The Gods' Gambit

by David Lee Marriner

  Nyma came back with the provisions and they set out together through the sparse trees behind the monastery.

  The plateau ended at the foothill of one of the higher summits. They started walking uphill at a fast pace for about an hour and a half. Eventually, lama Tenzin chose a big fallen tree for them to sit on and have their breakfast.

  Nyma thought that his teacher kept more silent than he normally did, but respectfully did not want to start a conversation first. Lama Tenzin was a good-hearted man and took fatherly care of Nyma, but he did not tolerate familiarity or the slightest breach of the disciplinary code. He was the most revered teacher in the monastery and Nyma strived not to disappoint him in any way.

  Lama Tenzin started to speak at last. “As you know, my journey to the West is near. I plan to be away for a few months. That’s why I want to give you some instructions. Tell me what difficulties you encounter in your practice.”

  Nyma looked down in confusion. Although he had the best practitioner as his personal teacher, his meditation was a disaster. He was wondering how to answer and from where to start. “I try to do everything properly but with not much success. Err … after practising I feel more agitated than before it.”

  “What do you think is the reason for that?”

  Nyma thought for several moments. “I have a light mind. My thinking constantly jumps from one thing to another,” he said simply.

  Sparks shined mischievously in lama Tenzin’s eyes. “Do you see that perch sticking out?” He pointed out a rocky protuberance situated on higher ground about a kilometre ahead. “It is the habitat of strong mountain spirits. The place is good for the divination meditation I want to do in connection with my journey abroad. It is good for working on your problem as well. We will go there now.”

  The climbing was difficult, but lama Tenzin did not stop until they had put foot on the rocky perch. There he leaned against a huge stone to catch his breath. The place was significantly larger than it had seemed from the position where he had first drawn Nyma’s attention to it. A great view over the plateau opened up before them.

  “While here, we must be very attentive. Sometimes bears or snow leopards climb down the mountain,” lama Tenzin warned.

  At these words, Nyma cast around a furtive glance.

  “They normally avoid hunting people. Except maybe if they’re very hungry. Unfortunately, after the winter some wild animals are very hungry. That’s why we should be extra watchful,” the teacher added.

  Nyma felt his heart squeezed by fear. He wished his teacher had not chosen this remote place for their practice.

  Lama Tenzin stepped ahead and looked around. He indicated a natural niche in the rocks and said, “This area is favourable for my meditation. You go to the very edge of the perch. I’ll find a good place for you there. Take care not to fall asleep. You could easily fall from the cliff.” He took out from his wide sleeve a red scarf and wrapped it around Nyma’s head, blocking his sight completely. “The bandage will keep the bad mountain spirits away. They inhabit this place. Our presence disturbs them. When angry, they could go inside you through your eyes and deviate your heart,” he explained. “Now I will lead you to the stone. You stay there in the rishy posture. Hold my hand.” He led Nyma away several steps and then let him go.

  Nyma positioned himself in the way his teacher had taught him – squatting, arms resting on his knees.

  “Just calm your mind and don’t move,” lama Tenzin said while walking away.

  “What if I hear the steps of some beast?” Nyma asked with tension in his voice.

  “Wild beasts almost never attack meditating people. If you do not move, the beast will sniff you and walk away.”

  At first, Nyma was overtaken by rising anger at the situation his teacher had put him in. Soon after that, almost like a physical blow, he was stricken by thoughts about the dangerous things that could possibly happen to him. One small movement could throw him off the cliff. He could be eaten by a deadly beast. And to cap it all he was surrounded by raging spirits. Nyma froze in fear – still and totally alert.

  Some time passed and he eventually heard the voice of lama Tenzin as though it was coming from a distance because of the trance-like state he had plunged into. He took off the bandage. He blinked in the bright light of the sun and covered his eyes with his palm. Only now did he find that he was not at the edge of the cliff after all, but quite some distance away from it. Lama Tenzin had only made him think that he was near the abyss; in reality, he had left him in a safe spot. This discovery did not provoke any feelings in Nyma. His mind was empty and stable.

