Dagger Magic

Chapter Twenty-Three

AT this invitation, Adam bowed again and descended the steps, pausing to slip his shoes off and remove his cap before venturing onto the straw mat to sit cross-legged before the old lama. McLeod and Peregrine followed suit, sinking down to either side of him. Jigme positioned himself at Tseten's right. Smiling, the old man began to speak in Tibetan, opening his left hand to reveal Adam's Adept ring cradled in its palm.

"Rinpoche says that this ring bears the psychic signature of an old friend," Jigme translated. "You will know her as Julian Brodie. He asks that you convey his warmest greetings to her, the next time the two of you should meet."

Adam smiled in his turn and inclined his head, impressed by the old lama's demonstrable keenness of perception. Julian had not made the ring, but she had made extensive repairs to it on one relatively recent occasion when it had been damaged in the line of duty. It was no mean feat of discernment that Tseten could have sensed her particular resonance in the midst of all the other powerful reverberations that the ring itself carried. Even thus might a master musician differentiate the voice of a single instrument sounding in the midst of a fully orchestrated symphony.

"Please tell Rinpoche that I will be very happy to do as he asks," he said as Tseten laid the ring beside the other artifacts. "It was Julian herself who first suggested that we seek his counsel."

Before Jigme could begin translating, Tseten murmured a few words in Tibetan, evoking a smile and a nod from Jigme.

"Rinpoche assures me that his understanding of English is sufficient for our purposes, Dr. Sinclair; it is his spoken English that is not so fluent. To save time, he suggests that you speak directly to him, and I will give his answers - and, of course, clarify if he does not understand."

At Tseten's smile of inquiry, Adam gave a grateful nod.

"I thank you, Rinpoche. To the point, then, I should be extremely grateful for any guidance you may be able to offer. You have seen the evidence assembled thus far." He gestured toward the photos and sketches and flag. "Please tell us, if you can: What is the connection that binds together all these elements?"

The old lama was silent a moment, as if still mulling his answer to the question he had known would be asked. As he began to speak, Jigme supplied the English translation in quiet counterpoint to the older man's voice.

"The connection you are seeking is this individual here," Jigme said, gesturing toward Peregrine's sketch of the man in green as Tseten turned it toward Adam. "He is known to legend as the Man with Green Gloves. To explain his significance, I must acquaint you with some history I had thought and hoped was dead and past."

Tseten sat back, his fingers again seeking out the black beads of the mala as he continued.

"Are you aware, Dr. Sinclair, that before the last world war, a number of people from my homeland found reason to emigrate to Germany?"

Adam shook his head.

"Tibetan colonies were founded in Berlin and Munich in the mid-nineteen twenties," Jigme went on, translating over Tseten's voice. "It was rumored at the time that at least some of the individuals involved were black ngagspas - evil magicians - who had been recruited to work for the rising National Socialist Party. One such individual was a lama calling himself by the ancient title of Green Gloves. Legend holds that he who bears this title is possessor of the Keys to the Kingdom of Agarthi - or Asgard. These are not keys in any physical sense, but certain non-Buddhist teachings."

At Adam's nod of understanding, Jigme continued.

"As time passed, it became clear that, through these keys, Hitler and his followers hoped to obtain direct access to an Aryan root magic that they so ardently desired and sought. They sought it by other means as well. Whether or not these hopes were well-founded, Rinpoche does not know, but it is certain that the man then calling himself Green Gloves quickly gained a reputation for being able to predict the number of Nazi deputies elected to the Reichstag. Hitler is said to have consulted him frequently. Apparently he found reason to trust in Green Gloves's auguries."

Adam nodded. "Hitler's interest in such matters is well known," he said, "though 1 had not heard of a connection with Eastern disciplines. Did this extend into the war itself?"

Tseten shrugged and spoke again.

"Rinpoche was then a young monk in Tibet," came Jigme's translation, "so he has no direct experience of those days in Germany to speak with authority. However, it is said that when the Russians entered Berlin in 1945, they found one thousand Tibetan bodies in German uniforms, suicides all, bearing no rank insignia or identification. When this rumor came to Rinpoche's ears, he surmised that the individuals in question must have borne some connection with the Berlin Colony, which was suspected of practicing black magic - but he cannot affirm this for a fact."

