Through the Third Eye; Book 1 of Third Eye Trilogy

by Bob Frank

  Chapter 20

  Kathmandu, Nepal

  The Asian man then turned to Clay and introduced himself in crisp, clear English. “Mr. Barton, my name is Mr. Yongten. Welcome to Kathmandu. I will escort you and our treasures to the United States on this journey. We will be briefing you on all the details of these arrangements shortly.”

  Looking astonished, Clay replied, “Thank God. I am so glad to speak to someone who knows what’s going on — and in English, no less. I have so much to ask you.”

  “Good, we will have much time to talk. But now we must move to another plane.”

  Yongten politely motioned for Clay to follow and moved back to the door. He paused to inspect the shrapnel holes splattered across the mid-section of the plane and then turned back to Clay with a smile. “I heard you had a little excitement on your way out of Tibet.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Murphy’s Law, huh?” He then laughed and continued down the stairs.

  As Clay descended the stairs, he saw Shali’s plane sitting beside theirs, its engines just shutting down. The other plane’s cargo door opened and the stairs flipped down, and Shali bounced down the steps with her two Tibetan custodians in tow, all three gaily conversing in Mandarin.

  When Shali saw Clay, she ran up to him and hugged him, totally to his surprise. She quietly whispered in his ear, “We heard you nearly got shot down by a Chinese fighter. Are you alright?”

  Clay hugged her back, taking advantage of the moment. “No big deal, just a lot of shaking.”

  Shali then grabbed his arm and turned him around. She pointed at the side of the fuselage of his plane where he saw the huge burn mark and hole-splattered aircraft skin. His mouth dropped open. After staring quietly for several seconds, he mouthed, “Holy shit!”

  Shali shook his arm and pulled him away from the plane to follow Yongten and the three monks. She said, “Our flight was uneventful; we took a slightly different route out of Tibet.”

  “What the hell happened at the airfield, with that firefight?” he asked her excitedly. “We didn’t see a damn soldier or policeman the whole way, and then three Hummers come out, blazing away when we are ready to go.”

  “We talked with Yongten on the way back,” Shali said. “Whoever they were, they were not the police or military, or at least not under control of the local authorities anyway. Our friends are not sure who these people were. Now, about the fighter: apparently the pilot disobeyed orders and went rogue. They figure somebody must have paid him a huge bribe to disobey his orders to stay on the ground.”

  Clay looked at Shali with intense concern. “Do you think these are the same people who screwed with us in Jordan and back in California?”

  “No doubt in my mind, but they are getting a lot more aggressive. Come on, let’s catch up with the rest. We’ll have more time to talk later.”

  They emerged from behind the plane and gazed up as they approached the shiny gray 747 DHS cargo plane that towered over them.

  Clay said, “Being the largest air transport company in the world, DHS finally adds some legitimacy to getting these coffins moved halfway around the world.”

  “Yeah, imagine how much this cost.”

  “There hasn’t been a quibble on costs, so far.”

  They caught up with the entourage and ascended the long portable staircase to the front side-door on the huge 747. The group continued up a second internal staircase to the upper-level lounge in the bulbous head of the giant 747.

  Clay said, “Wow, it looks like a sports arena in here.”

  Shali replied, “It won’t once they get those cases in here.”

  Entering the passenger area, Clay commented, “This is decked out pretty nice for a cargo plane.”

  Shali counted under her breath. “Fourteen first-class sleeper chairs plus a kitchen and dining area. Real nice.”

  “I see everyone seems to be staking out their seat.”

  They scurried over to grab two adjoining seats, and then Clay walked back to a window to view the cargo planes that had brought them out of Tibet. There was bustling activity around them as workers offloaded the gray cases and stacked them neatly on the tarmac. A short accountant-looking guy with a clipboard appeared to be making an inventory.