  “Now you know what concentration is,” lama Tenzin almost whispered. “If at any time agitation taints your practice again, apply the same technique. You could bring a danger even into your room to help you concentrate. The difference between the abyss being next to your feet or kilometres distant is in your mind only.”

  Nyma pressed his palms together in a gesture of prayer and bowed three times to the ground in front of his teacher.

  While they were climbing back down, Nyma sensed that something was wrong. Lama Tenzin walked thoughtfully, his shoulders stooped as though he was carrying a heavy load. He saw him secretly wipe his face with the back of his hand. Were those tears on his cheeks? No, that was impossible. Nyma thought he was mistaken. But he was not.

  Nyma would have been astonished if he knew what was going on in the mind and heart of the old teacher. For the first time for many years, lama Tenzin felt that the stability of his mind had been shaken. In his meditation on the rock he had looked for signs of how to continue presenting the Vajrayana Buddhism teachings, many of which were still secret, to the West. Instead, he had received a completely different vision. It confirmed the omen he had seen in the clouds that morning. Something very bad was going to happen, very bad indeed. He did not know if he could do something, anything, to stop it from happening. He did not know if anybody at all could do anything.

  When they were about half a kilometre from the monastery, lama Tenzin stopped and said to Nyma, “Bring the satellite phone here. We’re going to make a call.”

  Nyma’s first reaction to this unexpected request was surprise, immediately followed by a familiar feeling – a mix of excitement and curiosity. The calls lama Tenzin had made on that sophisticated device looked somehow mysterious to Nyma. The satellite phone was a gift from a Tibetan emigrant from Europe. At lama Tenzin’s request, the man had taught Nyma and another young monk how to use it. Although a great scholar, lama Tenzin was almost helpless when it came to modern technology. The old teacher had used the phone from time to time despite the existing ordinary landline in the monastery. All the satellite phone conversations he had made with Nyma’s assistance had been odd. That’s why Nyma got excited every time he was asked to help with a call.

  “It’s important. Do it quickly,” lama Tenzin said softly.

  Nyma came to his senses. “Yes, master.”

  Nyma went to fetch the phone and ran back. He placed the portable satellite aerial on the ground and opened its foldable dish by pressing a button.

  Lama Tenzin asked him to dial a number from the phone book under the name of Lao Boonliang and then he took the phone.

  Nyma could hear the phone ringing. Eventually, he heard an answering machine message.

  Lama Tenzin said in English, “Lao, chairman Tenzin is calling. I hope you and Pema are fine. Unfortunately, things don’t go well here. My oldest son is ill. I will soon post you the prescription. You and Pema will need to buy medicines. Call me once you get this message.” He tossed the phone to Nyma and promptly set out for the monastery.

  Nyma collected the portable aerial and ran to catch up with him.

  Chairman Tenzin! My oldest son! As far as Nyma knew, lama Tenzin wasn’t a chairman of anything. And he had always lived in celibacy.

  Once again, the satellite phone hadn’t left Nyma disappointed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Whiteway Estate, Hampsh
ire, UK

  “Her life is in no immediate danger. The operation to remove the bullet went smoothly. She’s stable now,” the surgeon had said after Pema’s four-hour operation.

  Lao and Malee stayed with her. James went home. He intended to wait there for Irina so they could discuss the Algerian findings.

  Upon arriving home he felt as though he was visiting a foreign place. There were police and media cars and an assortment of other vehicles next to the stone arch. About ten reporters were waiting just outside the area cordoned off with police tape. As soon as they spotted him, they rushed towards him, pointing microphones and cameras. He had to slow down to avoid hitting someone. He managed to get past them and continued slowly up the drive.

  The detective in charge of the case had informed James that he was going to provide him with a twenty-four hour guard and now a police car, with one uniformed and one plain-clothes officer in it, was parked next to the patio. James nodded to them and parked his car in front of the house. He tried not to look at the bloody stain marking the place where the woman had died.

