Through the Third Eye; Book 1 of Third Eye Trilogy

by Bob Frank

  They spent two more days sequestered in the monastery. Shali occupied herself by transcribing past recordings of regression sessions. Clay kept himself busy by working with the SRD database or playing solitaire and video games on his laptop. On the afternoon of the second day, they were asked to pack their bags and prepare to leave the monastery after dinner.

  Finally, at about 9:00 p.m., the familiar face of their young tour guide showed up. He politely bowed and, without a word, loaded their bags into the back of the SUV. He motioned for Clay and Shali to climb into the back seat. The English-speaking monk rode shotgun in the front seat. Not a single word was exchanged by anyone.

  In the pitch-dark night, they slowly drove down the dirt lane to the entrance of the mountain ravine. This time they followed a second SUV with four unknown occupants. On the main road, they turned to the west. The night travelers wove through valleys and across dark, curvy mountain roads.

  In the back seat, Clay turned on his laptop and connected the external GPS antenna. He tracked their route on the satellite map as they traveled through Tingri towards their destination high up the back trails of Mount Tsipri. The monk riding shotgun occasionally glanced back at Clay, but his facial expression showed patience for Clay’s tinkering. At one point, the monk glanced at Shali and smiled at Clay’s preoccupation with the GPS and the maps.

  Shali smiled back and whispered in Chinese, “Ta shr yi ge techno-weenie. He is what he is. I can’t change him.”

  They laughed together at Clay’s expense.

  * * * ~~~ * * *

  Drukpa Kargyü Monastery, Tibet

  The last twenty minutes of driving was on a rough, winding trail up the side of a ravine in the pitch dark of the moonless night. They finally pulled up in front of a plain, stone-block building. Only dim lights shone through the small windows on either side of the main door. According to Clay’s GPS, it appeared they were nearly half way up the south side of Mount Tsipri.

  Inside the building, they were quickly escorted through winding hallways to the back of what was obviously yet another monastery. They were then taken to a large storage room. Their robe clad guide leaned down, grabbed a hidden handle and lifted half of the wooden floor on a set of hinges that creaked and groaned as if fighting the opening. They descended a wide set of stairs into an underground world below. The hallway walls had obviously been carved out of solid stone as evidenced by chisel marks on the rock walls. The cave was dark and dank, but lit by a closely mounted row of muted lights running down the right side of the hallway. On the upper left side of the hall they could hear the rush of air flowing through some type of ducting.

  Clay and Shali were then taken to separate individual sleeping rooms deeper inside the cave. Their sleeping quarters were much more comfortable with white plastered walls and warm, dry, conditioned air. Even the room amenities were considerably better than they expected, being in the back end of a crude underground cave. The rugs on the floor were warm, of high quality and colorful in the well-lit rooms. The separate bathrooms were also very comfortable with a large, clean bath and hot water. Seeming so ironic, the night stand even had an iPod docking station.

  Gathering outside of Clay’s room, one of the monks who had escorted them said in heavily accented English, “Please make self comfort for many weeks. Please not to leave building except go courtyard. If hear bells ring three, must to immediately go your room here. This is warning if authorities come this place. They must not find you in this place.”

  Clay nodded acknowledgment and then commented to Shali, “The Drukpas certainly thought out the details of this little mountain fortress.”

  “Yes, but they’ve had a few thousand years to refine it.”

  The English-speaking monk who rode with them to the monastery walked in with two young monks who were carrying their bags.

  Clay asked, “Sir, we are assuming that somewhere in the cave is the hiding location of the writings?”

  “Patience, my friends. In the morning you will be shown more. You have had a long day; it is time to rest. Everything you need is in your room. We will wake you in seven hours. Please rest now.”

  There were no arguments from the weary travelers.

  * * * ~~~ * * *

  The next morning after a hearty breakfast in the monastery dining room, Clay and Shali were taken back down into the cave and far down the tunnels to a dead-end piled with trash bags and discarded items. One of the monks leaned down at the edge of the trash heap and brushed away the dirt and rocks. He pulled a lever, and the floor lifted up the trash heap.

