by Jacob Whaler
A long silence passes.
“This object,” Matt says. “Do you have it?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” The old monk’s eyebrows rise up, etching deep crevices on his forehead. “It is clear that you do not. I am disappointed.”
Matt can’t suppress the look of confusion on his face. “I don’t understand.”
The old monk nods. “You are not the first Holders of the Stone to come.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Many years ago, I was meditating at the old temple site. A man with a large Buddha belly appeared from nowhere, much as you did last night. We talked for many days. He possessed a Stone and had a vision for a new world. My heart told me to trust him. I told him of the Monkey and its Stone. Before he left, I gave him the key, this object that the Monkey dropped. He said that he would return or send someone else with the key when the time was right to collect the Stone. When it was time to begin building a new world. Only someone with the key can obtain the Stone.”
“But we need—”
The old monk raises his hand to silence Matt. “Another man came looking for the Stone a few years ago. A priest of another religion. He told me his name was Long Swamp. From Japan.”
Matt closes his eyes and nods to himself.
Naganuma was here. His name means Long Swamp.
“Unfortunately, he did not have the key either. I could not help him.” The old monk rises. A long sigh escapes from his lips. “You are welcome to stay with us today. But you must leave tomorrow.” He moves past them toward the long hall.
Matt, Leo and Yarah all follow him with their eyes.
Before rounding the corner and moving out of sight, the old monk stops and turns to face them.
“When I saw the little girl and her perfect robes, I was sure it was a sign. I am truly sorry you are not the one.”
CHAPTER 81
Just as the sun rises above the horizon, Kent walks out the back door of the hotel, a blue baseball cap on his head.
Jake follows a few steps behind. “I still got a bad feeling about this. I don’t know why, but it’s not good.”
“We’ll be careful,” Kent says. “Just stay with me and keep your antennae up.”
“They are up, but you won’t listen.”
They pass a sign that says the Phra Prang Sam Yod shrine is a fifteen-minute walk way. They do it in ten.
A light haze hangs over the temple grounds. It’s deserted except for a few dozen monkeys sitting on broken walls and crumbled mounds of rocks and masonry in the early morning light, some of them with their eyes still closed.
Kent stares at his jax and walks to a grassy area in the middle of the ruins. “This must be the courtyard of the old temple.” He moves two paces to the right and forward one. “And this puts me at the exact GPS coordinates.” He sets his backpack on the ground. Putting a hand inside, he pulls out the small metal box and removes the monkey statue, holding it in his fist. “Now we just have to figure out what this means.” He returns the metal box to the backpack.
He bends down and studies the ground under his feet. The statue rests beside him as he probes through the grass with both hands.
“Watch out!”
A monkey brushes past Kent and grabs the statue on the ground.
As it runs past Jake, his foot shoots out and trips it, causing the monkey to roll on the ground.
It drops the statue and scampers away.
Jake immediately scoops it up. “What was that you said about being careful?”
“I forgot about the little thieves. The Mesh says they’ll take anything that isn’t nailed down. You better be careful with your sunglasses.”
“I’ll watch my stuff,” Jake says. “And you watch yours.”
Kent stands up and looks around at the ruins. “I’ve got an idea. Follow me.”
CHAPTER 82
Pinpricks of light hang in the darkness behind him.
Little John feels their presence. He calls out to them, reaching for them with his mind, inviting them to come closer.
But the only way to understand them is to see them. And to see them, he needs to rotate his body as if he’s doing a back flip.
The pain courses through him like a buzz saw eating its way through a bundle of raw nerves. He curls forward and brings his legs up to his chest. Reaching out with both arms, he hugs his knees close to his body, arms wrapped around legs. He holds himself together in this tight cannonball position like a spring that’s been wound up to the point of breaking.
In this posture, the pain passes the threshold of endurance, and yet Little John holds on. He starts counting, slowly ascending a ladder of agony, relishing each step. Pain is his friend and constant companion. It might also be a pathway to escape.
When his counting reaches fifty-seven, his fingers involuntarily slip from the elbows, and his whole body unwinds like a loaded gun, arms and legs shooting out into a spread eagle. Using the momentum, he throws his head back, arches his spine and forces his eyes open.
His body slowly rotates backward.
This time he sees it clearly. Distant white orbs floating in space, closer than before.
A scintilla of hope flashes in the empty darkness of his mind.
He is not alone.
CHAPTER 83
Ryzaard takes another sip of champagne. “Any idea what exactly the two of them are looking for?”
“Negative,” Jing-wei says. “We’ve been monitoring conversations as best we can for three days, but it’s still not clear why they are here, what they are looking for or intend to do. Perhaps they don’t even know themselves. For some reason, they are focused on monkeys. The old temple site is famous for them.”
“Monkeys?” Ryzaard mumbles to himself. “Why monkeys?”
Jing-wei barely suppresses a yawn. “You may recall they have a small monkey figurine with GPS coordinates etched in it along with some monkey hair, all left behind by Little John. They think it’s a clue to something important, perhaps another Stone.”
