Batty liked helicopters even less than he liked small planes. But here he was, sitting in back of a black MH-6 Little Bird, trying to keep his stomach in check as the pilot worked the stick and soared above the slopes of the Loi Lar mountain range.
After leaving Brother Philips’s living quarters, he and Callahan had questioned as many of the monks as they could find. But the rest of Philip’s brethren were just as clueless about his whereabouts as the guy who had greeted them at the front door.
They had pretty much given up, when the cleaning lady followed them outside and told them she’d spoken to Philip the morning he left.
“I come to work and he tell me not to clean his room.” She was a middle-aged Thai woman who couldn’t have been more than four foot five. She yanked at her collar with both hands. “He wear backpack, with food and supply. The one he always carry when he go to worship at the brothers’ retreat.”
“Retreat?” Callahan said.
She nodded. “They close it long time, but the brothers sometime go when they visit the hill tribe.”
“Where? Where do we find it?”
The cleaning lady pointed past the fence toward the lush green peaks of a nearby mountain range.
“There,” she said. “Close to God.” Then she wished them
Callahan immediately got on her cell phone and ordered up the helicopter. As they took another
A moment later she showed Batty what looked like a large stone cross on the side of a mountain near the Doi Inthanon summit.
“Close to God,” she said. “Let’s find out how much good it did him.”
The pilot was a scruffy-looking expat named McNab who did contract work for the U.S. government. He flew with a seasoned hand, but that didn’t keep Batty from feeling the urge to lean out the fuselage door and heave the samurai pork burger he’d gobbled up on their way in from the airport.
He didn’t know what samurais had to do with Thailand, but right now that sickly sweet teriyaki sauce was ripping up his insides like a freshly forged bushido blade.
McNab goosed the controls, then rose over a high ridge. Just beyond it lay a mountainside crowded with teak trees and mountain pine. A narrow dirt trail snaked down its long slope toward the sprawling lowlands, past the terraced rice fields and the rustic villages that the Kariang and Padaung hill tribes called home.
To the northeast lay Burma, which, along with Thailand and Laos, formed the Golden Triangle, once known for its thriving opium trade, but now home to a growing methamphetamine industry.
Banking right, McNab flew them around a large outcropping and found what they were looking for. High on a cliff and carved into the side of the mountain was a crumbling, moss-infested stone temple, fronted by a huge granite cross.
“Wow. That’s quite a sight,” McNab said into his headpiece.
Batty suspected the place was a couple centuries old, carefully built, stone by stone, by overzealous and severely misguided missionaries. The spread of Christianity had largely been a failure in Thailand, and the temple’s remote location would have made it attractive only to the few converted hill tribes or the true believers.
Or to someone trying to hide.
Callahan was sitting up front with McNab. “You think you can put us down somewhere?”
McNab pointed to a small clearing to the right of the entrance. “No worries. There’s more than enough room.”
Less than a minute later they touched down and Batty and Callahan climbed out, ducking low as they passed under the rotors and crossed toward the temple.
Batty was happy to be back on solid ground. He slung his book bag over his shoulder and held it close. Now that he knew the manuscript’s power, he didn’t dare let it go.
The temple’s massive teak doors were hanging open, nothing but darkness beyond them. Callahan moved up the crumbling steps to enter, but Batty held her back.
“Wait,” he said. “I’m not getting a good feeling here.”
“What’s wrong?”
He stood very still, drinking in the temple’s aura, absorbing its long history. There was a richness of spirit to this place-both good and evil-but nothing of immediate concern. The danger he’d felt was merely the remnants from some long past incident.
“False alarm,” he said.
“You sure?”
He nodded. “We’re safe. For now.”
“Just remind me not to fall asleep,” she muttered.
They continued up the steps until they reached the doorway, then paused at the threshold, peering cautiously inside.
The room beyond was cavernous, with stone pillars along either side and an enormous nave ceiling. The pillars had been painted with scenes from scripture, full of cherubs and clouds and swooning maidens, but the colors were faded, the images worn away by time. The floor was made of intricately carved terra-cotta tile, but the years had been unkind and there were cracks in several places, with moss growing between them.
In fact, as Batty looked around, he thought it was something of a miracle that the place was standing at all. A sudden cough, and it might very well come tumbling down around them.
They stepped inside, moving toward an archway in back, neither of them saying a word. There were deep shadows beyond the pillars, but Batty wasn’t getting any unusual vibes. Still, he half expected to find the remains of Brother Philip’s toasted corpse somewhere.
As they stepped past the last pillar, Batty heard a faint
“That’s about far enough,” a voice said.
So much for his sixth sense.
Batty and Callahan froze, and a husky guy with a shaved head, wearing a dark brown cassock, stepped from behind the pillar.
“Repeat after me,” he said. “I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.”
Callahan stared at him. “What?”
“Just say it or I’ll pull the trigger right now. I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.”
Batty and Callahan exchanged looks, but Batty knew what this was. He was giving them a test. If they could repeat the oath, they passed. If not, they were either dark angels, drudges or sycophants, and Brother Philip- assuming that’s who this guy was-would blow Batty’s head off.
Batty didn’t have the heart to tell him this was probably a waste of time. He nodded to Callahan and they both repeated the oath. “I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.”
Brother Philip seemed satisfied, but said, “Okay, step two. Before we get to introductions, if either or both of you have weapons, put them on the floor right now.”
Batty had never seen Callahan carrying a weapon-hell, the way she could punch, she didn’t need one-and he sure didn’t carry any himself, so he just raised his hands, showing them empty and hoped this would be enough to make Brother Philip happy.
“Weapon free,” Callahan told him.
“What about the guy flying the helicopter? Any chance he’ll come in here and start blasting away?”
Batty and Callahan exchanged looks again.
“I think you’re okay,” she said.
Philip eyed them warily, a slight nervous tick in his jaw, then he finally relaxed and lowered the gun. “Okay, who are you and what are you doing here?”
