Nadia realized that this skill was not a trick or an illusion but a very ancient art that required continual practice. “It’s like learning to play the flute,” she had once told Alexander. “You have to study a long time.” He had never really believed he could learn, and hadn’t made an effort to practice. Nadia, on the other hand, had decided that if the Indians could do it, she could, too. She knew that more was involved than mimicry, agility, delicacy, silence, and knowledge of one’s surroundings; mental attitude was most important of all. She learned how to reduce herself to nothingness and visualize her body becoming so transparent it was converted into pure spirit. It was necessary to maintain concentration and interior calm in order to create a formidable psychic field about her person. One distraction could cause failure. Only in that superior state in which spirit and mind were working in unison could invisibility be achieved.
In the months that had passed between the adventure in the City of the Beasts in the heart of the Amazon and the moment when she found herself in that cave in the Himalayas, Nadia had practiced tirelessly. She had made such progress that sometimes her father shouted for her when she was right by his side. When she suddenly materialized, César Santos would jump with surprise. “I’ve told you not to appear like that. You’re going to give me a heart attack!” he would complain.
Nadia knew that in this moment the only thing that could save her was that art she had learned from the People of the Mist. She murmured instructions to Borobá to wait a few minutes before he followed her—she could not become invisible carrying the little monkey—and then turned inward, toward that mysterious space we all have when we close our eyes and expel all thoughts from our minds. Within seconds she entered a state similar to a trance. She felt that she had stepped free of her body, and that she could see herself from above, as if her consciousness had risen ten feet above her own head. From that position, she saw her legs take a step, then another and another, moving away from Pema and the other girls, advancing in slow motion, moving through the darkness of the bandits’ lair.
She passed within inches of the horrible woman with the whip, slipped like an unseen shadow among the bodies of the sleeping warriors, continued, almost floating, toward the mouth of the cave where the weary guard was making an effort to stay awake, his eyes lost in the night, but clutching his rifle. She did not lose her concentration for a second, or allow fear or hesitation to send her soul back to the prison of her body. Neither stopping nor changing the rhythm of her steps, she came so close to the man that she was almost touching his back, so close that she could clearly smell his scent of dirt and garlic.
The guard shivered slightly and clutched his weapon, as if at some instinctive level he had sensed her presence near him, but his mind immediately blocked out that suspicion. His hands relaxed and his eyes half-closed, as he struggled against sleep and fatigue.
Nadia glided out of the entrance to the cave like a ghost, and kept walking blindly into the darkness, without turning to look back and without hurrying. The night swallowed her slender silhouette.
Almost as soon as Nadia had returned to her body and taken a look around her, she realized that she would never be able to find her way back to Tunkhala in broad daylight, much less in the shadows of night. She was surrounded by mountains, and since she had been brought to this place with her head covered, she didn’t have a single point of reference that would allow her to get her bearings. The one thing she was sure of was that they had been climbing all the way, which meant that she must descend on the return, but if she did that, she would surely run into the other Blue Warriors. She knew that the guard in charge of the horses had stayed behind some distance from the cave, and she didn’t know how many more might be scattered among the hills. Considering the confidence with which the bandits moved about, with no apparent fear of being surprised, there must be a lot of them. It would be better to look for a different escape route.
“What do we do now?” she asked Borobá when they were again reunited, but the monkey knew only the route he had followed to come there, the same way the bandits had come.
Borobá, as unaccustomed to the cold as his mistress, was shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering. Nadia held him against her chest beneath her parka, comforted by the presence of her faithful friend. She pulled up her hood and tied it firmly around her face, regretting that she didn’t have the gloves Kate had bought her. Her hands were so cold that she couldn’t feel her fingers. She held them to her lips and blew on them to warm them, and then stuck them in her pockets, but she wouldn’t be able to climb or to keep her balance in that rough terrain without using both hands. She figured that as soon as the sun came up and her captors realized that she’d fled, they would come out en masse to look for her; they couldn’t permit one of their prisoners to reach the valley or raise the alarm. It was clear that they were used to moving about in the mountains; she, in contrast, had no idea where she was.
The Blue Warriors would assume that she was fleeing down the mountainside, toward the villages and valleys of the Forbidden Kingdom. To trick them, she decided to climb higher, even though she was aware that by doing so she was moving farther from her goal. She knew there was no time to waste, and that Pema’s fate, and that of the other girls, depended on her finding help soon. She hoped to reach the top of the mountain by dawn, and from there plan another way to get to the valley.
Ascending the steep hill turned out to take much longer and be more difficult than she had imagined; the darkness, barely relieved by the moonlight, added to the difficulties of the terrain. She slipped and fell a thousand times. She ached all over from being carried across the galloping horse the day before, and from the blow to her head and her bruises, but she didn’t allow herself to think about that. She could barely breathe and her ears were buzzing. She remembered Kate’s explanation about there being less oxygen at this altitude.
