False Horizon

by Alex Archer

  Tuk scented the air and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke on the wind, hidden just a little by the pervasive gas fumes. His eyes moved in their sockets but did little else. As far as Tuk knew, no one could see him, ensconced as he was in the depth of shadows amid the twilight.

  His stature made him perfectly suited for the role of surveillance. He was thin, almost wiry, yet possessed strength in his frame. He moved quickly and could easily pass through crowds like a soft breeze and no one would ever be the wiser.

  Tuk had come to Katmandu as a child. He had little memory of his life before that. All he knew was that he had no one. He assumed his family had either abandoned him or they’d been killed in an avalanche, perhaps.

  Tuk had wandered down the river valleys and shallow hills of the mountain ranges until his feet carried him to the outskirts of Katmandu. From there, he managed to scrape out an existence, although it was only such by the barest of measure.

  As the desperate so often do, he developed a keen eye for opportunities. In his youth he worked to become an expert guide on the city streets for foreigners who came to this land seeking to ascend to the heavens. As he grew older, Tuk’s ability to navigate unseen led him to another class of foreigner with little interest in the mountains themselves, aside from what lay across their snowy peaks.

  By the time Tuk finally understood that he held a certain amount of value to the various intelligence services that employed him, he was already deep within the community as a tracker. At first, representatives from several organizations had offered him full-time appointments, but Tuk had shrugged them off. He thought his best chance of prospering lay not in the fold of one nation’s spies, but in the community as a whole. He would hire himself out to whoever could afford his fee, which grew with each passing year.

  As the years advanced, however, Tuk found himself being replaced with the advent of sophisticated electronic tracking systems. Gradually, his former clients opted for their tiny microchips and circuit boards over the wiry man they’d relied on for so long.

  And Tuk found his fortunes fading away. But not entirely. Every now and again, someone would still seek him out. But his espionage days were over. His new clients were less patient people. Drug runners, arms dealers and other like folk used Tuk because it was cheaper than buying the technology to do the work.

  And Tuk, ever the adaptable sort, was forced to lower his own personal standards and accept the work.

  He hated it for the most part. Just being in contact with the clients made him feel dirty and his soul unclean. Tuk would only tolerate their presence for so long—enough time to get the details of the job and the payment for his services at the completion.

  He’d had to give up the respect he’d once enjoyed from the spies. In him, they’d seen a fellow craftsman. Tuk had worked hard to nurture his talent and they understood that. Despite the fact that he worked for no country but himself, they’d all treated him like one of their own. And Tuk had enjoyed that feeling of belonging.

  The men he worked for now cared little about his talent unless it produced results. More so, they treated Tuk like an insignificant mosquito that they barely found tolerable. They all had insulting nicknames for him and tossed his payment at him whenever they were finished.

  Tuk was seriously considering leaving Katmandu and moving out into the countryside. He had a little money left, stashed away in a variety of hiding places in the city so utterly obscure that he was certain no one knew where they were. He could use that money to set himself up in a small house. Perhaps he would become a farmer.

  He imagined life, looking out at the vastness of the enormous mountains each day, would be calm and enjoyable. Even as he had toiled in the narrow streets of Katmandu, Tuk had always felt drawn to the countryside. He’d come from somewhere out there. And he knew deep in his heart that someday he would return.

  The previous day had started like any other. He left the tiny apartment he rented and made his way to find breakfast. He’d only traveled ten yards from his home when his instincts sparked up and he knew that someone was watching him.

  At first, he was worried that one of the drug runners was going to kill him. But he disregarded that notion. Ever since he had started dealing with criminals, he’d taken extreme caution in how he worked his way back home each night. He used routes that doubled back on themselves. Tuk was sure that none of them would be able to track him.

  But after another few blocks, he thought that maybe someone from his earlier life was stalking him. The prospect of that puzzled and thrilled him at the same time. He was puzzled because, in all his years, he’d never done anything to betray the confidences of whomever he worked for. He’d never done anything to warrant someone wanting to kill him.

  And in that confidence, Tuk felt his heart soar. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were coming back to him for work. Maybe their fancy gadgets couldn’t do what Tuk could do. Sure, he was older now, but he still had vitality flowing in his veins. He could still complete their assignments with ease.

  At the food cart, Tuk ordered his meal and then turned, casually gazing up the street. He saw nothing suspicious.

  He frowned and cursed himself silently for being such a hopeful fool. He was getting old, he thought. And his desire for his former life had made him think that a return was possible when it was not.

  Those spies, he told himself, are long gone. And they’re not coming back.

  “Excuse me.”

  Tuk nearly leaped out of his own skin at the sound of the low voice. He turned and was immediately struck by the size of the man standing next to him. He loomed large over the entire food cart and Tuk was completely in the man’s shadow.

  But while there was no doubt that the man was both imposing and ominous, there seemed no threat directed at Tuk. If anything, Tuk felt that the man might even respect him a little. It was a theory quickly turned to fact when the man spoke again.

  “Are you Tuk?”