  They felt a jolting thump as the side cargo-doors of the 747 were opened. Clay walked back down the stairs to observe the loading activity. The cases were being fed up a long portable conveyor belt into the belly of the flying beast where they were being carefully stacked four high in numerical order: yellow numbers in front, red in the rear. Each row of cases was then securely strapped down and large cargo nets were thrown over them and securely tied to hooks on the floor.

  While the loading continued, Yongten gathered the five passengers in the upstairs dining area. Sitting at the table next to him was an attractive, well-dressed Asian woman in her mid-thirties. Clay couldn’t tell if she was Nepalese, Tibetan, Chinese or Indian; perhaps she was a mix. Sitting beside her were five plastic book-boxes.

  Yongten then started his briefings in English: “Please let me introduce Pema Lingpa. She will ensure all of the paperwork is in order for both the people and the materials we are transporting to New York. We have all of the necessary papers to prove that the scrolls and books belong to us. No government, institution or individual can claim ownership. Nepal customs and immigration will come to the plane soon and clear us for departure. We have all of your passports and documentation prepared. There is no need for you to say anything.

  “After we depart, we will refuel in Hong Kong before proceeding directly to Stewart International Airport, north of New York City. We have processed all the necessary documentation for this also. Your U.S. visas are already in the passports; you only need to sign the forms. When we arrive, U.S. Customs will inspect our cargo and clear us. After processing through U.S. Immigration, we will transport the cases to a secure storage location. We will tell you more on the way to New York.”

  Clay and Shali stared at each other with a look of relief and anticipation.

  “Mr. Yongten,” Clay said urgently, “we have a lot of questions. Who or what is the organization that has protected these writings for all these thousands of years? Who has been providing the funds to move them? And who approved the custodians to reveal the writings to me? Why am I now to become the custodian?”

  Shali reached over and grabbed Clay’s arm as if to say, “slow down.”

  Clay paused, acknowledged her and bit his lip. He then looked at Mr. Yongten with pleading eyes and said, “Please accept my apology. I am a bit anxious right now.”

  Yongten glanced at Pema, who politely responded to Clay. “Mr. Barton, let us just say there are people who care about the future of our society. We do not wish to be recognized, awarded or thanked for what we do. We only want the truth to be revealed when the time is right. We believe that it is close to the time to reveal the truth, according to an ancient prophecy. However, we do not discuss who we are or what we do, as there are others who are against us and who wish to stop our plans. There will be more time to talk later, when we get to New York. But right now we must prepare for the local authorities.”

  Twenty minutes later, three uniformed men were escorted up to the dining area in the 747. They sat at the table with Pema and reviewed many different documents from the five book-boxes next to her. They also reviewed the passenger and flight crew passports and a large pile of official-looking customs documents. Then there came a flurry of stamping and signing. Any document that wasn’t glued to the table got a stamp.

  Afterwards, they all stood, politely bowed and shook hands. Pema escorted the officers down the stairs to the tarmac below. From the port windows, Clay noticed the two cargo planes that brought them in had already taxied away out of sight.

  He watched the flight crew in the cockpit going through the pre-flight checklist. When the engines started to wind up, the sole flight attendant asked him to be seated for takeoff. He settled next to Shali again, and in moments the behemoth cargo
plane was rolling down the runway of Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan International Airport. Next stop, Hong Kong.

  * * * ~~~ * * *

  After the plane took off and was in level flight, the attendant served an evening meal to the passengers. The five travelers who had started in a Himalayan cave a day and a half earlier ravaged the pre-prepared meal. After dinner, nightcaps were offered, as well as a selection of sleeping pills, melatonin and herbal teas. Pema suggested everyone try to sleep until they reached Hong Kong, which was where she would start briefings.

  Clay had a shot of cognac and took several melatonin tablets. Shali quietly sipped on a Bailey’s. The three Tibetan custodians coddled a pot of a strange-smelling tea. The flight attendant turned the lights down as they all nestled into their sleeper chairs and bundled up in warm wool blankets. Before strapping in for the night, the three custodians knelt beside their chairs and performed a bowing prayer ritual.

