by Sean Ellis
Mira knew that New Zealand had a strict anti-nuclear policy; no nuclear weapons of any kind were permitted within their territorial waters, nor any vessels with nuclear reactors. This policy had been costly in terms of international relations, but the citizens of New Zealand had steadfastly resisted pressure from the United States and other nations to rescind the policy. The penalty for violating the nuclear-free zone was economic sanctions, which would probably hurt New Zealand more than China, but as far as Mira knew, the Chinese navy had only a handful of nuclear-powered vessels. Furthermore, Mira didn’t doubt that Xu would ride rough-shod over the Kiwis if it suited his purpose, which made his reluctance to get too close to their shore seem very out of character.
“I can get us close,” Atlas insisted. “But I can’t say for sure where the entrance to the city will be found.”
Xu was clearly dissatisfied with the answer but he seemed to accept that Atlas was telling the truth. For her part, Mira knew something that even Atlas did not seem to be aware of, namely that the city was still accessible. She knew this because following the catastrophic battle with Atlas, the victorious Atl’an had returned one of the Trinity segments to Lemuria, and ten millennia later, Walter Aimes a.k.a. Tarrant, had found it and removed it using 1940s-era equipment. If the city was indeed submerged, as all the legends seemed to indicate, then it was in water shallow enough to reach using old school hardhat diving equipment.
Throughout the discussion, the woman in sunglasses remained apart from them, appearing to gaze at the ceiling, seemingly oblivious, but Mira could sense that the woman was aware of everything they said. Mira knew that Xu and this woman together represented a prodigious threat to her safety, and yet she could not escape a feeling of kinship with them. Was it possible that the thing they held in common might count for more than national allegiances? If so, she had to consider the very real possibility that what was best for the three of them, and for the world at large, might not be what was desired by the United States government.
The transport plane brought them to Hong Kong where Xu made arrangements for them to continue on to the South Pacific. As soon as they stepped foot on the tarmac, Mira felt a palpable tension in the air. A funereal spirit clung to everyone she saw, manifest more tangibly in the alert and ready posture of the military personnel who seemed to be everywhere, with their Type 95 assault rifles in hand, as if expecting at any moment to be attacked. She had not felt such a collective sense of fear and dread since the days following the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and knew that whatever the source of the terror gripping the populace, it was even direr than what had happened on 9/11. She wanted to ask Xu what was going on, and if it had anything to do with what had happened in Tibet, but doubted that an answer would be forthcoming.
From Shek Kong airbase, they flew by helicopter to a waiting Jiangkai Class frigate which was already steaming south on the start of what Mira was told would be an eight day journey to their destination. Any sense that she was part of a team dissolved completely when she stepped aboard the ship. She was taken under guard to the ship’s brig and locked away.
For three days, her only human contact occurred when a pair of sailors—never the same pair twice—came with her meals. One man carried a tray with a bowl of rice and a paper cup filled with tea, the other man carried a rifle, which was kept trained on her the whole time. On the fourth day however, Xu came to her cell, accompanied by two PLA Marines. The cell was unlocked and Xu brusquely ordered her to follow. The tension was as taut as a garrote. She could tell that one wrong question, or even the perception that she was resisting, would get her shot, so she held her tongue and followed meekly up to the deck where the same helicopter was just starting up. Atlas and the woman with sunglasses were already aboard.
As the aircraft lifted off, she broke her silence. “So is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”
Atlas turned to Xu. “You should tell her.”
The Chinese minister studied her and she could feel a psychic presence insinuating into her consciousness. She didn’t know if Xu could read her thoughts like words on a page, but he would certainly be able to pick up her emotions and easily identify any attempt at deception. The intrusion told her that her fate might well depend on how she reacted to what he would say next, but there was no way to shield herself from him.
“Our countries,” he said, “yours and mine, are about to go to war.”
It was not as much of a surprise to her as Xu must have expected. The revelation explained the almost universal apprehension she had sensed from the moment of her capture. The attack in Tibet, though an internal matter for the Chinese state, had evidently sent ripples across the globe.
Xu’s intention echoed through her, but the unasked question was as much her own as his. Which side are you on?
She didn’t have an immediate answer. “Why?”
“Your president has taken the unprecedented step of organizing an interfaith summit that will inspire religious fervor around the world. It will legitimize rogue religious leaders like the Dalai Lama, which will in turn garner international support for his rebellion against the lawful government of Tibet, and arouse his followers to take direct action. She has rejected our reasonable requests for a diplomatic solution, and taken the further step of mobilizing the American military and is organizing the nations of NATO for belligerent action against China.”
Xu’s measured words were rife with subtext. China was cracking down on Tibet in anticipation of a groundswell of support for the Dalai Lama, and instead of backing down as the U.S. government always did when the Chinese juggernaut started flexing its economic muscle, the president had done a little saber rattling of her own.
“The possibility of war is very real,” Atlas intoned. “The president is taking her cues from this man who styles himself the emissary of the Wise Father. She believes that God is on her side, and no appeal to reason will sway her. But she doesn’t know what’s really going on. She’s being manipulated.”