  Underneath was another set of hidden stairs that led into a huge darkened room further below.

  As they entered, the dank, stale air of the cave gave way to fresh, obviously climate-controlled conditions. The humidity and temperature was significantly different compared to the cave above it. The escort reached over to the wall and flipped a switch. Muted lights flickered on down another long, deep cave. Before them stood hundreds of wooden shelves neatly stacked with what appeared to be thousands of old scrolls and leather-bound books, all neatly covered with white linen cloths.

  Clay looked at Shali and said in a slow, quiet voice, “I assume this is what I have been looking for these past five years.”

  In awe while staring at the shelves, she responded in a whisper, “Looks that way, Gonzo.”

  The old monk smiled at the shell-shocked stares on their faces. “My friends, there will be much time to learn about this all of this. But for now, please, join me for tea upstairs. The dining room has a wonderful view.”

  Clay and Shali stood quietly as if ignoring their host. After a few minutes of silence, they politely followed him out of the cave, glancing back to capture a parting image of what they had just seen.

  As they sipped their tea to discuss the next steps, Shali and Clay were mesmerized by the view of Mount Everest just fifty miles to the south.

  Clay looked at the monk and said, “I must say, the Drukpa know where to put their monasteries for the best views.”

  He smiled at Clay. “It seems not many people want to live here, so we might as well take advantage of it.” His eyes grew laser like, he breathed in a deep breath and then exhaled with slow intensity. He then said in a serious and decisive tone, “My friends, it is our decision that you will become the new custodians of the writings. These documents have been in our possession for thousands of years. However, we are already making arrangements to transport these treasures to America. We assume this is where you would want to take them. America is probably the safest location in the world right now. We have found a place there where we believe they will be safe until you decide what you are going to do.”

  Clay and Shali looked at each other in absolute surprise.

  “Custodians?” asked Clay.

  Before they could gain their composure, the old monk continued. “Accepting these writings comes with great responsibility. After we move the writings to the new location under your control, you must ensure the protection and safety of both the documents and the knowledge contained within. There is great truth in these writings, and we believe it is time to bring that truth to our human society.”

  Clay now had the look of sheer shock. He looked at Shali and said, “Be careful what you ask for, for you might just get it. I’m not sure I want this new job.” He then turned to the monk and responded in the nervous, machine-gun interrogation style he had learned to use in Army Intelligence: “I am not sure what these responsibilities are. I do not even know what is in the writings. How will I know what to do? Who do I work with? If I find out what is in the writings, and if I actually understand it or agree with it, what am I expected to do with it? What do you mean by custodian, anyway? How will I know what my responsibilities are for protecting it? And who do I protect it from? And — ”

  The monk sat back in his chair, laughed out loud and cut off Clay’s rambling. “My friend. You are the chosen one. You will know what to do when the time comes. We will provide assi
stance for your work ahead, so please relax and absorb your new responsibilities, one step at a time.”

  The monk then explained logistics of living in the monastery for the coming weeks. He also provided each of them with Internet-ready satellite phones that could be used for phone calls or for connecting their laptop computers to the Internet. After lunch they spent the rest of the day catching up on email and current events after the past few weeks on the road.

  They had a good night’s rest in their bedroom-cave suites, and in the morning after breakfast, the monk bid them farewell and left the monastery. From that point on, nearly every day, Clay and Shali met with three old monks who were the current, primary custodians of the writings. They found themselves extremely busy with high level orientations on the history of the writings. Unfortunately for Clay, all the discussions were in Mandarin Chinese, which had to be tediously translated by Shali. But they were assured they would get more substantive details after the secret writings were moved out of Tibet.

  A week later, Clay and Shali were still confused about their roles, even amidst the flurry of activity around the secrets hidden under the monastery. At dinner with Shali that night Clay reflected on their situation. “I really don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten us into, here.”

