The Khufu Equation (26 page)

Jeanette pressed Jeff's hand between hers, and as she looked at the doctor she could see that he was perplexed.

"Why does he wear this dress?" whispered the medic.

Jeanette knew what would be next, and in outright dread she closed her eyes. She could feel the shadow of the Essence as it stole outward from the attendant Sheena's body and proceeded to absorb the lifeblood of the old doctor. A slight inertial bump suggested that the vehicle had come to a stop, but it was not for any ordinary reason as the shadow had absorbed the life from the driver too. A moment later, the front door opened and there was the thud of a body on the asphalt. Then, the Essence--in the image of the charming Sheena--directed the ambulance toward Phnom Penh, the capital city.

Brett held the pedal to the metal till at last he reached the capital. The longest street, Khemaracphumin, skirts the city in a half-ring, runs into the bridge over the Tonlesap River, and continues northward to Siamreal. At one point the bridge was blown up by the army of Pol Pot, but a crossing has since been built. Phnom Penh ends with the border of the old city, whereupon it stretches along the river for a distance of two kilometers. The old city is the origin of five radial streets, each of which rests against the half-ring of Khemaracphumin. Two of these five streets--Campuchia-crom and USSR Boulevard--coalesce into a highway exiting the city, thus leading toward the international airport.

Brett, as he entered the city, observed a beautiful complex of buildings in the university center. The facade of the main structure was decorated in bas-relief with traditional Khmer themes, although the architecture of the building itself, like the entire complex, was far from the Khmer architectural tradition. Nearby, there was the High Technical Institute of Khmero-Soviet Friendship. Constructed as a project of Soviet architects, with the help of Soviet specialists, it was gifted to the Khmer people.

Brett drove through this two-kilometer corridor and turned onto an avenue. In contrast with the somewhat impoverished conditions elsewhere, he now saw luxurious villas similar to the wealthy enclaves of a Mediterranean city.

He stopped the Toyota beneath the waving fronts of a date palm, silenced the engine and scanned his surroundings. He could easily catch the smell of roasting fat as it wafted through the air, and he knew the housewives were preparing meals.

Brett noticed six monks in the street. They had shaved heads and were dressed in saffron-yellow robes. Each garment consisted of a single piece of cloth, elegantly draping the body but leaving a shoulder and arm bare. Out of the whole group, Brett picked a fanciful one. That individual was dwarfish, with outsized ears and a golden ring in his nose. However, in counterbalance to the motley appearance there was something very refined about him. His blue eyes were full of altruism, the gift of a light that dissolves the worry of the mundane. In the ecclesiastical hierarchy, he would be the eldest. Still, he was a boy, and now he was walking past. He carried a small bowl for charity in one hand and held a bright-saffron umbrella over his head. There were two pair of these boys who seemed somewhat aloof. Gravely, without hurry they called at houses, where the women waited for them. Grief to the house that monks pass, the Khmer say. To give alms is not a favor, it is an honorable duty. Hostesses knew well the time of their coming, so they had prepared meat, fish and boiled rice. In other words, they offered the kind of food they would prepare for their families.

Brett's attention was drawn to a painful sensation in his arm. It pulsated from his shoulder down to his hand. There were drops of blood on his pants and the seat of the car. He began to feel dizzy, as if he were staring into a cavern of unfathomable depth.

"This isn't the time to sit and snivel," he warned himself. "You're a soldier, so act like one."

Brett rummaged around in the back seat and found a first-aid kit. He tore away the bloody shirt and examined his wound. One inch deeper, and he could have been armless. Clenching his teeth, he splashed some alcohol onto the wound and bandaged it.

Somebody knocked at the car window. Brett lowered the glass. It was the dwarfish monk, who stood staring at the commissioner with those big blue eyes. His nostrils were flared in the heat, and the golden ring threw off the perspiration that dripped onto it.

Brett reached for his wallet and, with a blood-stained hand, offered a twenty-dollar bill. The dwarfish boy, however, nodded in the negative.

"What do you need?" said Brett in surprise. "I have nothing more to give you."

"Follow me." The monk spoke good English. "I will help you to reach the place where the stone is. You are awaited."

The little monk then turned back and joined his partner, whereupon they proceeded to the end of the block.

The commissioner started the car and followed them.

"How the hell would he know about the stone, and where is he leading me? It must be some sort of magic. But do I have a choice? No, I don't. I'm a soldier, so I'll keep quiet and follow."

Brett stopped the car near the Buddhist monastery. It wasn't very big but was nevertheless an impressive piece of architecture. The slopes and eaves of the roof were reminiscent of puff pastry, supported by well-proportioned columns and buttressed with snow-white stairs.

One can see such monasteries in nearly every block of Phnom Penh. It is impossible to visit the city without seeing at least one monk. Unlike monks of other sects, these are ordained for only three month's time. Prior to ordination, a boy or a man has to prove that he hasn't killed or stolen, and he has to demonstrate that he is a good citizen. At the head of each monastery is an abbot, who has two assistants.

Brett took Father Sohn's book and cross with him as he left the car. At the staircase, leading to the verandah, the abbot, with quivering eyebrows, motioned for Brett to remove his shoes. Then, after washing his own feet in a basin, he waited for Brett to do the same. Only after this procedure of respect to the deities did he take Brett farther. Despite what he expected to find upon entering the inner room, Brett saw no visitors. Unlike Christian services, people come here when they feel the need to be in private with their own thoughts and to be free from vanity.

