Operation Snake

by Nick Carter

  "Be sure and tell your boss that I'm sorry I had to educate you this way," I said. "He'll understand, I'm sure."

  I walked off and returned to the main street, pleased with the way things had gone. Ghotak was no fool. His kind of man understood power and ruthlessness. Though I doubted it, the display of those qualities might just slow him down.

  I continued sauntering through the streets, observing the people, pausing at street vendors, and eventually found myself at the edge of the village. I was just about to turn back for the Leeunghi house when, looking toward the mountains towering just beyond the village, I saw three figures coming out of the mountains. The first two were Sherpa guides, I recognized from their dress. The third one wore a bright green nylon ski jacket.

  "I don't believe it," I said aloud to myself. I waited, unwilling to believe what I was seeing but knowing damned well what I saw. The three figures strung out single-file grew larger, until they were upon me. The two Sherpa guides trudged by. The third figure halted and glanced at me with an expression of relief and disdain.

  "It looks as though I guessed right," she said in clipped tones. "I'm going to give you another chance to cooperate with me," she added brightly.

  "I'm touched," I growled.

  "I knew you'd be," she said and went off after her guides. I watched her go with a mixture of anger, surprise and grudging admiration. Any girl with that much determination couldn't be all bad, I decided. She could also be a pain in the ass. But maybe she'd learned her lesson, I told myself, remembering the fright in her eyes during our last session. If not, I'd give her another one and fast. As I walked back through the village toward the Leeunghi house, I smiled as I passed Ghotak's temple and saw the three figures helping each other up the steps.

  Chapter III

  When I returned to the house I found the old man had been waiting for me to have tea. His information, more detailed than anything I'd heard, revealed the dangerous state of affairs that had already been reached. Khaleen, busy with housework, flitted in and out of the room, each time her eyes meeting mine in a small, private exchange. I kept remembering the softness of her hands on my body, and had to keep bringing my mind back to the old man's words.

  "Over 5,000 of these immigrants have come into Nepal so far," he said. "As each one is a trained Communist agitator, versed in the ways of creating dissension among the people, this is a sizable force. Ghotak, if he forces the King to allow unrestricted further immigration, will end up ruling the country for his Chinese Communist masters."

  "And the people really believe that Ghotak is guided by the spirit of Karkotek?" I asked.

  "Yes," the old man answered. "In this he has been most clever, playing on every ancient superstition and ritual. The ritual tonight is an ancient custom he has revived into a means of controlling the people."

  Khaleen entered with a fresh pot of tea and sat down for a moment to listen. She wore a loose black blouse and mandarin trousers and looked like a beautiful child-woman.

  "But even more than the spirit of Karkotek, he has the example of how the yeti killed those who publicly opposed him," the patriarch went on.

  "The yeti?" I exclaimed. "The abominable snowman? Not that old legend again."

  I glanced up at the sober silence my remark had brought on. Both the old man and the girl were looking at me with deep, serious eyes.

  "Surely you don't believe in the existence of such a creature, do you?" I asked, suddenly feeling that I'd already gotten my answer.

  "No one who lives here doubts the existence of the yeti" the old man said. "The yeti exists. I merely believe it was a coincidence that he killed those who opposed Ghotak, and Ghotak is capitalizing on this."

  "But you believe in the yeti? Both of you do?"

  "But of course, my friend," he said, and Khaleen nodded in wide-eyed agreement. "There is no doubt he exists."

  I backed off quickly, realizing I was treading on inviolate ground. Superstitions, at least some superstitions, were obviously not confined to the masses. But before backing away entirely, I tried one more nod in the direction of reason and logic.

  "Have you considered that perhaps Ghotak had these people slain and blamed it on the yeti?" I asked.

  "Only the yeti could have slain them. You would know had you seen their bodies," he replied. I dropped the point and we finished tea. The old man went back upstairs to rest and Khaleen had chores to finish. I decided on a walk, and I hadn't been out of the house five minutes when I met up with Hilary Cobb. She wore a wool suit, and I noted again how magnificently full her breasts were.

  "I've just been interviewing the most fascinating man," she announced gaily. "Ghotak, High Lama of the Teeoan Temple."