There were small shrubs growing among the rocks, which disappeared completely during the winter but at this season flourished beneath the summer sun. Nadia grabbed them to make her climb. When her strength ebbed, she remembered that she had climbed toward the peak of the tepui in the City of the Beasts until she found the eagle’s nest containing the three fabulous diamonds. “I did that, so I can do this; this is much easier,” Nadia told Borobá, but the tiny monkey, still numb with cold beneath her jacket, did not even stick his nose out.
By dawn, she was still more than six hundred feet from the top of the mountain. First came a pale glow, which in only minutes took on an orange cast. When the first rays of the sun shone over the formidable mass of the Himalayas, the sky sang with color: the clouds were tinted with purple and the patches of snow turned rosy pink.
Nadia did not pause to contemplate the beauty of the landscape; making an extraordinary effort, she continued to climb, and soon she stood at the highest point of that mountain, panting and bathed in sweat. She felt as if her heart would burst in her chest. She had thought that from the top of the mountain she would have a view of the valley of Tunkhala, but all she saw before her were the impenetrable Himalayas, one mountain after another, stretching toward infinity. She was lost. When she looked down, she thought she saw figures moving in several directions: the Blue Warriors. She sat down on a boulder, exhausted, fighting despair and fatigue. She had to rest and catch her breath, but she couldn’t stay there. If she didn’t find somewhere to hide, her pursuers would soon discover her.
Borobá stirred beneath her parka. Nadia unzipped it, and her little friend looked out, his intelligent eyes fixed on hers.
“I don’t know which way to go, Borobá. All the mountains look alike, and I don’t see any kind of trail,” Nadia said.
The little monkey pointed in the direction they’d come from.
“I can’t go that way, because the Blue Warriors will capture me. But they won’t notice you, Borobá, there are monkeys everywhere. You can find the way back to Tunkhala. Go look for Jaguar,” Nadia commanded.
The mon
key shook his head, covered his eyes with his hands and shrieked, but she explained that if they didn’t separate they had no chance to save the other girls or save themselves. Pema’s fate, and that of the other girls, as well as her own, depended on him. He must find help or they would all perish.
“I will hide somewhere near here until I’m sure they aren’t looking for me, then I’ll find a way to get down to the valley. In the meantime you must hurry, Borobá. The sun’s already up, so it won’t be as cold. You can get to the city before the sun sets again,” Nadia Santos insisted.
Finally Borobá let go and shot off down the mountainside like an arrow.
Kate sent Timothy and Joel into the countryside to photograph flora and fauna for International Geographic. They would have to work on their own, while she stayed in the capital. She couldn’t remember having been so worried and upset in all her life, except for the time Alexander and Nadia were lost in the Amazon jungle. She had assured César that this trip to the Forbidden Kingdom presented no danger. How could she tell a father that his daughter had been kidnapped? And even worse, that she was in the hands of professional murderers who stole girls to make them their slaves?
Kate and Alexander had gone to speak with the king, who met with them in the reception room of his palace along with his commander in chief, his prime minister, and the two lamas who had highest authority after him. Judit Kinski was also there.
“The lamas have consulted the stars and have given instructions to the monasteries to pray and make offerings for the missing girls. General Myar Kunglung is in charge of the military operation. Possibly the police have already been mobilized?” asked the king, whose serene face did not reflect his extreme concern.
“Possibly, Your Majesty . . . Also, soldiers and palace guards alert. Borders being watched.” The general spoke using his poor English so the foreigners could understand.
And he added, “Perhaps people, too, will look for girls. I never heard nothing like this ever in our country. Possibly news will be here soon.”
“Possibly? That doesn’t sound good enough to me!” sputtered Kate, and then immediately bit her lips; she knew that she had been terribly rude.
“Perhaps Mrs. Cold is the least bit upset,” offered Judit, who apparently had already learned to speak in the vague terms that were considered polite in the Kingdom of the Golden Dragon.
“Perhaps so,” said Kate, bowing, with her hands before her face.
“Perhaps it would be improper to ask how the honorable general plans to organize the search?” Judit inquired.
The next fifteen minutes went by with questions from the foreigners, who received increasingly vague answers until it became obvious that there was no way they could press the king or the general any further. Kate and Alexander were so frustrated that they had broken out in a sweat. Finally the monarch stood, and there was nothing to do but say good-bye and back out of the room.
“It’s a beautiful morning, perhaps there will be a lot of birds in the garden,” Judit suggested to the king.
“Perhaps,” he agreed, leading her outside.
• • •
The king and Judit strolled along the narrow path that twisted through the vegetation of the park where everything seemed to be growing in a wild state; a trained eye, however, could appreciate the calculated harmony of the whole. It was there, amid that glorious abundance of flowers and trees, among the concerts of hundreds of birds, that Judit had proposed to begin the experiment with the tulips.