Mira believed him, at least to the extent that he placed the blame for the current situation on Collier, but she still wasn’t sure how she felt about it personally. If what Atlas had told her really was true, then the only way to stop a war and perhaps an even greater catastrophe when the Wise Father’s true purpose was revealed, was to prevent the restoration of the Trinity. Doing that would be an act of treason against the United States.
Or would it?
Would not stopping a war and perhaps thwarting the plans of an extra-dimensional conqueror actually be in the best interests of the U.S. to say nothing of the rest of humankind? She knew it was, but her decision hinged on a big “if.” She did not believe that Atlas was lying, but that didn’t mean he was telling her the truth, either.
And Xu wants the Trinity for himself.
She banished the thought as quickly as it formed, and tried to focus on her rationale for helping Atlas and Xu find Lemuria. She took a breath. “Okay, I get it. We have to stop this for the good of all. When you’re ready to start trusting me, maybe we can actually accomplish something.”
Xu nodded, evidently satisfied with the answer, but then his expression hardened again. “We moved too slowly. An American naval task force appears to be heading to our destination, either to locate the lost city for the United States or blockade the area to prevent us from searching there. They will arrive in two days. We cannot risk conducting our search from a military vessel, not without additional support from our own forces, which would necessitate a further delay. It would also increase the likelihood of an engagement, which would in turn almost certainly lead to open war. The only way to prevent this is to travel incognito. We can secure the ship and equipment we need in New Zealand and be on the site before the Americans arrive. Unfortunately, we will be ill-equipped if the Americans decide to attack us.”
“There won’t be much time.”
“No,” Xu replied irritably. “Which means that you and Mr. Atlas will have to wo
rk quickly. Can you do it?”
Can I? Should I? Will I?
She stared back at him, still feeling the tentacles of his psychic probe in her mind. “You tell me.”
45.
Dharamshala, India
Only a few images of Potala Palace, shattered and burning, had made it out of Tibet to be seen by the world at large, but those images haunted the man who had once called the place home.
Though he had not set foot in the Palace nor even dared venture into his homeland for more than fifty years, he had always hoped that he might one day be able to return there. It was the one task that he had not accomplished, his one failure, and if he could have set foot there once more before shedding his mortal body, then he would have entered into the divine state without a single regret. He had lived before—this was his fourteenth incarnation—and this latest journey had spread the light of his teachings far beyond the remote mountains of Tibet. He had accomplished much and his words would live on in books and recordings; what reason did he have to be reborn? Just that one thing: to see his people freed of the Han oppression. For that one reason alone, he had considered foregoing Nirvana and choosing to be reincarnated as the fifteenth Dalai Lama.
When word had reached him of the appearance of a holy man in Washington D.C., an emissary sent from the divine realm to unify all religions and all mankind, he had dared to believe that even the one remaining task might yet be accomplished within his current lifetime.
Now, the choice had been taken from him. Potala Palace had been wiped off the face of the earth. There were reports that PLA troops had set up a garrison in the Jokhang Temple. Yet, that was not the worst of it. America and China were on the brink of war; a situation that owed no small part to his intention to accept the American president’s invitation and participate in the upcoming religious summit.
What choice did he have but to withdraw from the summit? He was a champion of peace. It was unthinkable that he could be associated, even in an indirect way, with something that might trigger a war that could destroy all life on earth. It was a simple calculation. If, by merely enduring the same insult that he had lived with for nearly sixty years, he could save billions of lives and maintain the peace, how was that a defeat?
That was what he needed them all to understand. He had already spoken with the American president, patiently explaining that this was not a retreat or a surrender, but the correct thing to do. She had urged him to stay the course, but he remained resolute. Now he needed to tell the rest of the world.
He stepped outside to greet the crowd that had gathered on the steps of the library he had founded, a repository of writings and artwork relating to the Tibetan people and their religious traditions without equal. There were a few reporters, but not as many as he might have hoped for. The city, tucked away in a forested valley amid the Dhauladhar Mountains, was too remote to draw attention from journalists, and right now the world was presenting a feast of riches for the Fourth Estate. Most of the crowd were fellow exiles.
A microphone had been set up to amplify his voice and transmit his words around the world. Now, more than ever, it was important that the world hear him. What he was about to say would very likely save them all, if they chose to listen.
The tumult of conversation died down as soon as he stepped onto the dais. Expectant faces turned up to greet him and as the last murmur died away, he took a deep breath and started to speak, but before the first word left his lips, a man began ascending the steps as if to greet him. He was Caucasian, wearing Western attire, but he held none of the accoutrements that would have marked him as a journalist. No one in the assembly made any move to stop him.
“Do you know who I am, Your Holiness?” The man didn’t wait for an answer. “My name is Eric Collier. I was sent by the Wise Father to gather the children together.”
“You are the emissary?” It would have been less of a surprise if the man had claimed to be the Buddha.