  "You do get around," I commented. "I'm surprised he consented to see you. I hear he's very remote."

  "You'd be surprised how many doors open when you flash a press card," Hilary answered. "He said he wanted to give a Western journalist his views on increased immigration into Nepal."

  "He doesn't miss a trick," I grunted.

  "What does that mean?" she asked, suddenly all newshound.

  "Nothing," I said quickly, but she had caught a scent and was eyeing me suspiciously.

  "Don't try putting me off," she said. "Maybe I'm onto something more than I thought. Is that why Angsley was sent here, because of the Chinese immigration into Nepal? Is that why you're taking his place?"

  "Why don't you go home before you get killed?" I said savagely.

  "Aren't you being a bit melodramatic, old boy?" she asked flippantly. I gathered the lapels of her suit in one hand and pulled her close, relieved to see the quick flash of fear that crossed her face.

  "You can't have forgotten the last time you got smart with me, honey," I growled. "I warned you then not to get smart and I'm telling you again."

  "And I told you I don't scare off," she snapped back.

  I let go of her and she stepped back, her blue eyes round and serious. "Why don't we call a truce?" she said. "I won't interfere with you and you don't interfere with me."

  "Oh, God save us," I groaned. "You know, for a bright, determined, resourceful girl, you're an awfully stupid broad. I'm giving you good advice. This place could erupt at any time into a very ugly situation."

  "And a great story," she said happily.

  "Go on, get lost," I said angrily. "Just stay out of my hair." I turned and walked away from her. I had a job to do here, I reminded myself. Trying to talk some sense into overaggressive English girls wasn't part of it. Somehow, the whole damned place was beginning to give me a very uneasy feeling. I wanted to get at the heart of things, to break something open and root it out, to expose the enemy and meet him head on. But here everything moved under the surface, cloaked in strange attitudes and approaches. I decided to concentrate on Ghotak. He had moved directly twice. Maybe I could force him into the open and into a fatal mistake. I went back to the house, stretched out on the bed and tried to clear my mind of abominable snowmen and snake gods and all the other superstitions. The damned atmosphere had a way of enveloping you and making you part of it. I let my thoughts wander to Khaleen. Now there was something worth being enveloped by.

  I rested till I heard the soft gong that signaled dinner and went downstairs. We ate quickly for, as the old man explained, the ritual would begin an hour past sundown. Khaleen excused herself for a moment and the old man took a few last puffs on his water-pipe. I finished the cup of sweet rice wine he had served.

  "I will explain what is happening at the ritual as it takes place," he said to me. "And most of it, I daresay, will not need explaining to you. By the way, you are aware that another visitor from a Western country is here in Katmandu?"

  "I'm aware," I said. "I didn't know you were."

  "She stopped here," he said. "She took my house for the Traveler's Inn, and I gave her directions. She is a journalist and very easy to converse with."

  "And very clever," I added. I was silently wagering that Hilary would turn up at the ritual,
too. Khaleen's arrival ended our conversation. She swept into the room with a brilliant, orange silk stole wrapped about her bare shoulders. Under it she wore a brief jeweled top that ended in a bare midriff. A blue, diaphanous material fell from her waist to the ground. Her breasts, gathered inside the halter top, rose in twin mounds, sharply pointed, and her black hair shone brightly against her rose-tinted cheeks. She shimmered, a glowing, incandescent jewel come to life, breathtakingly delicate and beautiful.

  She walked between her father and me, and when we reached the low-roofed, long building behind the temple it was already jammed with people. I followed the old man as he made his way down to the front. There were no chairs, and everyone sat upon the wood floor. A raised platform, a land of stage, took up the front of the hall and I saw Ghotak seated alone on it. A number of his blue-shirted Snake Society boys were among the crowd. I noticed my three friends from the afternoon were missing and I smiled quietly. Large incense burners hung from the walls and sat on the stage, filling the hall with a sweet, cloying odor. Various statues and carvings of Karkotek adorned the back of the stage, and three musicians sat to one side, two of them softly strumming on long-necked sitars, the third one softly stroking a drum. Smoke from lighted butter lamps clouded the hall and added to the semi-darkness of the huge room. Suddenly more musicians came out and sat down beside the first three, and I heard the eerie music of copper trumpet and conch shell join the drum and sitars.