  The inflection of voice told Tuk all he needed to know. The man knew him not from his dealing with thugs, but from his intelligence work. Tuk smiled. “Yes. I am he.”

  “I would like to ask for your assistance in a small matter I have to deal with,” the man said. “And I will pay you very well for your services, say twice the rate you used to obtain from the British?”

  Tuk smiled. “That would make me very happy indeed.”

  The man nodded. “I was certain it would.” He gestured to the street. “Walk with me and I shall tell you of the matter.”

  Tuk fell into step beside the stranger and they moved off down the street. Tuk found himself marveling at the manner in which the giant man moved. Not so much like a steamroller or some other juggernaut, but with the practiced, careful step of a dancer. The man’s grace belied his immense size and Tuk knew this was no ordinary spy.

  “She will come from America. A young woman in her twenties. Dark hair that flows down past her shoulders. She is lithe. Quick. And in battle, she is a most formidable opponent.” The man showed him a picture of a beautiful woman.

  “I won’t fight her,” Tuk said.

  “I should hope you won’t,” the man replied. “But have little doubt that if she spots you, then she will make every effort to find out why you are following her. And she can be most persuasive.”

  Tuk smiled. “She will not see me.”

  “Indeed. And that is exactly the reason I have come to you, my friend. I know of your reputation. I know of your skill. This is not a matter to be entrusted to a faceless bit of technology, but rather to an expert such as yourself.”

  “I will follow her from the moment she leaves the plane until such time as you wish me to stop,” Tuk said. “And never will she be the wiser.”

  “Excellent. Excellent.” The man handed Tuk a small envelope. “Take half of the payment now for your trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  The man chuckled. “You are used to never being seen and yet here you are walking down the street with me. And
I tend to attract attention despite my best efforts. I am therefore ruining your usual cloak of invisibility. For that, I sincerely apologize.”

  “You are not troubling me in the least,” Tuk said. He appreciated the man’s deferential attitude. “Had you not employed me, I might again find myself needing to find a job with a lower class of person. One I do not wish to seek out, but circumstances have dictated that I do just that in order to survive.”

  The man nodded. “The realities of life do not tolerate the whims of our hearts, do they?”

  “Not often.”

  “Take this assignment and I will triple your payment. I know the pain of working with idiots. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.”

  “Your generosity is most appreciated.”

  “As is your discretion,” the man said. “And your talent.”

  “What would you have me do once I pick up the trail?”

  “Nothing. You do absolutely nothing except follow her. For you to attempt otherwise would be suicidal.”

  There was nothing boastful or arrogant about the manner in which the large man spoke. It was simply matter-of-fact. And Tuk had little reason to doubt the man’s words.

  “As you wish.”

  “She will most likely head to Thamel.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “That is where all foreigners tend to go, isn’t it? And this woman is adept at blending in with the surrounding scenery.”

  Tuk nodded. “I won’t let that fact enable any assumptions on my part.”

  “I know this.”

  They reached the end of the street and throngs of foot traffic swelled around them. The large man turned to Tuk and smiled. “Thank you for your help.”

  “How will I know where to find you?”

  “Take this.” The large man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small phone. Tuk recognized it as a disposable unit like thousands of others sold all over Katmandu. It was anonymous and therefore useful to the very drug runners Tuk despised.

  “Press and hold the two and it will ring to my phone. Tell me where you are and I will be there. The phone is set to vibrate. If I call you and you do not answer, I will assume you are unable to talk at that moment for fear of giving your position away. However, I will expect a return call as soon as you are able.”

  “Understood.”

  “Then we are in business.”

  Tuk frowned. “One last question, if I may?”

  “Yes?”

  “How did you find me?”

  The man smiled. “You are a rarity in this part of the world, my friend. But not so in other places. In every city and town there are those who know it better than anyone else. I only needed to take my time and you revealed yourself when the universe judged the time right.”

  Tuk smiled. “I’m glad to be of service.”

  “As am I.”

  “I know better than to ask your name,” Tuk said. “But what about the woman? What is she called?”

  The man started to walk away, paused and looked back at Tuk. “Her name is Annja Creed.”

  Tuk said the name to himself several times, trying it on for size. When he glanced back, the large man was gone.

  Outside the Blue Note, Tuk wondered what exactly such a woman might be doing in order to attract the intense scrutiny of the man who now employed him. She seemed ordinary enough, albeit skilled at movement through crowds. Tuk had trailed her on a motorbike from the airport, and when she’d given up the taxi, he had parked and followed her on foot.

  The phone buzzed in the pocket of his worn pants. Tuk reached in and pulled out the phone. “Yes?”

  “You have her?”

  “It is as you said. She is in Thamel. At a restaurant called the Blue Note.”

  “Keep watching her.”

  “You’re coming here?”

  “Not yet. But I will soon.”

  The line disconnected and Tuk was left to wonder some more about the woman called Annja Creed.

  3

  Inside the Blue Note, Annja was oblivious to the little Nepali man stationed outside with orders to report on her movements. She had other things to consider just then, like exactly how she was going to deal with the two men heading toward her table.

