Shanta took the cup and had her sip. Her expression changed to one of delight. “Oh my, this is wonderful!”
“The baron has his own tea plantation where this is grown,” Mei Ling proudly announced as she refilled Shanta’s cup. “See?” she asked, opening the lid of the pot, “the tea leaves have a purple color, even though the tea does not. Some say this is the best available.”
“I like to think that it is the best.”
The voice of a large set of lungs filled the room, their owner having overheard. They looked up to see Baron Von Limbach entering with his unforgettable presence. Just behind him was the red-haired, lovely Tak, in her same outfit, but now sporting makeup, since having learned how to apply it at the department store in Europe.
“Master Saunders.” Baron addressed him as “Master” to provide him with a sort of title, done as a matter of great respect. He had learned of Saunders before the meeting, and knew that he was the heir to one of the larger fortunes. One of Saunders’s holdings, that was easy to find, was the bourbon distillery, and Baron had Mei Ling get some flown in from the US.
“Yes,” Andrew answered and shook his hand, enjoying the respect.
“And this must be the beautiful Mademoiselle Laxshimi whom the famous pleader Eschmann, Esquire, described to me.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron, sir.”
“This is my wife and business partner, Baroness Von Limbach,” Baron said. “You may speak freely in front of her.”
We are honored to meet you too, Baroness,” Shanta said for the both of them as Andrew was not taking the lead in the introductions.
Shanta noticed Baron’s outfit, a three-piece suit, made of gray wool with tiny specks of yellow-gold colored thread in the weave. His vest was gold in color. Across the vest was a gold pocket watch chain, with a rare, multi-colored jade fob.
Tak was wearing her alien outfit, which did not command the attention of Baron’s, with his presence of elegance.
“Baron, I love your outfit,” Shanta complimented, looking at him. Then she realized that she may have just insulted the baroness, but decided not to make it worse by saying anything further.
“Why, thank you,” Baron said, devoid of modesty. “This one was made for me in Delhi. I especially like the vest, made of real Kashmir wool. That comes from the underside of the throat of the Kashmiri goat that is collected in tiny bits from many hundreds of goats by the local women and woven, in a painstaking process, into the softest wool on Earth. It takes many women hundreds of hours just to make something like this. Touch it if you like.”
He opened his jacket farther, to allow Shanta to touch the vest.
She stepped forward, and touched his vest. “I’ve heard of this divine wool, but have never actually been able to touch it. It feels heavenly!”
“Rather nice on a cold, rainy day such as this,” Baron said, having set the stage perfectly for a spectacular gift. He motioned to Mei Ling who, knowing her cue, picked up a box wrapped in gift wrap from a table against the wall and handed it to Shanta.
“A small token for such a beautiful lady.”
Shanta opened the box excitedly, anticipating that it might be something made of that spectacular wool. Inside was a natural colored scarf of the legendary Kashmir wool. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she took it out to feel its softness, unlike any other fabric on Earth, and rubbed it on her face.
“For me?”
“Just for you.”
“Oh my God!” she shrieked.
It was extravagantly big for the most luxurious material on earth, seven feet long and two feet wide. It was natural in color, a delicate brown.
She put it around her shoulders, continued to rub it on her cheeks, stood up, and turned around a few times, to enjoy and parade the most valuable present she had ever been given.
“Have a seat, please,” Baron said, wanting to get down to business. “I see you have already tried the tea. Did you like it?”
“It is the best I’ve ever tasted,” Shanta stated, still in awe of the scarf present, now enamored by the tea and the entire experience.
“Yes, the bourbon is great, too,” Andrew agreed.
“I grow that tea myself,” Baron boasted, “in the highlands, near Chang Rai, Thailand. Thank you, Mei Ling,” he told her, which was her cue to leave. “I already know what you want as the most able pleader Eschmann told me. But I need to know just how committed you are. I have some questions.” He turned to Andrew. “Can we speak freely, Master Saunders?” He was referring to the presence of Shanta.