  The old man had sat down on one side of me and Khaleen on the other, and as I glanced down at her I could see the soft rise of her breasts under the jeweled top. They would be like the rest of her, I thought, small but perfect I glanced over the crowd, searching for an ash-blonde head and finally I spotted it, directly across from where I sat. Hilary Cobb was against the wall, statuesque beside the Nepalese women who stood near her. I looked at the platform to see Ghotak rise and advance to the edge. A silence immediately fell over the audience. He lifted his arms, the voluminous saffron sleeves of his robe falling loosely, and began a series of incantations. The crowd murmured along with him. Finally he finished, lowered his arms and surveyed the audience, his face imperiously arrogant.

  "Tonight, we rejoice in the fertility of the Spirit of Karkotek," he intoned. "Tonight, Karkotek, Lord of All Serpents, helps us to free ourselves, to enjoy our bodies, to become one of his own. But first, he sends us a message. His wish is that I tell you that the time has come to ask our revered ruler, descendent of Vishnu the Preserver, to welcome all those who would live in our holy land under the Spirit of Karkotek."

  A murmur of approval went through the crowd.

  "When the ritual is over," Ghotak went on, "you will show that you have heard the wishes of Karkotek as given to you from my humble lips, by signing the great scroll to be sent to the King, exalted Descendent of Vishnu the Preserver."

  Once again the crowd murmured its understanding.

  "As is written in the Holy Books," Ghotak added, "let he would defy the wishes of Karkotek speak up or forever remain silent."

  I felt my hands tense as the old man got to his feet, surveyed the crowd and looked up at Ghotak.

  "Karkotek does not speak through the lips of Ghotak," he said, and an audible gasp arose from the crowd. "I have said this before, and I say it to you now once again. But tonight, I have another who would speak to you. He comes from a land many thousands of miles away. He has journeyed these miles because he would speak to you. His heart is disturbed by what he has heard so very far away."

  The patriarch turned to me, and I took the cue. I got up, ignored Ghotak's burning glance and faced the crowd.

  "The patriarch Leeunghi speaks the truth," I said, casting a fast glance at the sea of listening, silent figures in the semi-darkened, smoky hall. "Those who would enter your country do not come as friends. I have heard the Spirit of Karkotek in my land, and his voice asked me to journey from my home to tell you this. It would be a sign to you, I was told."

  Ghotak's voice cut in as he went into action.

  "The old man is senile, and the foreigner lies," he boomed out. "Listen to them and the Spirit of Karkotek will be angered and visit evil upon you. You seek signs? Think of how the yeti has slain those who spoke against Ghotak."

  "The yeti will harm no one else," I shouted. I almost said that the yeti was a damned hoax but I caught myself.

  "Has the yeti slain those who spoke against Ghotak?" the monk shouted, and the crowd roared their answer.

  "Has not Karkotek given you a sign by this?" he asked, and again the crowd roared. Ghotak turned and pointed a finger at Leeunghi.

  "Go into the mountains, old man, and return untouched by the yeti" he shouted. "If you can do that, Ghotak will know that the Spirit of Karkotek does not speak through his lips and that you and the foreigner do not lie."

  I saw a thin smile appear on the patriarch's lips.

  "I accept the challenge," he said. "The scroll will bear no names until the challenge is met."

  The crowd gasped, a great hissing sound that spewed from them, and then they clapped. Leeunghi sat down, pulling me beside him.

  "He trapped himself," the old man said excitedly. "I realized it and took advantage at once."

  "But you believe in the yeti," I said.

  "Of course, but not that he kills for Ghotak. The other slayings were a coincidence. It will not happen again."

  I was inclined to agree with the old man, especially since I knew that the whole yeti bit was a piece of wild folklore. Maybe the monk had trapped himself, thinking the old man would be too frightened to take up his challenge. My eyes were drawn to the stage again as Ghotak's voice boomed forth once more.