A six-foot marble statue of Buddha stared at Brett from the depths of the room. Buddha's perpetual invited him to come in. However, having already damped the fine wooden floor with blood, the commissioner froze in place. Instead, he listened to the energy of the space and took in the fragrance of incense and fresh flowers. Statuettes of demons and holy spirits lined the walls, which were intricately embellished with designs of beaming light. Near the shields with animals--symbolizing the days of the week--there were prayer mats. A little farther on, bells hung low over the ground. The faint drone of a bell chime informed Brett that somebody had made a wish only a moment earlier.

The abbot motioned with his head, directing Brett to follow him. Slipping into a secret room, the commissioner noticed the boy monk, who was cleaning up blood with a wet duster.

Brett found himself in a small room with an alabaster Buddha in sitting meditation, his head enwrapped by a snake. In the hands of the Buddha was a lotus flower, the symbol of purification from sins. The rays of the sun didn't reach that place, so the candles on the altar served as the source of light. Aromatic sticks sent blue-gray strands of violet upward, into the moody atmosphere of the room.

The dwarfish monk motioned for Brett to take his place on a mat and, without any preparations took his left palm and pressed it against Father Sohn's book. Everything in this location was happening soundlessly, in accordance with the private agreement of two sides, so the commissioner wasn't at all surprised when a powerful stream of energy burst pervaded his flesh. The energy shook his every cell and erased the pain from his consciousness. The wound on the arm began to heal, and within a minute there was only a mark. Brett moved the arm in amazement, and he touched his head. He remembered the pain of the impact as his head broke through the false ceiling aboard the plane, but now there was just a slight ripple on the skin.

The abbot was the first to speak.

"I take great sin, helping you. It is because twelve persons have died because of you. Perhaps it was for the sake of righteousness, but you took away life. Only God has this right."

A stern spark flashed in Brett's eyes, by which the abbot understood that Li was of a contrary opinion. When he was a man of war, he did far worse.

"Why are you helping me, then?" Brett asked.

"I had visions. There were signs, and now you are here before me. I was told to help you.

"If so, tell me about the stone. It's the reason all this began."

The abbot, assuming the tale to be a lengthy one, motioned for his subordinate to serve tea. It was thus served cool.

His low voice revealed to Brett a secret of the creation of the world; how existence, as it emerged from nothing, was at the beginning divided into negative and positive. He spoke of the balance as the nature of equilibrium between good and evil. He spoke of the philosophic stone and its ability to upset the balance. The enigmatic country of Shambala, in order to ensure the safe use of the stone, disperse it to different corners of the planet so that good things would be made. However, in recent years the stone was in Angkor Wat, the holy temple of Angkor. In turn, the essential point of the stone is that it can be taken out of its secret place only by a person whose soul is like an uncut diamond.

"Jeanette!" said Brett in astonishment.

"Yes," said the abbot with a nod. "But the time will come and this mission will lay on another person similar to her. Such a person will be pure and unsullied."

Brett took the last sip of tea and gently moved the cup aside. "Are there many such people?"

"On the planet there are seven, but none of them is aware of that. The stone is taken out and replaced by them in an astral way, in sleep. They do not remember it.

"Why not physically?

"It's very dangerous. There exists a portal to another dimension, a certain multi-measured conglomeration. It is sealed up with three holy stones from our side. Two stones have already been stolen. If they are connected with the third, a horde of inorganic creatures will burst forth into our physical world. If ever they drank our consciousness out of the sub-layer of reality before, they now want to drink it off in one great draft. They have destroyed more than civilization in this way.

Brett gave a quizzical look.

"Why doesn't the Beast use his force directly on Jeanette? To make her follow him, the Beast kidnapped my best friend's son."

"The Beast can influence the outcome of events. The seal may not be opened, as the Beast's touching astral Jeanette's threads are like washing dirty hands in clean water. The water becomes dirty."

The secretive conversation was suddenly interrupted by a young monk. He was excited and short of breath:

"War men are in the street . . . looking for our guest!"

"Bring saffron clothing." The dwarfish monk didn't even bat an eye. When the excited boy left, he took out soap and a razor, and looked at Brett. "So as not make more of the same sin, I'll make a different one. From me you will take the monastic vows."

International Airport, Phnom Penh. Ven Jhun's office.

Certainly Henrion, Dassy and Hoishen, the notorious arms makers of a century ago, wouldn't have thought their "child"--the twenty-place revolver called "the Terrible"--would one day figure in a story about saving the world. Over the many years, having sealed fates and lives, one of the guns passed from collector to collector till it came to a specialist in contraband. The latter in his turn took care of it. He cherished as his own until, at last, he required just the right gift for an almost impossibly stubborn man. On him depended a sizable pack of opium. Surely Ven Jhun was interested in money, but the pack of opium, which the narcotics dealer had transported from Cambodia to Thailand, was big and the "Terrible" revolver became something of a lead weight.

Ven Jhun remembered the saying, "The East . . . thin business," and hoped he wouldn't be seriously blamed for the butchery of that morning. He only had to call the necessary people and press a few levers, and everything would be fine. Moreover, eight of his people and four policemen were killed. His hands were untied, and the federal authorities would still help.

Ven rolled the barrel of the "Terrible" and listened to the uniform clicking sounds it made. They lingered like music amid the surrounding silence. To hold in one's hands a rarity with the legendary Belgian designation "X. D. X." would be a wondrous thing. Even more wonderful was the fact that the gun was in such good condition. With double barrels, it was twice as lethal as any ordinary weapon.

"So, you are saying there were vampires?" He stared at Rita over the table.

"Your hearing is perfect," answered the flight attendant impatiently. "Please give me some decent water to drink. It's so humid here."