As the men got closer to the center of the palace, Alex took note of the many sutras, which were hung on the innermost walls. It was these sutras, or Buddhist scriptures, that captivated Alex the most. Written in Sanskrit, the ancient teachings were scripted in ink made of gold, silver, coral, iron, green diamond, red copper, and white conch shell dust. Exquisite works of art in and of themselves, they told the history of a people and their beliefs, dating back thousands of years. Alex couldn’t help but smile. He could sense every bit of it.
“In here. He waits for you,” Choden told Alex, slightly out of breath as he pointed to a small wooden door. They had climbed literally hundreds of stairs to reach the Dharma King Cave, but the brothers had not slowed nor rested the entire way.
“Thank you,” Alex said to the brothers, before he bowed to them respectfully, and they returned in kind. As the brothers turned to walk away, Alex took a deep breath, opened the small door, and entered the cave.
A single lantern illuminated the space.
“Welcome.”
Alex turned toward the voice and saw the outline of a Nepalese man dressed in a well-worn robe of dark-brown. He was, at most, four and a half feet tall. He stroked the fires of a small stove located at the center of the cave. Half hidden by shadows, Alex could see that the man’s head was smooth and hairless, shaved bald since he was young. The man poked at the coals with an iron before shutting the door to the stove, Alex could tell by his movements and hunched over posture that Kunchin was eighty-three years old and had endured many years of hard labor.
“What do you see?” Kunchin asked, not looking at Alex as he placed a small metal pot of water on the stovetop.
Alex glanced about the cave first. Literally carved out of the rock, there were dozens of intricately detailed statues, ranging from less than a foot tall to several feet in height, the bulk placed about the chamber in a haphazard manner. The statues represented prominent figures in Tibetan Buddhism. Along with several easily recognizable carvings of the pot-bellied Buddha figure, Alex recognized several of the lesser known deities he’d come to know from his research. There was the small gold statue of Marici, the Buddhist goddess of light, lying randomly next to a two-foot statue of Acala Varjra, a Buddhist warrior, the figure poised with his sword raised overhead, ready to strike. Some of the figures leaned against the walls and some were stacked tightly next to one another. In all, a priceless collection thrown together as if placed in storage. Alex also saw several much smaller figures—dragons and various real-world animals stuffed into countless holes that were unevenly carved into the rock. The cave itself stood roughly ten feet in height and twice that measurement deep, with two stone pillars that reached from floor to ceiling, each carved with animal faces and adorned with mani-pearls and dark jewels.
“Time,” Alex finally answered, when he completed his assessment of the cave. He then looked at Kunchin.“One moment in a thousand years. And a thousand years in one moment.”
Kunchin smiled in response. Alex noted that several of the old man’s teeth were missing.
“Sit. Please,” Kunchin invited, waving to a small metal folding chair on the other side of the stove.
Alex carefully sat down across from the old man.
“Tea?”
“No thank you.”
Kunchin nodded, before pouring himself a small cup. His mannerisms reminded Alex of Mawith, the old Native American Indian he’d met in the Arizona desert nearly a year ago.
“You still choose to hide,” Kunchin announced, as if reading Alex’s mind.
“No. I do not.”
Unlike when the old Indian first made this accusation in the desert, Alex was defiant in his words.
Kunchin said nothing as he carefully sipped his tea and studied Alex. There was calmness in the older man’s gaze, and it took only a minute for Alex to realize what Kunchin was doing; he was allowing Alex to study him. And Kunchin was waiting for a response.
“You don’t believe in all of this,” Alex started, a bit surprised at his own words.
“The gold statues, the rituals, the customs. You see them as signposts, crude maps of the land, but not the land. And because of this you see much deception in their name.”
Kunchin kept sipping his tea, waiting for more.
“You studied science as a young man. Physics. Mathematics. Long ago, you began to see things in terms of energy and harmonics…harmony, as it were, in all things. For you, there is no lasting legacy to keep, no vision of what will be done, only harmony within the moment. It is this harmony that in turn creates legacy and vision…an alignment of wave functions, all in tune with one another…a perfect alignment of all patterns into a single function; a single wave. And with that alignment, great power.”
Alex realized that he was speaking in a stream of consciousness, making seemingly unrelated associations, trancelike in mind and barely coherent in structure. What he saw in Kunchin—the enormity of the data set he was trying to align in his own mind to find the patterns in—was something he had never experienced before. He realized for the first time, when dealing with another human being, that he was getting lost.
“I can’t tell you when you will die because you’ve crossed the threshold of that harmonic, and traveled back…to this one…? You’ve experienced…the momentum directly…?” It dawned on Alex that these were now questions and not statements because he had reached a wall, a limit in his abilities. His hands began to shake, and an all-too-familiar dull ache entered his skull. His heart raced, and he felt faint.
“Close your eyes, young one,” Kunchin said, barely above a whisper.