  “Mike?”

  But Mike only frowned. Annja glanced at him and then back at the hulking masses in front of her. They both stopped short of coming within range of a swift kick from Annja’s boots. That meant they had a situational awareness Annja recognized, marking them as seasoned professionals.

  “Hi, Mike,” the one sporting a goatee said. “How ya been?”

  Mike frowned. “I don’t know you.”

  “Sure you do. You know our employer, Mr. Tsing. So if you know him, then you know us.”

  Annja looked at Mike. “Who is Mr. Tsing?”

  “A miserable bastard, apparently,” Mike said. He looked back at the huge men. “Why are you bothering me about this now? I told Tsing I needed a few more weeks to pay him back.”

  “Pay him back?” Annja sighed. “What are you paying him back? What did you need money for?”

  The goateed henchman smiled. “He wanted to buy a map. A fifty-thousand-dollar map.”

  Annja’s eyes widened in alarm. “Fifty grand? What kind of map costs that much money?”

  The goateed man pointed at her. “You see? That’s exactly what Mr. Tsing would like to ask our friend Mike here.”

  “Since when does Tsing care what his money is used for as long as he gets repaid?” Mike asked.

  “Since he found out you were blowing fifty large on a map,” the man said. “Now, you can come along with us quietly and without any trouble. Or we can beat you senseless and then take you to Mr. Tsing. Makes no difference to us.”

  Annja smiled. “Suppose we don’t feel like seeing Mr. Tsing just now? What about you guys go back to him and say you couldn’t find Mike?”

  “We already told him we had you two in sight. He’s very interested in seeing Mike and apparently he’s very interested in meeting you. Says he loves your show.”

  “How did you know who I was?” Annja asked.

  “We have ways of finding out who is on airline manifests. It comes in handy for Mr. Tsing to know when he has business associates coming to town. Or other people that he’s interested in meeting.”

  “Great. A fan,” Annja mumbled. “That’s just what I need right now.” She looked at Mike. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to,” Mike said. “Tsing told me I had all the time I needed to pay him back. This is as much a surprise to me as it is you.”

  “Fifty grand? That must be some map.”

  “It is.”

  The goateed thug cleared his throat. “Are you coming with us or do we have to drag you out of here?”

  Annja eyed him. She could easily draw her sword and cut both men down before they could blink. But she wasn’t sure that unsheathing her blade in a crowded restaurant was the best way of handling this. At least, not in view of everyone else in the joint. Maybe she would try her luck once they got outside and into some narrow alley. She imagined Mr. Tsing would infest some tiny haunt on the back side of Katmandu.

  Mike nodded. “Fine, we’ll go with you to see what Tsing has to say. I like this place too much to cause trouble in here, anyway.”

  “Smart,” the man said. “I’m sure he won’t keep you long. This is more of a social call than a collection call.”

  “What a relief,” Mike said.

  The two men led them out of the Blue Note. Annja looked around but saw little chance for action. Throngs of people swelled around them and the two henchmen bracketed Mike and Annja between them. The tide of the foot traffic carried them along.

  Mike whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry, I can handle Tsing.”

  “Can you?”

  “Sure. He’s a businessman. The last thing he wants is to spill any blood. He’d much rather make money.”

  “
And the map?”

  “I believe it shows the true route to finding Shangri-La.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “An archivist for James Hilton.”

  Annja glanced at him. “You mean the same James Hilton who wrote Lost Horizon?”

  “The same.”

  “But most people who read that book believed that Hilton based it on Hunza Valley in Pakistan,” she said.

  Mike nodded. “Yep, and others think it’s actually in the Kunlun mountain range. But neither of those suppositions is correct.”

  “And this map shows the way?”

  “It’s true that Hilton visited Pakistan and particularly the Hunza Valley only a few years before Lost Horizon was published. But as for him basing the book on the area, that’s rubbish. Hilton knew what he’d discovered and didn’t wish for it to be torn apart by the curious.”

  Annja saw the henchmen were steering them down a street with less traffic. They were on the outskirts of Thamel now. Ahead of them, more modern buildings loomed. They passed cell phone shops and nice restaurants.

  “So, Hilton…lied?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Mike said. “Throughout the early twentieth century and into the 1930s, there were many British explorers over in this region. It was a natural place to go to, given the British Empire’s India connection. Hilton and others like him made trips up to this part of the world and were fascinated by what they saw and perceived as both mystical and wondrous places.”

  “So, if neither the Hunza Valley nor the Kunlun Mountains are the location, then where would it be?” Annja asked.

  “That’s what the map will tell us,” Mike said. “But we need to get away from Tsing and his goons if we have any hope of discovering it.”

  “Seems like Tsing is going to have a problem with that.”

  “Who cares?”

  Annja glanced at Mike. “I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of spending this entire trip being hunted by the likes of these two. And Tsing doesn’t sound like he’s the forgiving type.”

  “He’s not.”