  Clay leaned across the aisle and said to Shali, “Do you still think these guys are pure Buddhists or some other religious sect hiding behind Buddhism? Or are they not a sect at all and just some people doing the job they’ve been trained to do?”

  “I figured the three amigos were probably raised as Buddhists,” Shali replied. “But I’m guessing that the secrets in the writings have nothing to do with Buddhism itself. There may be nothing in conflict between Buddhism and the knowledge in those cases downstairs. Of course, we don’t really know what is in these writings, so who knows if it is the real truth, anyway? We’re taking these guys’ words that there really are some kind of secrets in there.”

  Clay paused for a moment. “If these writings were just another Torah, Bible, Koran or Zohar, I might agree with you. But their existence and location was only revealed to us through the regressions. The information that led us here was not contaminated by religion or human prejudice. I suspect the knowledge is not a religious thing but is maybe a merging of science and spirituality. Some kind of philosophy mixed with practical science.”

  Shali twisted her mouth as if admitting her lack of knowledge. “Could be. We’ll see what we learn after we start work translating and interpreting the writings.”

  Clay leaned closer. “But these documents were written by people with human prejudice and weakness. The writers were influenced by what happened at home the previous night or in the market last week, or because of the low-pressure front sailing through — or maybe even by what a religious leader told them the week before.”

  They both sat back in their chairs and quietly sipped on their nightcaps. After a few minutes, Clay leaned back over again and asked in a slow, inquisitive voice, “We were told that the three monks here will help us interpret the writings. But just suppose there is yet another copy of these hidden writings, but in Europe, the Middle East or Asia. Would the interpretations by those custodians be influenced by their own local cultures or religions? I mean should we substantively depend on interpretations from these three monks in wooly bathrobes? And does this mean that we too will be making our own interpretations of the writings, based on our backgrounds?”

  Shali hesitated. “That is all very possible. I know you suspect there may be another copy of the writings, but we don’t really have any proof. Clay, for now let’s just worry about our copy in the cases downstairs. You are over-stimulated and over-tired. So lay back and get some rest.”

  She looked at Clay with tired eyes, her lips tightened, head tilted sideways, and then slightly shrugged, as if to say, “Wait and see what happens.”

  The three robed monks finished meditating and took their seats. All were asleep and snoring ensemble within minutes.

  After tossing and turning for a long while, Clay wondered if the custodians’ approach of meditating was better than his cognac.

  The night flight was short and the stop in Hong Kong was brief. The pilots were rotated, the plane was topped up with fuel and back in the air on the way up the coast of China. After takeoff, Clay and Shali took a quick shower and cleaned up in the small bathroom behind the kitchen area. They all had a quick breakfast and prepared for a day of lessons during flight.

  * * * ~~~ * * *

  Throughout the ocean crossing, Clay and Shali were briefed by Yongten and Pema on the history of the writings and about Clay’s responsibility as the new custodian. The discussions included a background on the three current custodians and their predecessors. They were also told of the many lives sacrificed to maintain the secrecy of the documents, and very high level expectations of their new tasks as custodians.

  In a break from the briefings, Clay pulled Shali off to the side and said, “Isn’t there some way we could get the secrets without all this burden of custodianship? The earlier regressions did not reveal anything about this responsibility. Maybe we can find some philanthropic society to take on the burden of custodianship.”

  Shali smiled at Clay. “Maybe we should just start our own secret organization, too. How about we set up a Yahoo Group or an Internet blog? The Secret Society of Hidden Himalayan Secrets of the Universe?”

  Clay smiled at her wisecrack and shook his head.

  Shali then said in a more serious tone, “I think we can do that as soon as we digitally scan, store and makes lots of backup copies. At that point we should be able to turn it over to somebody else to manage the logistics; maybe a university, a museum, the Smithsonian. After we capture the secret knowledge, we’re the custodians. We should be able to control the destiny of the physical documents.”

  Clay looked up at the ceiling of the plane and slowly responded, “Yeah, I suppose.

