded room that looked like they didn’t belong there. A couple of European men standing off to one side, chatting. Shaw nonchalantly pointed them out to Bruce, who nodded his head, picked up a flute of champagne from a passing server and then headed over towards the two men.

  “Look,” said Amrit to Shaw.

  Shaw turned his head and saw a film crew standing on top of a table at the far end of the room, filming the party. He could see that the two men at the camera had dark hair and Latin features. He guessed that they were from either Spain or South America. With a slight grin on his face, he watched Kalakani and the young man who had fetched him move off to one side where a Latin gentleman and woman waited to meet them. From the expression on Kalakani’s face, he looked like he was stepping onto a sound stage in Hollywood.

  “Do you know who those people are?” Shaw asked Amrit.

  “No, I’ve never seen them before,” replied Amrit. “My network of informers is usually quite good. I’m not sure how they slipped into the city without being noticed.”

  “Who do you use to supply you with information?”

  “The household staffs of the rich and influential people need a doctor as well. Let’s just say you hear things when you look after their children.”

  “Interesting,” said Shaw, admiring Amrit’s creativity. “I guess that’s why you’re out here, and I’m not.”

  “It wasn’t my original plan, but it fell into my lap, and I naturally ran with it. You’d be amazed what you can learn from an anxious mother while you treat her sick child.”

  “While Bruce circulates through the crowd fishing for Germans, I suggest that you wander over and find out who these people are and what they are up to,” said Shaw, indicating the people standing over by the king.

  Amrit nodded and then led Shaw towards Musa Khan, who was busy keeping the guests away from Kalakani while he shared a drink with his two new acquaintances.

  Amrit stopped beside Khan, leaned forward ever so slightly to get his attention and then said, “Excuse me, Mister Khan, but could you tell me who those people with His Highness are?”

  “Doctor York, a pleasure as always,” said Khan, turning to face her. “His Highness is being filmed by a Cuban scientific expedition before they head to Bhutan.”

  “Did you say Cuban?” said Shaw.

  “Yes, I did,” replied Khan, his eyes suddenly fixed on Shaw.

  “I’m sorry,” said Amrit. “Musa Khan, Chief of Staff to His Highness, Mohammed Kalakani, may I introduce you to Doctor James Shaw.”

  “My pleasure,” said Khan, offering his hand.

  “And mine,” said Shaw, taking Khan’s hand and squeezing it hard.

  If Shaw’s tight grip bothered Khan, his stony visage didn’t show it. “You’re not English, are you?”

  “No, I’m from the States,” replied Shaw, letting go of Khan’s hand.

  “I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting your country,” said Khan. “I studied in Oxford for a few years, though.”

  “Yes, it comes through in your voice.”

  “I suppose it does,” replied Khan, sounding bored. “So, what brings you to India, Doctor Shaw?”

  Shaw hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t expected people to actually ask him about his cover story.

  Amrit smiled and then said, “Doctor Shaw is from the University of Maryland and is a specialist in Southeast Asian diseases. With America now in the war, they sent him on a tour of Asia to learn all he could about the various diseases currently plaguing the region.”

  “Most interesting,” said Khan. “Is the American government looking at stationing soldiers inside India?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a soldier. Washington didn’t let me in on their war plans before I departed,” said Shaw. “However, as the saying goes, to be forewarned is to be forearmed and as diseases go, they aren’t a great respecter of borders drawn on a map.”

  “What diseases are you studying here in northern India?” asked Khan, digging deeper.

  “Tuberculosis, mainly,” said Shaw, hoping that he got it right.

  “A nasty disease if there ever was one,” replied Khan.

  A wave of relief washed over Shaw. Tuberculosis was the only disease he remembered reading about in the books provided to him back in England by Irene.

  Amrit said, “You know, Musa, I hadn’t heard that there were any Cubans in Gangtok, and you know how quickly gossip spreads in this city.”

  “They just arrived,” explained Musa. “With the ruler of Sikkim’s kind permission, His Highness, Mohammed Kalakani, is helping to sponsor the Cuban expedition during their stay in India. They are from the University of Havana. I helped escort them here to Gangtok. We arrived late last night, so it’s no wonder that you hadn’t heard of their arrival.”

  “Once they are finished filming here at the palace, I take it that they’ll be heading off to Bhutan?” said Shaw.

  “To be honest, Doctor Shaw, I’m not sure what’s next in store for the Cuban expedition. We haven’t had th
e time to work out all the details yet,” replied Khan. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.” With that, Khan bowed slightly to Amrit, turned and walked off into the crowd, leaving both Shaw and Amrit feeling as if he were hiding something.

  “That sounded a bit odd, if you ask me,” said Shaw to Amrit.

  “Why’s that?”

  “He said that Kalakani was sponsoring the Cubans, yet he’s not sure what they plan to do next. If he’s the King’s chief of staff, he’s not a good one.”

  “Musa Khan is a loyal servant. He’s probably just trying to keep everyone’s attention focused on his master. I’ve found that Mohammed Kalakani likes the limelight, but has no interest in the running of his day-to-day affairs. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had no interest in where the Cubans were going next, only that he ended up in their film.”

  Bruce suddenly stepped out of the crowd with a fresh drink in his hand.

  “So what have you learned?” asked Shaw.

  “Aside from the fact that the alcohol here is top-notch, if there are any Germans here at the party or hidden somewhere in Gangtok, no one knows a thing about it,” said Bruce. “I found a Swedish missionary who seems more interested in chasing after the very young wife of a Chinese diplomat than in ministering to his flock, and a White Russian officer who’s missing an arm. He told me that he fled to India in 1921, married a local girl and is now a highly respected businessman.”

  Shaw shook his head and then said, “It would appear that tonight is a bit of a bust. Aside from the four Cubans—”

  “Five,” corrected Bruce. “There are five of them. Two over by the camera pretending that they’re Cecil B. DeMille, two more hanging out with the make-believe king and another one walking around the room taking pictures with his very expensive-looking Kodak camera. I can tell you I wish I had one like that back home. It probably cost more than I make in a month.”

  “Duncan, I hadn’t noticed the other fellow until you mentioned him,” said Amrit, watching a man with black curly hair circulating through the room taking pictures.