  "The ritual begins," he announced solemnly. Instantly, the soft background of the music changed to a sharp, almost frightening beat, an insistent beat that quickened and slowed and quickened again in pulsating rhythm. The sitar players began a shimmering, unending series of chords and as I watched, six girls in flowing veils, bare-bosomed beneath the thin material, appeared on the platform. Each carried what I first took to be candlesticks. They were, in a way, but as they were set down, three at each side of the platform, I saw they were waxen phallic symbols, each with its own bulbous base. Realistically molded, the waxen symbols were lighted at the tiny wick at the end of each one.

  "The wax is treated with a special oil so that it melts rapidly," the old man whispered to me. The six girls prostrated themselves before the symbols, then gathered together in the center of the stage.

  "Ghotak, as High Lama of the temple, will choose a girl to offer herself as a tribute to Karkotek," the patriarch whispered to me.

  "Whom can he choose?" I asked.

  "Anyone here," the old man said. "It is customary that he chooses from among the temple girls. The girl called up by the Holy One will begin to stimulate every kind of erotic emotion she can by dancing and by other bodily actions. Various men will leap on stage and offer themselves to her. She must choose one before the phalli burn down and to the one she chooses she must give herself this night"

  As I watched, Ghotak stood before the six girls. Then, suddenly, he whirled and pointed out to the audience.

  "I choose Khaleen, daughter of the House of Leeunghi, to offer tribute to the Spirit of Karkotek," he shouted.

  I shot a glance at the old man. He stared up at the monk, transfixed.

  "She does not come forth?" Ghotak asked, mockery in his voice. "Is the daughter of the House of Leeunghi too good for the Spirit of Karkotek? Does such a house dare to speak for Karkotek?"

  The old man whispered to me through clenched teeth.

  "If I refuse to let Khaleen give herself I must end my opposition to him," he said. "He knows this. It would be a matter of personal honor."

  "And if you don't refuse, you're tossing Khaleen to God knows who," I said. 'Tell him to go to hell. I'll find some other way to get to him."

  "The devil in monk's robes has struck at the heart of honor and belief," the patriarch murmured. Suddenly I hear
d the swift movement at my side, a flash of orange silk whipping through the air. I turned to see Khaleen rushing to the platform. I called to her, but she didn't even pause. As she climbed onto the platform a cheer rose from the crowd. The music increased in intensity and a sudden evocative odor was released from urns along the walls, a strangely stimulating odor. I felt the heightened emotionalism in the audience and saw that some women were already casting aside silk scarves and veils and outer robes. Khaleen was onstage, standing quietly, and Ghotak withdrew, moving down the side of the platform. The phallic symbols were burning down, each with its own hue of bright flame. I caught Khaleen's eyes as she looked at the nearest phallus, and they shone with a strange brightness. Now the music was beating its pulsating rhythm in almost deafening volume, and the sound and the rhythm were impossible to escape. They washed over me like the waves of the ocean, immersing, absorbing, demanding. I watched Khaleen begin to dance, slowly at first, then with increasing sensuousness. I'd seen exotic dancers all over the world but they'd all been making believe. Khaleen was transformed, her eyes half-closed, head tilted back. She approached each phallus, lightly caressing the waxen images, then moved around each one, thrusting her breasts at each. She swayed back and forth and now her belly began to heave in and out and she moved to the center of the platform. The blue sheath she wore quickly shredded as the fury of her movements increased and her legs, fine-limbed and slender, pulsed and swayed.

  The incense and the heat was reaching the audience, and I felt them swaying, heard moans and half cries. Khaleen thrust her belly out at them, spread her legs and arched backwards. I heard a woman scream and looked back to see a man rolling on the floor with her, legs kicking up and down. Men and women were clutching at each other. A few feet away a woman arched her body backwards and began to writhe in self-induced hypnotic eroticism. A frightening ecstasy had seized the crowd, and low moans and eerie sounds filled the air. I saw Hilary Cobb pressed flat against the wall, watching with wide, frightened eyes. I smiled as I saw her wipe a hand across her brow and cheek, and even in the half light I could see her skin glistening with sweat.