by Fritz Galt
“Don’t tell me the Beastie Boys were right,” he said at last.
The old man cocked his head, evidently not acquainted with the reference.
“Shambhala really does exist?” Yu said.
The man nodded.
“Who are you?” Yu stammered.
“I am the current Kalika King, Ruler of the Wheel, Holder of the Conch. And you will be the next kalika.”
Yu sat in stunned silence as the disappointed attendees dispersed from the symposium and headed off to live out the remainder of their shattered lives.
“I should say something,” he groaned. He wanted to cry out and stop them, to tell them that his keynote speech was a complete fabrication built upon years of self-righteous scientific hubris.
But the man in the chair shook his head. “The code binds you to silence. It states that the truth of Shambhala should never be revealed to mortal man, except when the king passes the torch to the next kalika.”
Yu’s earlier skepticism gave way under the weight of the new responsibility thrust upon him.
“You must keep the secret, and the blessing, of Shangri-la alive,” the man said. “You will go there and rule the land as I have done before you.”
Yu reread the veiled directions to Shangri-la. “And this will get me there?”
The man nodded. “Along with your knowledge of the legend. Once in China, you can reach it within a week.”
From the meeting hall, he heard young Brad West calling his name, a note of concern in his voice. Perhaps Brad was worried that he would be devastated by the reception his speech had received. It was true he had never bombed like that before. Nor had he been so wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Yu told the man. “I didn’t believe in Shangri-la.”
The bony silhouette nodded knowingly. “Which tells me that you care enough to believe in it.”
A shoe scraped across the floor behind Yu. “And now I know enough.” It was a deep, Chinese-accented voice.
A hand snatched the document from Yu.
Yu turned and found himself looking into the smug face of the man he reviled more than any other. “Liang!”
“That’s right. And I’m going with you,” Liang said. He began to examine the piece of paper.
“You’ll go to no such place,” Yu said, anger momentarily trumping fear.
Just then, he caught movement by the window. A monk in orange robes that covered his face and body stepped awkwardly from behind the curtain. What a busy place this was. The sudden apparition frightened the old German, who rose halfway out of his seat.
“I will take that document,” the robed character said with an improbably squeaky voice.
The old German stepped in front of the overeager monk and made a desperate bid for the piece of paper in Liang’s hands.
Liang pulled the document back just as a shot rang out.
Yu flinched and covered his ears, but wasn’t hit. Where had that come from?
Before him, the old man staggered forward, then slumped to the floor.
“You’re next,” Liang told the hooded man.
The monk retreated to the window.
“Close the curtains,” Liang ordered. Smoke curled from a gun in his hand.
Yu took a last desperate look around the room. The old man lay prone on the floor. Blood oozed from his chest. Beyond the doorway, members of the society were panicking and stampeding out of the hall.
A police siren started up just below the window.
Then the room was plunged into darkness. The hot muzzle of Liang’s revolver jabbed up against Yu’s throat. He found himself propelled out the far end of the room. They turned a corner and stumbled into another room, then another. Where did all this lead?
Faintly, he heard Brad’s voice far behind him. “Dr. Yu?” Feet shuffled into the room where the murder had been committed. They thumped against the body. “Dr. Yu?” Brad’s tone turned to dread.
A curtain slid open. He heard his daughter cry out, “Baba!”
Then he heard the sound of running feet.
Yu was thrust deeper into the apartment.
He and Liang entered a small, stuffy kitchen just as the footsteps approached.
Liang forced him into a passageway behind a cupboard. Yu made out his daughter’s unmistakable voice as she identified Liang. She warned him to leave her father alone or she would shoot his balls off.
Then all sounds were muffled as Liang pulled the cupboard shut behind him.
And all he could feel were Liang’s icy hands pulling him down the steps.
Chapter 23
“Dr. Yu?” Brad raced into a dark room where limited light filtered through parlor curtains.
The feeble light revealed a devastating and perplexing sight.
An old man lay on his back on the floor, blood blossoming from a gunshot wound to his chest. It wasn’t Dr. Yu! A monk in orange garb had ducked behind the drapes and seemed paralyzed by fright. As for Yu, he had vanished.
“Your dad’s not here,” Brad told May.
She glanced at him with a wild look. “Baba!” she yelled, then dashed into the next room.
Brad followed close behind. Nothing was there, or in the room after that.
“Keep going,” he urged. Liang had kidnapped the old scientist before, and Brad wouldn’t stand for it again.
She uttered a vile threat in Chinese that he was glad he didn’t understand.
They ran into a formal dining room. The table and chairs stood neatly in place.
“To the kitchen!” he cried.
It was the last room in the apartment, their last hope.
Matching May stride for stride, he arrived at the kitchen, only to find it empty. It had happened again. Liang had disappeared with Yu.
“Wait,” May said, and flipped on the overhead light.
She crept toward the back of the kitchen where the cupboard looked askew. She slid a hand behind the cabinet. “There is a space,” she whispered.