  Irina arrived half an hour later. She looked tired. She asked James about Pema and requested a cup of strong coffee. James showed her into the conservatory.

  She gazed at the trees coming into leaf and the large mowed meadow that harboured islets of flourishing flowers and decorative bushes. “Wonderful view. Calms the soul,” she said.

  “Yes. It’s beautiful at this time of year. How are you coping?”

  Carried away by her thoughts, she didn’t catch his point. “I just finished giving my testimony to the police.”

  “I mean … what you did. Without you, Pema and I would have been killed or kidnapped.”

  Irina cast him a glance. “I hadn’t killed a man until today. I know it was in self-defence. But it’s not that simple…” She paused. “An occupational risk, one could say.”

  “I’m extremely glad for your intervention.”

  Irina changed the subject. “On my way here I tried to put myself in your shoes. I’m sure it’s not easy for you either.”

  “I feel like the sky has fallen on me.”

  “What do you think could be the goal of those people? It was a professionally organized operation. Only by pure chance that we’d fixed our meeting at that particular time made them fail.”

  James drew his hand over his forehead. He had been pondering the same question. “It’s beyond all reason. Judging by their actions, they didn’t want me dead. They had plenty of time to shoot me if killing me was their goal. The man wanted me cuffed. Maybe they wanted to kidnap me. Ransom, I suppose. That’s what I told the police.”

  “Yes. That’s the most probable reason,” said Irina slowly and thoughtfully. “I see two odd things. One is the determination of those people; their readiness to die. The other is that in my estimation they were not professionals. Their planning and organization were good, though. By the way, are you rich?”

  “I wouldn’t describe myself as rich. My financial state is stable.”

  “So kidnappers could get a large ransom for you.”

  “That depends on your point of view, I suppose. But you could say so.”

  “That adds a question mark.”

  “I don’t know what to think. My life’s been turned upside down in the last few days. Without any obvious reason.”

  “Answers will emerge when the bodies are identified. The van and the green Audi were stolen. But we have two bodies which will be identified very soon. Those people left traces. Soon more facts will be clear.

  “I hope so. This uncertainty and lack of knowing what’s going on is unbearable.” James was silent for a while. He took a sip of coffee. “You know I was removed from the investigation into Costov’s murder?”

  “I spoke with Peter. He thinks you delivered one hundred per cent in your work on the case. He mentioned the new leads detective Stockton has followed.”

  “They think I’ve been compromised. They’re linking Elizabeth with Islamic extremists. That’s pure madness.”

  “I’m aware of the situation. Peter trusts you. He thinks they’ve been over hasty. But things do not just depend on him.”

  “I wanted to say this to you in person to avoid any misunderstanding. I wouldn’t want to cause you any problems.”

  “I don’t work for the British police. And I don’t share their reservations regarding you. You did a great job in Algeria. I wouldn’t have managed without you.” Irina reached into her bag, which she had hung over the back of her chair. She pulled out a small thin notebook with a brownish cover and several sheets of paper. “I promised sheikh Mussa I’d hand over Knut Vebber’s notebook to you. He insisted on it. These papers contain the English translation. Vebber wrote in the notebook in Arabic and here and there in German.”

  James was surprised. “The sheikh sent this to me?”

  “He asked me to give it to you personally. He said you would understand.”

  James started to read the translation. “How did your meeting with the sheikh go?” he asked.

  “I got a better picture of what kind of person Vebber was. The sheikh was not effusive. He allowed me to talk to two of his students who knew Vebber. He was a pretty odd character in my opinion. An idealist with interesting thoughts. I don’t get how he blended with the Islamic environment there. Obviously, he had intended to. He was held in respect by the whole Sufi school. No conflicts with anybody. He was a soft and polite young man, a bit reticent. His murder left all who knew him there in shock.” Irina stopped, seeing that James was engrossed in the text.

  “Sorry,” he said and put the papers aside. “I got carried away.”

  “It’s okay. Take a look and then tell me what you think.”