Collier continued up the steps until he was standing on the dais with the Dalai Lama. “I was disappointed to learn of your decision to boycott the summit.”
“It is not a boycott. I simply believe that my presence there will create unnecessary tension.” He frowned. This was not how he wanted the world to learn of his decision. Strangely, no one in the crowd had reacted. In fact, no one was moving at all.
He pointed to the frozen faces. “Is this something you have done?”
Collier ignored the question. “I want you to reconsider your position.”
“I have considered it many times. This is the right thing to do. The only way to avoid a war.”
“The Chinese have bullied you for nearly your entire life. Are you going to let them do it again? The United States has already put everything on the line to support you. If you won’t stand up for yourself now, when you’ve got the world behind you, you’ll appear weak. People like to root for the underdog, but they hate a quitter.”
“That is how people in the United States view the world, but it is not the way that was revealed to us by the Buddha. Your way is motivated by pride and desire, and can lead to nothing good.”
Collier’s expression darkened. “This is the most important meeting of religious leaders in the history of the world. Everything, every tradition of faith, has been leading us to this moment. You cannot simply turn away.”
“I must. It is the only way to save lives.”
“If you back out because of pressure from the Chinese, then others who oppose the meeting will realize that they can use the threat of violence to keep members of their own faith away. There is great resistance from the Muslim world, yet there are a few leaders who are brave enough to risk death to attend. If you turn aside now, their enemies will be emboldened to strike at them, and they may lose heart as well.”
“If this meeting is the source of so much unrest, then perhaps you ought to question the wisdom of having it. Perhaps the world is not yet ready for this revelation.”
Collier studied him for a moment, as if his scrutiny might reveal a new pressure point. “Is there no way I can change your mind?”
“I do not know. But these appeals to selfishness and pride certainly will not.”
“I see.” Collier’s bland expression hardly changed at all, as if he had known all along that it would end this way. “There is another role for you to play in the Wise Father’s purpose.”
“And what is that?”
Collier raised his arms as if preparing to give a benediction, and said one word: “Martyr.”
The video recordings did not reveal Collier’s visitation. There was not even a blurred flash of someone moving quickly through the frame. The playback from three different cameras showed the Dalai Lama approaching the microphones, and then the image dissolved into static. All three cameras, along with the front porch of the building housing the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, and a dozen members of the audience that had gathered to hear the holy man speak, were ripped apart by the improvised explosive device that had been planted in the lectern set up on the dais. Nothing at all remained of the fourteenth Dalai Lama.
No one took responsibility, but everyone was quick to lay blame, and the world moved even closer to total war.
46.
Somewhere in the South Pacific
Booker gazed up into the night sky, marveling at how much it had changed in ten thousand years. His eyes were drawn to Crux, better known as the Southern Cross, the most distinctive constellation in the sky over the southern hemisphere. That triggered a much more recent memory of a song he’d heard endlessly played on the radio when he’d gone through a Classic Rock phase.
“I have my ship, and all her flags are a flyin’,” he murmured.
His ‘ship’ was the USS George Washington, a nuclear powered Nimitz class aircraft carrier, and she wasn’t alone. From the expansive flight deck, Booker could see the other ships in the strike group, destroyers and supply ships that would protect and refit the ship and
her fleet of aircraft in the event that the current world crisis escalated, which seemed increasingly likely with each passing day. Booker wasn’t sure yet what effect a successful outcome to his mission—finding Lemuria and restoring the Trinity—would have on the situation. If the talisman gave the United States a strategic advantage, as he suspected it would, the Chinese might well reason that there was nothing to lose by committing to total war. If that happened, even the unparalleled power of the Trinity might not be enough to save the world. However, turning back wasn’t an option. As was true with another famous Trinity—the site where the first atomic weapon had been tested—the genie was out of the bottle and there was no way to put it back in.
It was the stars that had brought him this far, though not Crux. Ten thousand years ago, different stars had shone down on Lemuria, while the Southern Cross had dominated the skies of the northern hemisphere. The astronomer he had consulted had explained it in more precise terms. The reason for the shifting star map was something called ‘axial precession.’ Even though the earth’s poles seemed to be fixed points from the point of view of those living on its surface, they were in fact not fixed, but followed a twenty-six thousand year-long cycle that, from space, appeared to wobble like a spinning top. That wobble meant that the position of the stars was always changing.
Fortunately, with modern computers, it was a fairly simple thing to spin the top backward. The trickiest part had been in communicating to the astronomer what he remembered about the constellations, where they were in the sky relative to seasonal changes, the approximate hour when they would have been visible and so forth. His memories were not linear; he saw the ancient past in disjointed fragments, like clips from a movie. But he was an experienced celestial navigator and as he traveled from mainland Asia to the distant island in his mind, he noted the changing skies. The astronomer was able to help him recreate this journey with a computer simulation, which while far from precise, had nevertheless put him in the ballpark. A ballpark measuring more than a hundred thousand square miles, but that was still closer than he had been at the start.