Andrew caught on right away. “Yes, absolutely. Shanta and I are very much in this matter together.”
“You wish to know if there is some way to put the Dalai Lama back in Tibet, correct?”
“Right,” Andrew answered.
“Who else, other than Mr. Eschmann knows of what you want to do?”
Andrew and Shanta looked at each other and then at Baron. “Absolutely no one,” Andrew said. “We’re aware that this is extremely secret. We told only the minimal number of people that we were off to see Taiwan and then only to a place that we had not been to, on a holiday tour.”
Baron looked at them, sizing up his new prospective employers as to whether or not they could be trusted. “Do you realize that entertaining such matters as something affecting an entire country will make you, if suspected, the target of an international manhunt? You can never tell a friend, relative, bartender, a priest in confession, or anyone as long as you live. Any breach of security whatsoever will make you a fugitive with no place on Earth to hide. There will be some out to find and kill anyone involved. Resources of entire governments will also be looking for anyone suspect.”
Andrew and Shanta became concerned as they thought of the consequences of which Baron spoke. As it was not her money, Shanta, although willing to sacrifice, passed the decision to Andrew.
“Yes, we know,” Andrew replied. “But atrocities continue in Tibet, and if anything can be done, we want to do it, and do it now--no matter what the cost or sacrifice. If not, there will soon be no more Tibet.”
Baron’s friendly face became all business. “The pressure from the rest of the world has not worked. The communist Chinese want to expand their territories and their race, which they imperialistically believe to be superior. Taiwan lives in constant fear that the United States and its allies will not intervene if China invades. Seven and a half million Chinese have been moved into Tibet to dilute the Tibetan culture. The only way that the Dalai Lama might be able to return to Tibet is if, suddenly, the Chinese no longer occupied it because of some catastrophe. Even if there were a catastrophe and the Dalai Lama returned, he would never be allowed by the Chinese to claim a new sovereign Tibet. You must not underestimate the number of communist Chinese soldiers and the formidable number of weapons in their arsenal.”
Andrew considered what seemed to be an impossible task. Shanta could see his frustration and hesitation to speak, and said for them, “We understand that if anyone might know of a way to put the Dalai Lama back in Tibet, it would be you. Do you know how it might be done?”
Baron was gaining confidence in the two people and considered the request further. “If the Chinese, or a major part of them occupying Tibet, were to die or evacuate for safety reasons, the Dalai Lama might be allowed to back in, but only on a controlled basis. I know of a way that it might be done, but I have to confirm it.”
“Are you referring to a nuclear bomb?” Shanta asked, impetuously. “What about the Tibetans?”
“Certainly not. The use of a nuclear weapon would make one the subject of an endless manhunt throughout the world, and there would be no safe quarter. Experts can tell exactly where the material from such a bomb came from. And, in any event, the use of a nuclear bomb would make Tibet uninhabitable. Out of the question.”
“Then what?” Shanta said. “How do you propose to go about getting seven and a half million Chinese to move out of Tibet where they have been specially pla
ced there by the Chinese government?”
Baron raised an eyebrow. “What if a large number of Chinese in Tibet were to die or flee? It might be arranged for the Dalai Lama to return in the wake of such a huge catastrophe, not permanently, but invited under special circumstances as a figurehead to provide spiritual aid for the dying Tibetan culture as a gesture to the world. It would give recognition to the rights of Tibetans, however small. I think this can be arranged. But then, you would have the souls of all those Chinese on your consciences. Do you think you could live with that?”
“Yes,” Shanta responded emphatically. “The atrocities, that they are committing as we speak are so horrifying that they should all be put to death. It would serve them right.”
“I agree,” Andrew added.
Baron looked carefully at them. “But there is something else that I want you to consider. The Dalai Lama Himself would never agree to anything that would take the lives of anyone. What do you think of that?”