  Five minutes later, James lifted his head. “You’ve read this, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Pretty interesting. Somehow … poetic.”

  James was visibly excited. “I’m impressed. This man was a philosopher. An original one. It’s a pity that his work has been left incomplete.”

  “Was he that good?”

  “Incredibly. I think the title he gave his work – Philosophy of the New Man – really corresponds with the writing.”

  Irina stood up, walked back and forth a couple of times and then sat down again. The signs of tiredness had disappeared and she now looked animated. “That’s the Costov-Vebber connection!” she exclaimed. “Its lack up until now has been confusing for me... That’s valid, of course, if Knut Vebber’s writings are as significant as you say.”

  James obviously did not catch her point, so Irina explained. “In your report you describe the cult as opposed to progress. Costov was killed because he was a prominent scientist – a carrier of progress. Vebber’s murder also falls into this scheme. He had the potential to leave a trace in humanitarian science.”

  “That’s a good point. However, we don’t know anything about the criteria the cult uses to choose its victims. Costov had a scientific career. His achievements were publicly acclaimed. Vebber was completely unknown in that sense.”

  “He may have shared his ideas with somebody linked to that cult,” Irina suggested.

  “It’s possible. That man must have been somebody from Algeria. That’s why he was killed there.”

  Irina expanded on his argument. “If a German branch of the cult was involved, Vebber would have been killed in Germany.”

  “Vebber had a closed personality. It’s less probable he would have shared his ideas anywhere else but in Algeria. They were his closest spiritual companions.”

  Irina suddenly smiled. “We make a good team.”

  “It may sound immodest, but I agree.” It was the first time for several days that a semblance of a smile crossed James’ face.

  Irina stood up. “In that case I preserve the privilege to hire your expertise some day. That would be without the British police being the middle men.”

  “That’d be a pleasure.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The
MI5 building, Brighton, UK

  “Detective Stockton is expecting you, Mr Whiteway. Third floor, office 12,” said the woman behind the reception desk. She handed him a visitor’s badge. “Scan it on the device when you enter and leave,” she said, pointing to the square display of the checking-in/out machine.

  Office 12 was one half of a large room, separated by a transparent glass panel. In it were six desks with busy-looking police officers behind each of them.

  James spotted Stockton through the glass panel. His desk was separate from the others in the far left corner. Stockton invited him to sit down and continued to rummage among the papers on his desk. A minute later, he lifted his head and said, “I already spoke with Miss Eden’s family. I shared with them the facts we’ve gathered up until now.”

  James once again felt an aversion to him. You want to say that I’m wasting your time, he thought, but said, “I know. I talked to them. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here. I was visiting my housekeeper in hospital.”

  “I want you to know that your case was given to me, too,” said Stockton. “Yesterday, I took a statement from Mrs Pema Boonliang. She mentioned you had intruders at your estate a few days before the attack.”

  James explained what had happened and added that it may well have had nothing to do with the assault. He mentioned the gold Peugeot for the first time.

  Stockton took notes while he was speaking. “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” he asked.

  “I’d forgotten it,” James admitted. “About this car – I’m just guessing. I hardly saw it, so I can’t be sure it was the same car I saw at the funeral.”

  “Hmm,” murmured Stockton, devoting himself to typing something into his computer with two fingers.

  James started to lose patience. “Detective, I came here to talk about developments in Elizabeth’s murder investigation. Let’s leave my interrogation for another time.”

  Stockton stopped typing and looked up. He pushed his chair back from the desk and clasped his hands over his stomach. “As you wish,” he said slowly, separating his words. “The killer’s name is William Leroy, nickname Billy the Stain. Drug addict and drug dealer. He served a five-year sentence. He got out a couple of years ago.” Stockton paused and looked James straight in the eyes without blinking before continuing. “He was a member of the gang that attacked you, by the way. We think their goal might have been to finance radical Islamists. Four men and two women formed the gang. The women and two of the men are already dead. We’re trying to establish the identity of the other two men. We’re checking out the possibility that Elizabeth Eden could have known something about these people—”