“Let me go first,” Brad said. He would not put his fiancée at risk. But it was too late. She had already squeezed behind the cupboard.
He heard the sound of policemen approaching. Great. They could help find Yu. He followed May into the dark space. It led down steep wooden steps. He left the kitchen light on and cupboard ajar so that the authorities could find and help them.
“Look at your head,” May called back, already far down in the inky blackness.
He prepared for low-hanging beams by holding a hand in front of his face. A light that glimmered at the bottom of the steps suddenly disappeared.
He picked up his pace, only to smash into a wall. Where had May gone? He was losing people left and right.
He heard her high heels clicking on a floor beyond the wall.
“Let me out of here,” he cried, and banged a fist against the wall.
“Oh, sorry,” came May’s voice. A door swung toward him and she peered in. “Liang left the door open for me.”
He blinked as he slipped out of the creepy space. They were standing in a small cloakroom.
Beyond that, police filed into the building and mounted the formal staircase to the second floor. Brad tried to buttonhole one of them, but they weren’t stopping. After all, they had a murderer to catch.
“This way,” May called.
Brad followed her out onto the sidewalk and past police vans. Soon they were sprinting on a gravel path across the square. May was hampered by her heels, so she kicked them off and ran in the grass.
Through a stand of trees, Brad saw a white, bubble-shaped Renault screech to a halt on the far side of the square. Two men stuffed themselves into the back seat, and the car peeled away.
“That is my father,” May cried between gasps.
“Taxi!” As if a cab would stop in the middle of a garden.
May veered toward the nearest street in search of a cab. Meanwhile, the Renault bearing Liang and Yu headed for a nearby exit.
There were no cabs to be found. But a
young man drove by on a motor scooter. Brad jumped in front of the guy and forced him to skid to a halt. “Thanks, bud. I need your wheels.”
The guy’s eyes were on May, who gripped the handlebars and slid a leg over the seat. He had no choice but to hop off and let her take over.
Brad jumped onto the seat behind her, and she put the scooter in motion.
Brad had nothing to grab. He barely had enough room on the end of the seat, so he wrapped his arms around May and held on tight.
She whipped around a corner, leaning into the turn. They were closing fast on the getaway car, and they were both nearing the end of a street. A giant building stood in their way.
The car took a hard right.
May jumped the curb and sent Brad bouncing high in the air. But he didn’t let go. She had decided to take the sidewalk, where shoppers perused produce at a fruit stand. She roared toward the crowd, and they scattered. One fell against a pile of apples that rolled onto the sidewalk.
The scooter left a trail of applesauce behind as they turned a blind corner to follow the Renault.
But the driver had made a poor choice. A gate blocked the end of the street.
The car skidded to a halt. Liang jumped out and dragged Yu after him. Together, they descended several steps to a department store.
It looked like May might drive straight down the steps and into the store, so Brad hopped off and came to a running stop. She hit the brakes at the top of the steps.
He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into the brightly lit place. It was a discount store. Shoppers were still reeling in Liang’s wake.
Brad saw a pair of white socks fly through the air, followed by pantyhose several meters later. “This way.”
He took her on a shortcut through the electronics section. Should he grab a cell phone along the way?
By the time they reached hosiery, Liang was busy upsetting business in automotive. May and Brad had to step over toppled car care products and weave between angry customers to get anywhere.
It was a frustrating situation as he tried to remain polite to everyone he encountered. But there was no way to apologize for May when she stole a small bicycle from a mother and two children.
May pedaled through the candy section, while he made a beeline for lingerie. Ahead lay a cage of rubber balls purposely tipped over by Liang. They bounced down the aisle toward him.
A nice pair of black lace panties caught his attention, and he briefly considered swiping them. But, there was no time for that.
He came to the first ball and kicked it to the side. This was going to take some time. Many more balls lay in his way.
May had made the wiser choice. She had pedaled around sports and was heading the two men off at groceries. He saw a way to circle from the other side and trap them by frozen foods.
He found a rack of skateboards and threw one to the floor. Scooting down a side lane, he burst into a wide aisle, only to be blindsided by a grandmother with a cart full of stuffed animals. That left him plastered against a rack of girls’ dresses. He picked his board up, crouched low, and scooted through children’s wear, only to stand up again with a pile of one-sies and sleepwear draped over his shoulders.
He threw the clothes off and gave one mighty push. That put him in the cookie and cracker section, which dead-ended at a row of freezers. He had Liang now.
He wheeled adeptly to a stop, flipped the board into his hands and ran the last few steps to the corner of the store. May should converge at any moment.
Which she did. She braked just millimeters from his feet.
But Liang and Yu were gone. Had he left them in infants? He looked around. May seemed thrown as well. Perspiration soaked through her white silk outfit, and every contour of her body was visible to the attentive eye.
“Wait,” she said. “I passed doors.”
