“Look at the dark lines on the walls,” Sam said. “You can see how the water rises and falls with the seasons.”
Jake looked frustrated. “We need a submarine.”
“Into that? Better you than me, buddy.”
“This is as big as Machu Picchu or Angkor Wat. We’ll do it eventually.”
“Maybe Grandpa made the lake to bury whatever’s down there,” Rominy said. “Maybe it was something dangerous or evil.”
“Or something invaluable.” Jake sighed. “It’s still a find. I’ve still got a hot news story. Benjamin Hood drowns a city. Is that why he became a hermit?”
“Maybe he tried to hide what he found,” Rominy said.
They were quiet, the water opaque. Then Jake pointed back the way they’d come. “There’s still that horizontal shaft. Last chance. Let’s check that out.”
They climbed back to the passageway and followed it. The shaft ended abruptly at a massive door.
Again, a riot of decoration, but this time cast instead of carved, as if the door were made of bronze. The material was dark and swallowed light, however, and was unlike anything they’d ever felt. It wasn’t quite like stone, wood, metal, or plastic.
“Another dead end,” Sam said.
Jake seemed transfixed. “Not necessarily. Doors open.”
“There’s no handle or keyhole,” Rominy said.
Jake let his fingers trace the vines sculpted into the door. “Or it’s a different kind of lock.” He followed them down, a tangle of flowers, to a bas-relief of an anatomically correct carving of a heart. An artery was a tube with an opening like a flower, as thin as a fine vase but firm as steel.
“This is weird,” Sam said, his palm to the door. “Do you feel that? This substance kind of tingles.”
Rominy put her hand on the door. It seemed to vibrate in response, like a purring kitten. “It almost feels like it’s alive,” she agreed.
“Which raises the question of just what life is,” Jake said. “At what point does matter, allied with energy, become life? Is energy itself life? Do you know our brain’s chemistry throws off enough electricity to power a small lightbulb?”
“So talk to it, Barrow. Open, Sesame.”
“Wait, I recognize these designs,” Rominy said. “This door was drawn in the papers from Hood’s satchel. Maybe this is the way into Shambhala. The Closed Door! Why would Benjamin Hood have drawn this?”
Jake nodded and pointed. “Blood lock,” he said, pointing to the carving of a heart.
“Blood what?” asked Sam.
“According to my research, the Shambhala of legend devised a means by which doors could be opened only by a specified individual, who was identified by drops of his or her blood. The Germans who came in ’38 brought a vial of blood with them for just that purpose. They didn’t understand how such a thing could work, but today we know about DNA and how each of us has a unique genetic code. What’s interesting is that access could thus become hereditary; a descendant’s blood might contain the very same key.” He looked at Rominy. “A great-granddaughter, perhaps.” He slung off his pack and stooped to put it on the floor, groping inside. His tone had become businesslike. “Which explains, Rominy, why you’re really here.”
“What do you mean?”
He pulled out a knife and slid the blade clear from its hard scabbard. It was a wicked-looking, twin-edged weapon with an eagle on the handle and twin lightning bolts on the pommel. Some German words were etched onto the blade.
“What the fuck?” said Sam.
“I mean that I hope we found what we’ve been looking for after all.” Jake looked up at the woman he said he loved with a face drained of all expression. “I’m afraid I need your blood.”
43
Shambhala, Tibet
September 20, Present Day
A re you crazy?” Rominy was looking at the blade with wide eyes. It wasn’t a hunting knife, it was a dagger, the kind you used to kill people.
“Let’s cool the jets, here, Barrow,” Sam said, his hands raised in alarm. “I think you’re overdosing on the exotic culture, man.”
Jake’s face was dead as a zombie, his tone clinical. “And I think we’ve finally found what we hired you to help us find, Sam.” He used the other hand to pull a gun from the backpack and Rominy gasped. “This is only a. 22, but I assure you that at this range I have the skill to make it lethal. So you can stand in the corner there and shut up, Mackenzie, or I can shut you up in my own efficient way.” He had the remoteness of a lab technician.
Sam took a step back. “Just don’t hurt the girl, bro.”
“I’m not your brother. But she’s the great-granddaughter we’ve been seeking.”
“Why?” It was all Rominy could think to say. The blade looked as big as a sword.
“We won’t know until we open it, will we? But someone very, very important thinks some thing that is very, very important was hidden here. Which is why I had to find and seduce you.”
“You’re going to cut her for a newspaper story, for crying out loud?”
“Are you both stupid enough to think I was really a journalist? I’ve never been in a newsroom in my life.”
Rominy’s mind was reeling, her eyes hypnotized by the bright dagger blade. Was everything a lie?
“If I’d allowed you a way to contact the Seattle Times, Rominy, you’d have learned in a minute they’d never heard of me,” he said matter-of-factly.
“So you did take the battery from my cell phone.”
“I used a magnet to disrupt it first, and removed the battery later. I’ve appreciated that you’ve given me the benefit of the doubt, since you’ve had quite legitimate suspicions. Fortunately, we’ve been in a bit of a hurry and you’ve been more resourceful at solving Hood’s puzzles than I ever hoped. The Fourth Reich will acknowledge your contribution someday.”
“The Fourth Reich?” Sam asked.
“Try, try again.” Jake smiled at his little joke.
Their guide was struggling with which question to ask first. “How in hell did you get a pistol in Tibet?” he finally managed.
“By spending four thousand of my girlfriend’s dollars. Outrageous markups in the Jokhang, but it’s true, with cash enough, you can buy anything. The bullets cost ten dollars a piece. Can you believe that? Bandits.”
“So think hard before you shoot one.”
“I think very hard about everything I do.” He was in a squat, gun in one hand, knife in the other. “Now, hold out your hand, Rominy. It’s very sharp, so it really won’t hurt.”
“What is this really all about?” she asked, all certainty lost, all balance undone. Had it all been an act, even their lovemaking? Had she fallen for some lunatic Nazi? Who, then, was the skinhead in the Cascade Mountains? Once more, nothing seemed to make sense.
“Power.” And before she could react he seized her wrist, jerked her to him, and sliced her palm with the SS dagger. Now she saw the words on the blade: Meine Ehre Heist Treue. It stung. Blood ran with alarming quickness from the wound. He stood and kissed her, quickly. “To make it all better.” Then he matter-of-factly tucked the dagger in his belt and brought out a tin backpacking cup, catching the flow. She thought she might faint. When the cup was full, like thick burgundy, he brusquely shoved her backward toward Sam and set the cup aside. He reached inside the pack again and pulled out some bandages, throwing them at the guide. “Bind the wound, Mackenzie.”
Then, picking up the pistol and keeping a wary eye on them, he went to the door, squatted again, and started pouring Rominy’s blood into the carved artery of the heart.
“What are you doing, Barrow?” Sam asked.
“Watch and see. I don’t know how much blood it will take, but we’ll do it by the cup. Everything is alive, if you look at it the right way. Or rather, life itself is a kind of conceit, an illusion of energy, once you realize all is one.”
A glow began to emanate from the rock. There was a clunk, a whir, and a line appeared to divide the solid slab. And then with a grind, it slowly slid apart.
There was a small chamber beyond, blank and featureless. It led nowhere.