The king believed that he did not deserve to be the spiritual leader of his nation. He felt very far from having reached the degree of preparation that was needed. All his life he had practiced detachment from earthly matters and material possessions. He knew that nothing in the world is permanent; everything changes, decomposes, dies, and is renewed in a different form; it is, therefore, futile to cling to things of this world, which can only cause suffering. The path of Buddhism lies in accepting that premise. Sometimes the monarch had the illusion that he had succeeded, but the visit of this foreign woman had caused his doubts to return. He felt attracted to her, and that made him vulnerable. It was a feeling he had not experienced before, because the love he had shared with his wife had flowed like water in a tranquil stream. How could he protect his kingdom if he could not protect himself from the temptations of love? There was nothing bad about wanting love and intimacy with another person, the king argued to himself, but in his position he could not permit himself that freedom; the remaining years of his life must be wholly dedicated to his people. Judit interrupted his musings.
“What an extraordinary pendant that is, Majesty!” she commented, pointing to the jewel he wore on his chest.
“The kings of this country have worn it for eighteen hundred years,” he explained, removing the medallion and handing it to her so that she could examine it more closely.
“It’s very beautiful,” she said.
“Very old coral, like this, is greatly appreciated among us, because it is rare. It is also found in Tibet. The fact that it is found here indicates that perhaps millions of years ago the waters of the seas reached the peaks of the Himalayas,” the king explained.
“What does the inscription say?” she asked.
“They are the words of Buddha: Change must be voluntary, not imposed.”
“And what does that mean?”
“All of us may change, but no one can force us to do it. Change may occur when we confront an unquestionable truth, something that forces us to revise our beliefs,” he said.
“That’s a strange phrase to have been chosen for the medallion.”
“This has always been a very traditional country. The duty of the ruler is to defend his people from changes that are not based on a truth,” the king replied.
“The world today is changing rapidly. I understand that the students in your country want changes,” she commented.
“Some young people are fascinated with the lifestyle and products of other lands, but not all modern things are good. The majority of my people do not want to adopt Western ways.”
They had come to a pond, where they stopped to contemplate the dance of the carp in the crystal-clear water.
“I suppose that on a personal level the inscription on the medallion means that every human can change. Do you believe that an already formed personality can be modified, Majesty? For example, that a villain can become a hero, or a criminal a saint?” asked Judit, returning the jewel.
The monarch smiled. “If the person does not change in this lifetime, perhaps he will have to return to do it in another incarnation.”
“Each of us has his karma. Perhaps the karma of a bad person can’t be changed,” she suggested.
“Perhaps the karma of that person will be to encounter a truth that forces him, or her, to change,” the king replied, noting, intrigued, that the chestnut eyes of his guest were moist.
They walked through an isolated section of the garden that was bare of exuberant blooms, a simple patio of sand and rock where an elderly monk was tracing a design with a rake. The king explained to Judit that he had copied the idea from gardens in the Zen monasteries he had seen when he visited Japan. A little farther on, they crossed a carved wooden bridge that spanned a stream rippling over stones. Just ahead was the small pagoda where they were to have a tea ceremony. The awaiting monk greeted them with a bow. As Judit was removing her shoes, she and the king continued their conversation.
“I don’t want to seem impertinent, Majesty, but I have the impression that the disappearance of those girls is a very harsh blow for your nation,” said Judit.
“Perhaps . . .” the sovereign replied, and, for the first time, she noticed that his expression changed and a deep furrow marked his brow.
“Isn’t there anything that can be done? Something more than military action, I mean . . .”
“What do you have in mind, Miss Kinski?”
“Please, Majesty, please call me Judit.”
“Judit is a beautiful name. Unfortunately, no one calls me by my name. I fear that it is a demand of protocol.”
“On an occasion as serious as this, possibly the Golden Dragon could be of great help—if the legend of its magic powers is true,” she suggested.
“The Golden Dragon is consulted only for matters that concern the well-being and security of this kingdom, Judit.”
“Forgive my boldness, Majesty, but perhaps this is one of those times. If citizens have disappeared, that means that their well-being and security are not being assured,” she insisted.
“Possibly you are right,” the king admitted, lowering his head.
They went inside the pagoda and sat on the floor facing the monk. The circular wooden room was dimly lighted by the coals where water was boiling in an ancient iron vessel. They sat meditating in silence while the monk led them step by step through the long, slow ceremony that consisted of nothing more than serving them bitter green tea in two small clay cups.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The White Eagle
THE SPECIALIST COMMUNICATED with the Collector through an agent, as was the usual procedure. This time the messenger was Japanese, and he requested a meeting with the second richest man in the world to discuss a strategy for negotiations in the Asian gold markets.
That day a spy had sold the Collector the key to the ultrasecret Pentagon archives. The American military archives could be very valuable in his dealings in armaments. For investors like himself, world conflict was essential: peace was not good business. He had calculated precisely the percentage of humanity that must be at war in order to stimulate the arms market. If the number was low, he would lose money, and if it was high, the stock market became very volatile and the risk was too great. Fortunately for him, it was easy to foment wars, although not so easy to end them.
When an assistant informed the Collector that a person unknown to him was requesting an urgent interview, he guessed that it must be the Specialist’s envoy. Two words gave him the clue: gold and Asia. He had been waiting impatiently for several days, and he received the visitor immediately. The agent spoke in flawless English. The elegance of his suit and his impeccable manners went right over the Collector’s head; he was not known for his refinement.
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