She threw her bicycle to the floor and ran back up the aisle. Sure enough, a service entrance led into a storeroom.
Brad and May barged through the swinging doors and ran into a pallet of diapers. Liang must have moved it there intentionally.
Brad punched the heavy bags left and right, and fought his way into the storage room. May added a kung-fu kick here and there. Soon they were climbing over the products and free to look about.
There was only one exit that Brad could see, a loading dock at the rear of the building. “This way,” he called, and pulled May after him. They sliced through stacked boxes toward daylight.
A clerk was bawling them out, but Brad had no time to apologize.
Then, as he approached the dock, he could see the small white Renault. It was waiting in front of a delivery truck. The Renault’s passenger door was just closing, and the car shot off.
Wheezing, Brad came to a halt and leaned on his knees. May ran past, but there was no way to catch up with the getaway car.
Then he heard the chug of an engine. A black cloud of smoke belched in his face.
She had commandeered the delivery truck.
He threw the skateboard to the ground and stepped on top. With several pushes, he gathered enough speed to catch up with the departing truck. At the last second, he lofted himself off the end of the loading dock and into the rear of the truck. A moment later, he landed on a carton of Levi Engineered Jeans.
Through the cab window, he saw where May was heading. They sped down a narrow lane with the Renault two cars ahead.
He shook his head with wonder. She was remarkable.
Then the wavering sound of a siren filled the back of the truck. He turned around.
Great. The police had finally joined the pursuit.
Then a shot rang out, and something whizzed past his ear.
Chapter 24
Clad in an orange robe, Igor Sullivan fought his way downstairs against an onrush of policemen. He could not afford to be connected to the murder, and he had a killer to find.
But he ran into a crowd of attendees stalled on the landing. He lifted his cowl to see why. Police had sealed the exit hoping to prevent the murderer from escaping.
That was good. Liang would be trapped inside.
Still, Sullivan couldn’t wait for all the witnesses to be identified and interviewed. Maybe he could crawl across the mansard roof to another building. He reversed course and headed upstairs. He passed the door to the symposium, circled the landing and began to climb the next flight of stairs.
But a pair of black boots stood in his way.
“Arrêtez, monsieur.”
Who was blocking the stairs? It was a policeman.
Oh great. Now he’d have to explain himself. He pulled his hood back to reveal his face.
The policeman’s eyes grew large.
Okay, Sullivan didn’t look like the typical Buddhist monk. He had thick black hair, not a shaven scalp. His eyes were round. And under the robe, he wore street clothes. In the clear light of day, it was obvious that he was an imposter.
“Allons-y,” the man told him. Let’s go. He reached out and nabbed Sullivan by the elbow, wheeled him about and marched him back to the symposium.
There, the police struggled to herd people back into the conference room. Sullivan didn’t have time for a Poirot-style investigation. He sighed and began to reach for his government ID.
The police officer who had caught him went ballistic. He shouted at Sullivan and shoved him up against a wall.
Sullivan thrust his hands up. “Can’t I show you my ID?” He was unable to conjure up any of his high school French.
The guy started to frisk him. At least he wouldn’t find a smoking gun. Liang had that. But the policeman did find and confiscate his cell phone. He prayed for patience to wait this one out.
Half an hour later, all symposium attendees that the police had rounded up were searched for weapons and seated back in the conference room. Instead of scientists addressing the group, it was the chief interrogator for the National Police.
While he tried to untangle the man’s English, Sullivan studied the real d
etectives that milled around behind the speaker. Technicians in lab coats were dusting the adjoining room for fingerprints. Draped in a white sheet, Professor Fried’s body still lay on the floor.
Behind the hallway door, interrogators were comparing witness names against the convention’s security logs. It could take hours before they let him go.
He listened to the interrogator drone on. At least the audience was calm again.
Suddenly, the door to the hallway flew open, and an assistant rushed in. He went straight to the lectern and handed the speaker a photocopied pair of IDs, like the badges still worn by Shangri-la Society members.
The chief interrogator examined the pair of photographs, then studied the faces of those in the room. Clearly nobody fit the description.
At last, he held the two badges up for everyone to see. “Does anyone know these two killers?”
Sullivan took a close look. It was Brad and May. The investigators had already bungled the case. They were looking for the wrong people.
The interrogator went on. “They are wanted for ze murder of Dr. Yu.”
They didn’t even have the right victim.
Strangely, the crowd showed no shock or grief. Instead, they denounced Yu, some declaring him a fraud. What had Dr. Yu done to them?
The sheer incompetence of the investigation was stunning. Okay, so Professor Fried and Dr. Yu were both old men, and Yu had just concluded his speech before the murder took place, but surely Fried did not look Chinese. Nor would he be wearing Yu’s ID.
He stood up. “The dead man is not Dr. Yu,” he called out. “Just check his name tag.”
That stopped the chief interrogator in his tracks. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief and told his assistant to go back and check the victim’s ID.