  “You’re telling me, Dr. Strangelove.”

  “Discounting all of this custodian-stuff with God-only-knows what kind of responsibilities we’ve taken on, I’m just about yak’d out. Yak milk, yak jerky, yak steak, yak kabob — oh, and the goat stew. Plus I don’t want to end up living like a monk in a cave somewhere, guarding all of these secrets. But mostly, right now, I really just want a cheeseburger.”

  “Don’t complain so much. Despite the isolation out here, they did give us satellite phones. That’s better than the last monastery. We’ve got the Internet, so you know when ‘you’ve got mail!’ You’re connected, man, so what’s the problem?”

  “No, I’m not complaining about that. Yes, with the phones we’ve gotten a lot of prep work done, even being locked up in this cave. But I really don’t know what’s going on. What are we going to do with all these documents? I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

  In a comforting yet somewhat facetious voice, Shali said, “Let’s just break it down into bite-sized things to do. We need to get these docs safely transported out of here, and then get them digitized, transcribed, translated, interpreted and communicated without being locked up in a loony bin. It’s simple; just one step at a time.”

  Clay narrowed his eyes with skepticism, tilted his head to the side and said, “I don’t know if you are being nice or patronizing to me, but it isn’t working, either way.” He smiled and then continued in a serious tone: “Shali, I am really concerned.”

  She reached over and firmly grabbed his arm. “Don’t take all of the burden on yourself. We’ll do fine. We’ve just got a lot of work to do, but we’ll be okay. Trust me.”

  Clay smiled and nodded in gratitude.

  “A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots.”

  Marcus Garvey

  Chapter 18

  A few weeks later, Clay and Shali were eating breakfast in the center courtyard, admiring the view of Mount Everest and reflecting on the long days of preparation they had put in. A waft of burning coal sulfur filled the air as they sipped on cups of hot spiced tea in the cold mountain air. They watched a young monk walking a herd of yak down the road to their mountain feeding spot for the day.

  Having watched a half dozen monks meticulously wrapping and packing the scrolls and books into large, gray casket-looking cases, they chatted about the process.

  “They must have spent years preparing for this moment in time.” Shali said. “There are one hundred seventy-eight of those cases. I counted them twice.”

  “Did you get a chance to look at the manifest they are using?”

  “Yep. Damn detailed. Every document has a very specific place in a specific case.”

  “What’s the deal with the colors and the numbers?”

  “They said they will try to separate the yellows from the reds, if possible. I think there is some duplication between the documents or something. If we lose all of the yellows, then the reds still have much of the secrets.”

  Clay nodded. “Even though the cases are fiberglass, they don’t have that deep, pungent resin smell, so they are definitely not new. I’d guess they are at least ten years old. These people have been preparing for this day for a long time.

  “It is obvious that they don’t trust the Chinese. So how do they plan to get all one hundred seventy-eight cases and us out of here without getting caught?”

  “Have you been able to find out how and when we are getting out of here?”

  “Yes. This afternoon, they told me the first stop is Nepal. Kathmandu to be exact. The trick is getting over there. I don’t have any idea how they can move this much stuff inconspicuously without the Chinese finding out, but they assured me they are working on it. One thing is clear, though: this group — whoever they are, whatever they are — is very organized.”

  “Have you asked them about the organization?”

  Shali pressed her lips together before replying. “Yeah, I’ve asked them, but I haven’t gotten squat. They talk in circles and avoid answering me directly. It’s like they are talking gibberish.”

  She caught her pun relating to Jabir. Both of them paused and looked at each other. Slowly they both smiled at each other and chuckled.

  Clay then asked, pointedly, “So, when do we get out of here?”

  “They tell me it could still be another week or so.”

  He shook his head side to side. “Let’s hope it’s not much longer or I might start to speak gibberish. I probably should have taken up studying Mandarin while we were locked up out here. All of you yakking away in Chinese is like gibberish.”