  After several more hours of briefings, a snooze was in store for the travelers as they flew across the Bering Straits to Alaska and across Canada’s great Northwest. As the plane approached the Northeastern U.S. border, the flight attendant woke the travelers for a home-style American breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and fresh fruit. This was a real welcome for Clay and Shali, who had left California more than a month earlier.

  “To know, is to know that you know nothing. That is the meaning of true knowledge.”

  Socrates

  Chapter 21

  Stewart International Airport, New York

  As morning broke, the plane landed at Stewart International Airport, sixty miles north of New York City. The 747 cargo plane rolled down the taxiway to the DHS cargo hangars at the far end of the field. Within an hour, they were all in the International processing area. Pema had every document in its precise place in the five book boxes, and judging by the scrutiny of the customs officials, it looked as if she needed every single document. Shali and Clay answered the immigration and customs officer’s questions precisely as they had been coached earlier. Yongten spoke on behalf of the three Tibetan custodians.

  By the time they cleared U.S. Customs and Immigration, the one hundred seventy-eight gray cases of ancient scrolls and books had been neatly stacked by color and number in the center of a large hangar. The DHS cargo-handling crew unloaded the plane under the watchful eye of customs agents. As a group, they all walked to the warehouse where the customs agents carefully broke the seal on a random selection of cases. The contents were exactly as depicted on the manifest and customs declarations forms.

  They were then cleared by customs to take the ancient writings to their next stop. Pema placed new seals on the cases that had been opened by customs officials. Yongten returned to the office with the agents to finalize the paperwork. The five passengers watched curiously as the cases were loaded into two Mayflower moving vans, again separated by red and yellow colors. Each truck was then sealed before Pema placed her own padlocks on the trucks’ rear and side doors. In contrast to the Tibetan trip, this U.S. convoy had a small but very comfortable bus for the passengers. Everyone had their own row to stretch out and nap on the way to the next destination. This trip had only two SUV’s, but each with two armed guards. Both of the two moving vans also had an armed guard riding shotgun for the driver.

  The convoy pulled
out of the airport and followed the signs to the New York State Thruway. As they approached the entrance ramp, Clay saw a sign for the Beacon Bridge that crossed the wide Hudson River.

  Clay looked over to Shali and said, “I know Pema was telling you more about this place we’re going to. What’s the story?”

  “The new cave is in an old iron-ore mine near Livingston,” Shali replied, “about one hundred twenty-five miles north of New York City. Yes, another cave. The mine was closed and abandoned in the early nineteen hundreds when the ore was depleted. In the 1930s, it was converted to a mushroom farm. Then, after World War II, the Copper Canyon Atomic Storage Company was formed and converted it into a records storage vault for Wall Street and New York City banks. The mine was cleaned out, outfitted with storage rooms, vaults and other environmental controls. It’s been used for storage of paper records and computer backup tapes ever since. It is perfect as a temporary home for our writings. Plus the Copper Canyon company can digitize, encrypt and archive it all for us if we want.”

  “Slick. It’s got to be better than the Tibetan caves.”

  “Pema arranged for the writings to be secured in a separate climate-controlled concrete vault within the mine. When our new secure research facilities are ready, we’ll move the writings down to Washington D.C. That’s when the real work will begin.”

  “But before then, we have to focus on preparing our announcement of the writings and the best methods to do the work,” Clay said.

  “Pema told me they will help us with an approach to translate and interpret the writings. Our three Buddhist custodians will be very important to this work. Without them, analysis of the writings would be like interpreting an alien encyclopedia from outer space.”

  Clay smiled and nodded.

  The convoy rounded the on-ramp to the New York Thruway and headed north. An hour later, it took the exit east across the Rip Van Winkle Bridge. Still in a mind-numbing daze from the trip, Clay felt he could sleep for years, just like good old Rip. He looked forward to sleeping in a contemporary setting after spending a month in a Himalayan cave.