Alex did as he was told, and it felt as if he had shut off a hard flowing valve of energy that led into his brain. Then Alex heard Kunchin begin to sing, softly at first, sounds more than words. It soon became a repetitive chant, a harmonic; a pattern.
Alex immediately felt himself relax, the rhythm of Kunchin’s voice chanting words in what was almost a song pushing all else from his mind. He then felt the muscles in his face start to slacken, and the dull headache begin to fade. His hands calmed, and his breathing deepened and slowed. He suddenly felt sleepy, away from the moment, away from thought, drifting in and out of consciousness. After what could have been minutes or hours, Alex opened his eyes.
He awoke from his trance-like state and found that Kunchin was no longer seated across from him. He was standing, facing the cave walls, and searching the many small holes that held the tiny statues.
“Ah. There you are,” Kunchin said, speaking to a small stone figure as he pulled it from the wall. He turned back to Alex and handed him the palm-sized statue.
Alex examined the figure. Carved from black stone, it looked like a mountain lion, crouched and ready to pounce.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“To protect you,” Kunchin announced to Alex, before sitting down across from him.
“But you don’t believe in symbols,” Alex responded, examining the small figure in his hand. The carving was hundreds of years old and worn smooth. Alex noticed that the stone panther felt warm in his hand.
Alex looked up from the gift and saw that Kunchin was studying him with intensity, but unlike Alex, there was no rapid eye movement, no sense of urgency, only calm. After only a few seconds, Kunchin’s eyes gently focused on Alex’s own.
“What do you see?” Alex asked.
“A blank canvass. And with it, great power.”
Alex sat back in his chair.
“I see one whose path in this plane of vibration was born into the world one way. And that way was altered.”
“What does that mean?”
“I see a man who no longer runs from others, but still runs from himself.” Kunchin continued, ignoring Alex’s question. “I see a difficult path ahead for you, Alex Luthecker, where one you love will be taken from you in this life; and this time, you will be unable to stop it.”
“Bullshit. If I can see it, I can change it.”Alex was on his feet. Surp
rised at his own outburst, he realized where he was and slowly sat back down, regretting the words as soon as he said them. Alex opened his mouth to apologize for his reaction, but Kunchin smiled and held up a hand to stop him.
“Your love and devotion to others is new and unsure, and thus blinds you with denial. This is what you run from. This is your weakness. And if you do not face who you are, soon, it will destroy you. You know this, but do not accept it.”
Alex could feel the stillness, the silence of the cave. Unlike his time spent in the desert with the old Indian, this time Alex was truly afraid.
Kunchin could see this, and his tone softened to a whisper. “You understand patterns and see the universe. But you do not yet understand Karma. This is why you suffer.” He took a long sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving Alex’s. Then he carefully put the small tin cup on the stovetop when he saw anger in Alex’s eyes.“Everything that is, Alex, is because of other things that are. Even you.”
“Who? Who do you think will be taken from me?” It was the only thing that mattered to Alex; it was the only thing he wanted to know.
“I gave you the totem to remind you that symbols, combined with unwavering belief, still create power in the hearts of men.”
“Answer my question. Who do you believe will be taken from me? Because you’re wrong. I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to let that happen.” Alex’s tone was angry and defiant.
The smile on Kunchin’s face remained. The old man nodded to what Alex held in his hand. “Seng Ge. The Snow Lion. She will protect you.”
Nikki closed her laptop and got to her feet as soon as she saw Alex enter the lobby. She could see in his face that he was upset.
“What happened?” she asked as Alex approached.
Without answering, Alex took hold of Nikki’s shoulders and stared hard into her eyes.
“What is it?” Nikki watched as Alex scanned her face, his eyes moving with REM-like precision. She knew exactly what he was doing.
“Stop it,” she said, pushing his arms away as she stepped back from him.
“You can’t read my fate anymore. I’m too close to you, and you know it.”
Alex turned away from her in frustration. He knew she was right.
“What the hell happened? What did this Kunchin guy say to you that’s upset you so much?”
“Nothing. He didn’t say anything. He’s just not what I thought he was.”
“What do you mean? I thought he was supposed to be like…you.”
“He wasn’t. He wasn’t like me at all.”
“I’m sorry, Alex.” She moved in to hug him. Alex began to pull back, but this time Nikki persisted, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. At first Alex stiffened, but Nikki held firm, and after a moment, he squeezed back, harder than she anticipated. Nikki felt Alex’s body suddenly relax, letting go into hers, like he had in the past when they first spent time together.
He abruptly pulled back and held her shoulders. “You know I’d never let anything hurt you, right?”
“Of course. Nor I you.”
“I mean it, Nikki.”
“So do I. Alex, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
“I told you, nothing happened. He was just wrong. About everything. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry it turned out to be a waste of time.”
“It wasn’t. But we need to go back to Los Angeles. We need to go home. Now.”
Nikki watched as Alex quickly turned away from her and walk toward the elevators.