Andrew and Shanta looked at each other, but did not speak. They had not considered that. Baron, realizing they might like to talk, said, “Perhaps you would like to discuss this alone? If you’ll permit me, I’ll leave you to do that and go make a call.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “I shall return in half an hour. But I do not wish to rush you. If you cannot decide now, you can go back to your hotel and we can meet again one final time tomorrow. If you have to take the topic back to the United States to consider it further, then you are not committed, and we will drop the subject and never mention it again.”
He rose, took the hand of the baroness, and left the room, leaving Andrew and Shanta speechless. It was clear to them that he was not about to follow them through a soul-searching process as to whether or not they were committed--he was not going to waste time on such things. They had to decide.
Andrew poured another glass of bourbon for liquid courage, arose slowly with the drink in hand, and went to the window to look out at the pounding rain. Shanta came to his side and put her arms around him.
Andrew spoke outward toward the window. “He makes a point. How can we have anything to do with a plan that would kill Chinese in Tibet, even if they are communists, when the Dalai Lama would never approve?”
“When someone breaks into your home to rob, rape, and kill you, aren’t you justified in doing violence to the person to stop it?” Shanta said. “And isn’t that what is going on in Tibet? The Dalai Lama has called for immediate action. If none is taken now, Tibet and the Tibetan culture will be lost forever. The throne of the Reincarnate is lost to those horrible communists. If we do something soon, then He can return, His teachings can proliferate, and the Tibetan culture can be restored. I say we do whatever it takes to get Him back to where He belongs. Let’s do it!”
Both of them watched and listened to the heavy Taipei rain beating against the window, wondering about what it would be like to take any part in anything on such a grand scale. Andrew turned around to look at her, placing him only inches from her face. She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth in a long, slow kiss. That was the first time they had kissed.
When their lips parted, he said, “All right.”
Shanta pulled him in again and kissed him in commitment. The tropical Taipei storm pounded against the window, and a decision had been made that would make a great change in the world, but they did not know yet how. Shanta went to make herself some more of the irresistible Oolong tea, but Andrew, less confident, turned and looked out the window as the mesmerizing rain pounded on it, wondering what he was getting himself into.
When the baron and baroness returned to the office, Andrew was looking out the window, sipping bourbon, and Shanta sitting down, sipping tea. Baron motioned for them to sit at his desk, and then he and the baroness sat behind it. “Have you had sufficient time, or would you like to go talk it over until tomorrow?”
Shanta answered for them. “We’ve decided to proceed.”
Baron looked very intently at them both. He made a final decision that he would take the assignment, his most ambitious ever, and then stood up. He raised one hand with an extended finger on it up as high as his head and, raising his voice as well, said, “I, and only I, Baron Von Limbach, may be able to accomplish what you seek. If you accept my terms, in a short while, if I succeed, a very large number of the communist implants of Chinese in Tibet will die, and those that do not will flee to save their lives. This will leave the door open for the Dalai Lama to return. I do not promise what the Holy Man will do, as that is up to Him. But without Chinese communists in Tibet, He will never have such an opportunity again, and He will most likely take advantage of it--but, again, that part is up to Him. As to how to remove the Chinese, it is best that I do not tell you. Of course, you will come to find out. I’ll tell you that it will not be by a nuclear bomb, or any bomb, and that the method will protect the Tibetans.
“There are a few contingencies which could prevent my success, but you must share in that risk. I require a non-refundable wire transfer of twenty five million dollars that will be paid into a bank in a country that does not disclose banking activities to other countries. I’ll tell you where. This is necessary for the initial expenses of the effort. If everything goes well, and the contingencies are overcome, then in several weeks, or perhaps longer, I’ll notify you where to wire transfer an additional sum of one hundred million dollars, which will have to be done within three days of when I notify you.