“This obsession with monkeys is strange,” Ryzaard says. “I don’t know what to make of it.”
“We’ll keep working on it.” Jing-wei touches one of the bluescreens on her desk. “By the way, I finished the report on the Buddhist monastery you requested. It’s ready whenever you want to look at it.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Not really. The monks at the monastery like to meditate at the old temple ruins.” Jing-wei hesitates. “And monkeys are allowed to roam inside and outside the monastery at will.”
“What about the head monk. Anything on him?”
“His name is Watanustra Chanawatra, and he’s almost ninety years old. He’s been at the monastery since he was seven. He has a particular interest in sunflowers. Meditates six hours a day. Doesn’t speak a word of English.”
“What about the monastery itself?” Ryzaard purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “Any financial difficulties that we might be able to exploit?”
“As a matter of fact, there are.” Jing-wei says. “The monastery began an expansion project last year in honor of Mr. Chanawatra but had to cancel a few months ago due to lack of funds. The local people are not as generous as hoped. Most donations go into providing food so the monks can spend their time in deep meditation.”
“Sounds like a second-rate monastery in a second-rate town.” Ryzaard takes another sip of champagne. “Keep looking for any connection to the Stones.”
“Got it.” Jing-wei’s image fades from the blue screen.
Ryzaard turns to Alexa, sitting on the other side of the table. “I am going to pay the head monk a little visit.”
“Would you like an escort to go with you?”
“No, I can handle this on my own.” Ryzaard stands and walks in the direction of his personal suite at the back of the transport. “Send me GPS coordinates for the Shinawatra Monastery.”
“No problem. Will you need assistance getting there?”
“I can manage.”
Before Ryzaard responds, Diego Lopez’s face appears on the blue screen. “Dr. Ryzaard,” he says. “I’ve gotten positive locations on all three Stones.”
“Where are they?”
Diego studies a map on a screen in front of him. “Two are at the monastery, close together.”
“And the third one?”
“It’s in the jungle right now, heading in the direction of the old temple ruins.”
“Good work,” Ryzaard says. “Stay on top of them and keep me updated of any movements.”
“Got it.” Diego’s face disappears.
Ryzaard turns back to Alexa. “There is something you can do. Make sure the assault party is prepared.” He thinks for a moment. “Make it two. One for the old temple and one for the monastery. Forty men in each unit ought to be enough. I will call when I need them.”
“Black Harpys?”
“They are my favorite.”
“Standard protocol? A null-box with each unit so you can neutralize any Stones in the area?”
“Of course.” Ryzaard strokes his goatee. “But with one change. Make sure they bring animal control equipment.”
“Animal control equipment? What for?”
“Monkeys.”
CHAPTER 84
Leo stares out the window of the small room in the living-quarters section of the monastery. “Where do we go from here?” A platter full of rice balls is inches from his hand.
“No idea,” Matt says. “I’m still trying to figure out how to get my hands on the key.”
“I wonder what it is,” Leo says.
Matt shakes his head. “There’s a picture on the scroll. It looks like a small animal carving, but I can’t be sure. Even if it was, where would we find it?”
“Any hints in your little book?” Leo pops a rice ball into his mouth.
“Nothing,” Matt says. “Maybe Naganuma was as confused as we are. All we know is that another Holder out there has it. We’ll just have to keep looking.”
Yarah sits down next to Matt, still holding the jax in her hand. “Qual é o problema?”
“What’s wrong?” The jax speaks in its pleasing sim-voice.
Matt shakes his head and grins at her, reaching out to pat her on the head.
She looks up into his eyes. “Deixe-nos ir ver os macacos. Eles vão nos ajudar.”
The same woman’s voice speaks again. “Let’s go see the monkeys. They will help us.”
Matt and Leo trade glances.
“Maybe she’s right,” Leo says. “It can’t hurt. Maybe we’ll see something at the old temple site.”
“Agreed.” Matt turns off the jax translator. Turning to Leo, he whispers. “The next time we see the Monkey, you know what we have to do, right?”
“Kill it.”
CHAPTER 85
Ryzaard glances out the window. A light mist hangs in the air like a sea of tiny diamonds made white by the rising sun. The edge of the jungle is less than a hundred meters from his personal transport. He could use the fresh air from a short walk and make the jump to the monastery once inside the cover of the trees. He tightens his belt and puts on a fresh tweed jacket. Omitting the bow tie, he straps the leather harness to his chest with the three Stones.
The outer door of the transport slides open, and a wall of hot air hits him like an open blast furnace. It takes a moment to catch his breath. Drops of sweat bead up on his forehead. Rivulets of water flow down his spine between the shoulder blades.
It all reminds him of that day long ago in the Punjab when he tried to kill Varanasi, the holy man, and take his Stone. His first attempt failed, but Ryzaard knows so much more now.
Three more Stones wait for him somewhere beyond the jungle. With them, he will have six, a bare majority of all the Stones in the world.
He relishes the thought of killing Matt, if he is here with his Stone.
Halfway to the jungle wall, his jax screams at him with a high-pitched ping.
“What is it, Diego?” Ryzaard says.