Despite his perceptive abilities, or perhaps because of them, Nikki had accepted that Alex rarely spoke of himself, and the things that affected him on a deeper, more personal level. She had always let it go, but now it was different. Alex’s well being was at stake, she felt. When she and Alex were back in Los Angeles, she would find out exactly what had transpired in the Potala Palace.
Nikki quickly picked up her laptop and followed Alex to the elevator.
The fact that they were now leaving Tibet was a relief for Nikki. The remote region of the world had been a difficult adjustment for her, and she was happy to go home. She instinctively glanced at her laptop as she got in the elevator with Alex. She thought of the email and the photo. She, of course, would have to tell Alex. But now was not the time for that, either. She looked at Alex, gave him a smile of reassurance, wondering if he could see past her smile to her true thoughts, whether his perceptive abilities could sense what she was feeling. She realized that what she felt, more than anything else, was that things between them were about to change.
7
Blue Curtain
“Run the plate,” LAPD Officer Dino Rodriguez said to his partner, Officer Glen Coleman, as he eyed the black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows that was parked on 110th Street.
“I’m on it.”
“He sees us. He’s pulling out. I’m following him.” Rodriguez, behind the wheel of the black and white police cruiser, merged behind the Suburban.
“It’s registered to Nation-One Security,” Coleman read from his computer screen.
“That’s gotta be another Coalition Properties front. Third time we see one this week. I’m pulling him over.”
“For what?” Coleman asked.
“Gettin’ on my nerves.”
“Come on.”
“Tinted windows. Those are still illegal last time I checked.”
“The vehicle is registered with a security firm. They’re going to have a permit.”
“So let’s check it. Look, these clowns have been sniffing around the Block a bit too close and a bit too often as of late; they know they’re not supposed to be here. Something’s up.” Rodriguez looked at his partner. “And I want them to know, that they ain’t getting past the blue curtain.”
Coleman smirked, shaking his head at his partner’s reactions before Rodriguez hit the lights and chirped the siren. The Suburban slowly pulled to the curb.
Both officers exited the patrol car and carefully approached the large SUV.
Rodriguez unsnapped the strap on his sidearm, just before he reached the driver’s side window.
“Driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance, please,” Rodriguez said to the man behind the wheel. He noted that the driver was alone.
“What is the offense, officer?” the man asked. His Russian accent was thick.
Rodriguez examined the man’s expensive sunglasses and military-style haircut.
“Tinted windows.”
“This is a security vehicle. I have a permit.”
“License, registration and proof of insurance, please.”
The driver handed them over to Rodriguez. “What is this really about, officer?”
Rodriguez examined the paperwork.“Marco Drugal.” Rodriguez looked back at the driver. “What is that?”
“Russian.”
“Coalition Properties is hiring Russian goons now? Take off your sunglasses, Marco Drugal…the Russian.”
“Excuse me?”
“Take off your sunglasses.”
Marco slowly, and with anger in his eyes, did as he was told. The Russian’s piercing visage locked onto Rodriguez’s own. The young officer noticed the Russian’s right eyebrow was scarred from a cut.
“You Coalition mercs aren’t supposed to be anywhere near 108th Street, per a court ordered settlement.”
“I do not work for Coalition. I work for Nation-One Security. And this is 110th Street. I am doing nothing illegal, officer. I have every right to be here.”
“Stay the fuck away from Safe Block.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. If you or any other private security specialist, I don’t care where from, crosses onto 108th, I’m gonna arrest you. Or worse. This is your last warning. Spread the word.”
Marco gave Rodriguez a cold, deadly look. Rodriguez held it with his own before tossing the man’s paperwork back into the vehicle.
“No
w get the fuck outta here.” Rodriguez walked away from the Suburban.
“A little strong with the language, don’t you think?” Coleman asked.
“Fuck him.”
“These guys are dangerous. And they got a lot of pull, both on the street and with the powers that be. You need to be careful.”
Rodriguez watched the Suburban pull away before turning to his partner. “I don’t give a shit. Something’s up. We should go see the crew at 108th. See what they know.”
“Hi, Mrs. Chen, how are you today?” Officer Rodriguez asked, as he passed by the forty-year-old Chinese woman. The woman, who understood no English, lit up with a big smile when she saw the young officer. Then she enthusiastically waved to him. Chen, a mother of two, had been liberated along with her children and several others from a storage box discovered at the port in Long Beach. It had been Dino Rodriguez who had first discovered them.
Being the son of Mexican immigrants, Rodriguez was very sympathetic to the plight of being caught between two worlds, one that had no future and one that provided hope but was fraught with peril. The young officer grew up in East Los Angeles, and he had witnessed firsthand the dark side of illegal immigration, how gangs formed to both protect and terrorize those who had no place to turn. At twenty-five years of age, he was still young enough to be an idealist, and he had an unwavering reason for why he chose to become a police officer: In order to provide protection to those most vulnerable, those who were, more often than not, exploited and had no place within the system to turn.
Rise: Luthecker, #2 Page 5