“This sum will be held by the bank in a form of escrow. It will be paid to a very discrete banker that I know, with instructions that, if within a month, the majority of Chinese are dying or fleeing Tibet, and the Dalai Lama is invited or allowed to return, even if for a limited stay, the remaining money is to be paid over to me. If not, then the one hundred million will be returned to you and the effort will have failed. However, once again I must warn you, even if the Dalai Lama is invited to return, I cannot guarantee that he will return.”
Andrew exhaled. “Phew! That is a lot of money!”
Baron looked at him. “Master Saunders, you are worth billions. The sum I ask is a bargain price for an entire country. The natural resources alone are worth billions, which of course replenish, and of course you are seeking to reinstate, or at least halt the extermination of, the Tibetan culture, which cannot be said to have any price of redemption.”
Shanta looked at Andrew in awe, as she had no idea of the magnitude of his wealth--the number was staggering.
“A number of connections will be used up in this endeavor, as a number of those involved will have to flee and stay hidden,” Baron told them. “And certainly this task may not be used as a reference for future business. If I undertake this task, it may be my last. I would ask for much more if I were younger, but the price I ask, after considerable expenses, will have to support me for my remaining years. My intention is to do this without leaving any way for anyone to determine that anyone is behind it.
“But there must be absolutely no one else informed of this at any time, and that includes the Dalai Lama as well. If it’s suspected that anyone is behind it, and you jeopardize those involved by letting out information that could lead to a world-wide manhunt, those involved in the project will eliminate you as witnesses.
“You may count on this. You would do best not to discuss it even between yourselves, once things begin to happen, to avoid anyone overhearing. This means that you can never mention anything about it for the rest of your lives. If you were ever to confess your involvement as some sort of penance, you will be sought out and killed by those involved and, if they do not get to your first and a government arrests you, then you will be sent to China for a quick trial and execution. You must not underestimate my warnings. Are you certain that you are capable of holding your tongues forever?”
Andrew looked at Shanta, and she took his hand for support. She nodded at him. “We can.”
Baron looked to Andrew for his commitment as well.
“Let’s do it.” Andre
w said.
“Do you accept my terms?” Baron then asked.
“Mr. Eschmann said I can trust you,” Andrew said. “I accept.”
“I’ll prepare written instructions for you before you leave as to where the money is to be wire transferred. Once the deposit of twenty five million is transferred, I’ll begin. There need be no further communication between us until I’m ready. At that time I’ll advise you where to send the balance. My timing is very important, and there can be no delays in the transfer of the one hundred million. It must be wired transferred within three days of my notification, so you must have it ready in advance. I’ll provide you with a cellular phone for this purpose only before you leave. I’ll call you on that phone when I’m ready. After that call, then destroy the phone and discard its remains where they cannot be found.”
“Agreed,” Andrew said. “I’ll have the twenty five million transferred to you when I return.”
When they left, Tak asked him, “I’m very interested to learn how you will kill Communist Chinese in Tibet. How do you intend to do it?”
“I know of a scientist in a place called Kazakhstan that has a unique ability. He can make a race-specific Ebola that will only kill one race and no others. I’ll take you there when I hire him if the Americans send me the retainer I asked for.”
“How many Chinese do you have to kill to accomplish what you want to do?” Tak asked.
“It has to be a large enough number to be considered an out-of-control epidemic. Probably several hundred thousand out of the seven-and-a-half million occupying Tibet will be enough.”
“Is killing necessary to accomplish your goal?”
“The communists have no legal or moral right to occupy Tibet. It’s not like they are innocents. They would expand into Taiwan in a heartbeat if they thought they could get away with it. Governments all over the world have tried, unsuccessfully, to get the Dalai Lama back into Tibet. My method, if I can pull it off, will work. But I do have to create the epidemic for it to work. By comparison, you say your captain might wipe out all humans on the planet if you were killed here. That’s over seven billion, and that does not count all the neat dogs people have as pets. What do you say to that?”
The Visitor Page 14