  * * * ~~~ * * *

  Nearly a week later, they met for breakfast in the courtyard. Shali breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly and deliberately. In a matter-of-fact tone, she said to Clay, “It’s showtime. This morning they told me we are leaving tonight. We are to pack all of our bags today and be ready to go after dark.”

  Clay’s eyes lit up and he excitedly shot back, “I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.” Shali smiled. “But why all the secrecy? Why wait until the day we leave before they tell us?”

  “They are not very clear on that, but I gather they have been waiting for the proverbial stars to align. I don’t know what is going on, but it sounds like the logistics has been giving them problems.”

  They spent the day preparing to leave and watching the final logistical activities for moving the cases. After dinner their bags were moved up to the main entrance. An hour later, they stood out front and anxiously watched a row of truck headlights slowly dance their way up the road to the monastery at a snail’s pace. The slow grinding of transmissions could be heard echoing in the hills as the trucks shifted gears up and down to squirm up the trail.

  Clay asked Shali, “Do you figure this is our ride out of here or a posse of Chinese soldiers?”

  She smiled at his quip. “I would sure hope it’s our ride. If it were the Chinese, our monk buddies would be shoving us and the cases back down into the caves.”

  They stood quietly watching the bouncing lights for another ten minutes. Four canvas-covered trucks finally pulled up inside the monastery drive in front of neatly stacked piles of the gray cases sorted by color, code and number. The trucks turned back to the front of the monastery as their engines revved up. The trucks spewed sulfur-laden, hazy blue diesel exhaust into the courtyard as they jockeyed for position in front of the piles. Nearly simultaneously, the drivers turned off the engines. The loud roar instantly turned to near dead silence. The smoky blue air slowly drifted off down the valley. Like an army of ants, every monk in the monastery began loading cases into the back end of the trucks.

  Standing on the sidelines, Clay and Sh
ali watched the three custodians supervise the operation and check off the cases as they were loaded into the trucks. The red numbered cases went into the first two trucks and the yellow cases went into the last two trucks.

  Shali leaned over to Clay and said, “A lot of thought went into the logistics of this move. It’s almost as if this is a routine. Imagine what the plan would have looked like a thousand years ago, had it been necessary to relocate the treasures back then.”

  Clay chuckled. “Yeah. Probably a couple hundred pack mules would have been standing in that courtyard instead of just four trucks.”

  The two of them traded more jokes as they walked around the back of the trucks to get a closer look. Each truck had jerry cans of diesel fuel tied down along the right side. On the left side were jugs of water and boxes of food.

  Clay and Shali noticed the three custodian monks had gathered near the monastery’s entrance and were obviously discussing the progress of the loading. One of the monks motioned for Shali to join them. Clay continued watching the trucks being loaded for ten minutes until Shali returned.

  “Clay, here’s the scoop. We’re going to be driving to some remote airfield where everything will be loaded onto two cargo planes. Then we fly to Kathmandu.”

  Clay looked puzzled. “I don’t understand. We’re not that far from Nepal. It would seem easier to just drive there.”

  “I know what you mean, but they told me there was too much chance of being intercepted by the Chinese Army.”

  “So does that mean they were not successful in paying off the Chinese officials along the border?”

  Shali grinned politely at Clay’s facetiousness.

  The loading of the trucks continued through the night. Before morning broke, Clay and Shali were separated and escorted to ride in different trucks. The custodian monks climbed into the cabs of different trucks as well.

  Shali leaned out of her truck and yelled to Clay, “Hey, race you to the bottom.” He waved her off.

  One by one the trucks fired up their engines and barked out huge bellows of black smoke. The silence of the early morning was broken by the belching trucks with grinding, whining gears. The drivers slowly pulled their trucks out of the monastery’s courtyard. Over the next thirty minutes, the convoy made the slow bumpy trip down the steep mountain trail in the darkness of the early morning. Slight glints of morning sun just began to peak out from behind the mountains as they reached the bottom of the mountain.