“The two stones at the monastery have left. They’re moving out toward a main road that leads directly to the old temple ruins.”
“And the third one?”
“It’s still in the jungle just outside the old temple, moving slowly to it. They seem to be converging.”
“Interesting,” Ryzaard mumbles to himself. “It might be just three monks on their way to the old temple. Going to meditate. Too easy.”
“What did you say?” Diego says.
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.” Ryzaard is ten meters from the edge of the jungle. “Thanks for the update. Keep me posted on any other movements.” He drops the jax in his pocket and passes under the trees into the shadows.
Once inside, he stands between two large trees and closes his eyes to a blinding flash of light. When he opens them again, he’s in the darkness of another jungle. A pair of monkeys scream and scamper away.
He walks out of the trees down a dirt path to the entrance of the monastery, crowded with monks in saffron robes. No one pays any attention to him, so he passes through the crowd and walks inside.
The overpowering odor of incense causes him to cough. He pulls out a handkerchief and blows his nose.
From out of a crowded room to his right, a young monk walks to him, sandaled feet moving silently across the wood floor.
“Can I help you?” The monk speaks English with a Thai accent.
Still facing forward, Ryzaard smiles at the young man. “I’ve come to speak with Mr. Watanustra Chanawatra.”
“The head monk?” A distressed look crosses the young man’s face. “I’m sorry, but he is busy. Perhaps you could speak with—”
Ryzaard turns to face him, letting his tweed jacket drop open.
The young monk’s eyes drop down to the three Stones arranged neatly in the leather harness on Ryzaard’s chest. His eyes flash with immediate recognition.
Ryzaard stands silent, smiling.
“Please follow me.” The young man swallows. “Mr. Chanawatra will be most anxious to see you.”
They find the old monk resting on a thin rice straw mattress in his private quarters, eyes staring at the ceiling.
“Please wait here.” The young monk enters the room and walks slowly to the old man.
Through his jax earphone, Ryzaard listens to the robot voice translating their conversation.
“Another Holder has come,” the young man says.
The old monk doesn’t move. His gaze remains fixed on the wooden rafters above. “Has he come to get the Stone?”
The young man shoots a backward glance at Ryzaard. “He already has three. How is that possible?”
“Does he have the key?” The old man’s eyes drop shut.
“I haven’t asked.”
“The Monkey grows weary from searching.” The old monk coughs, and his hollow chest heaves up and down. “I can feel it. It will die soon with or without the key. And its Stone will be lost for ages out in the jungle.”
The young monk stands in silence, his back to Ryzaard, staring down at his mentor.
Now.
Ryzaard lets his eyelids close, silently drawing in a deep breath, holding it, and letting it out slowly.
The air turns milky white. When Ryzaard opens his eyes, the young monk is motionless, the folds of his orange robes like a great marble figure of Julius Caesar on display in Rome. It triggers a thought that brings a smile to Ryzaard’s face.
The great Roman emperors will be nothing compared to the glory and power that I will possess.
Moving forward into the room, Ryzaard begins a careful search of everything in the small space from floor to ceiling. There isn’t much more than a couple of spare robes, sandals, a walking staff, a bowl, a spoon and some books.
On his way out of the room, a yellow color catches his eye. He kneels down by the old priest and sees an old scroll tucked inside his robe. He removes it, carefully unwinding it on the floor.
&nb
sp; A smaller scroll falls out, and he takes it into his hand. It has a picture of a monkey. A rather large one, from the looks of it, with vicious teeth, jet black hair and a prominent white scar on its face that ends in a missing ear.
He immediately recognizes the Stone in its hand.
Impossible, he thinks. How can a monkey bond with a Stone?
At the feet of the monkey, amidst a blazing field of sunflowers, a woman lies on the ground with deep red gashes running up and down her body.
Next, Ryzaard turns to the older scroll. Judging from the style and condition of the paper, it is three or four hundred years old and written in an ancient Khmer script that he can’t read. Below that, there is newer writing in an old Thai script, barely legible. This, he can read.
The beast comes often, only when I am alone. Its eyes are drenched in weariness. It struggles to breathe. I fear it will die soon. It pleads for the key that it dropped so many years ago. How can I make it understand that I no longer have it? I gave it to the fat little man, and he has not returned with it. When will he come? Without it, the Stone is lost.
Ryzaard reaches for his jax with shaky hands and takes a high-resolution image of the scroll. Then he carefully rolls it and the other scroll back up and replaces them inside the old monk’s robes.
The fat little man?
Ryzaard lets a smile stretch out his lips. Little John was here.
Stepping back into his place outside the room, Ryzaard relaxes into the present. The air grows thin, and the sound of birds and the smell of incense flood back in upon his senses.
He clears his throat.
The young monk twists and glances at him.
“I can see that the head monk needs rest,” Ryzaard says. “I will return later to speak with him when he is feeling well.” Touching his palms together in front of his chest, he bows deeply and turns to leave.
“Wait!” The young monk follows Ryzaard down the wide hall to the entrance. “Please. I know why you are here.”