The mention of Tibetan suicides stirred Adam's memory of his own clash, in the not-so-distant past, with a black magician also claiming Nazi connections, who called himself the Head-Master. On that occasion, a number of the Head-Master's initiates had yielded up their lives to their elemental patron in order to secure for their leader a measure of extra power with which to defend his citadel. Adam wondered if the thousand Tibetans found in Berlin might have been party to some similar working of black magic, designed as a last-ditch attempt to turn the tide of victory against the Allies.

Peregrine, meanwhile, was staring hard at his sketch of the figure from his dream, his hazel eyes owlishly round behind the gold-framed lenses of his spectacles.

"What about Green Gloves himself?" he whispered. "Did he survive the war?"

Tseten's response was a troubled frown as he shook his head and began to answer through Jigme.

"His fate is unknown," Jigme said, his eyes on his master's face. "Rinpoche presumes that the man then calling himself Green Gloves is dead by now, for of necessity, he would have been of mature years during the twenties and thirties, in order to have achieved what he did.

"As for the colonies we have noted - Rinpoche says it is probable that these were dispersed, their members left to fend for themselves as best they might. It was a time of great turmoil. It is possible that at least a few of these refugees found their way to Switzerland, black ngagspas among them. A number of Buddhist communities flourish there today - though he cannot imagine any of them having Nazi connections. Certainly, no Buddhist known to us would be involved with something like this," he finished emphatically, gesturing toward Peregrine's photographs and sketches. "Our beliefs demand that we respect all life. We do not kill anything."

McLeod heaved a gusty sigh. "Well, whatever else may be going on here, it doesn't sound like Green Gloves himself is likely to be a threat."

This utterance earned him a sharp look from Tseten, who immediately rattled off a vehement response in Tibetan. Jigme listened impassively, then turned back to McLeod.

"Are you aware how successors to such great lamas as the Dalai Lama and the Karmapa are chosen, Inspector?'' he inquired.

Looking slightly nonplussed, McLeod shook his head.

"You do know about the Tibetan Buddhist practice of deliberate reincarnation?" Jigme said, continuing at Mc-Leod's nod. "Very well. When a great lama dies, a search is instituted for a child with certain distinguishing physical characteristics who will recognize possessions of his predecessor and thus prove by this, and other means - perhaps visionary guidance and instructions left behind by that predecessor at his death - that he is the new incarnation of the spiritual Principle which uses the body of this official. A similar process is followed to establish lesser successions - even black magic successions, I fear."

Adam had sat forward during this recital, and spoke as soon as Jigme had finished.

"Are you saying that a reincarnated version of this Green Gloves could be at the bottom of all this?"

Both Tseten and Jigme responded with emphatic nods, and Tseten began speaking again in Tibetan.

"It is definitely possible," Jigme translated. "Such a successor, discovered just before the war and since trained up for that purpose, would now be in his prime - a formidable enemy of the Dharma, or Law, if he is not kept in check. Such a man, equipped with powers carried over from previous lifetimes, could as well have access to information about a submarine sent out at the end of the war specially designated to preserve and hide - "

The old lama abruptly stopped speaking. Left without the means to finish the sentence, Jigme glanced inquiringly at his master.

"To preserve and hide what?" Adam prompted.

There was an extended pause, during which Tseten appeared to weighing up his answer. Jigme stared at him intently. When Tseten slowly began speaking again, it was clear that Jigme's halting translation was exactly literal, that Tseten now was venturing even beyond Jigme's knowledge.

"It may already have occurred to you to wonder how and where I might have come by the information we have been discussing," Jigme said. "I sense that it is appropriate that you be told. By no means were all of the members of the Berlin and Munich colonies of which I spoke allied with Hitler. After the collapse of the Reich, some did seek refuge in Switzerland, but a few succeeded in winning their way back to their native homeland. One of these found his way to the monastery where I myself had become abbot. He it was who told me most of what I know about Green Gloves and his involvement with the rise of the Third Reich.

"Among the tales that he had to tell," Jigme continued, "is that Green Gloves was reputed to have brought with him from Tibet a chest containing a fabulous treasure. Opinions varied as to what that treasure was - my informant favored precious gems, which were gradually sold to finance certain activities of the Berlin colony - but mere physical wealth would have meant little to a man who possessed what they call the Keys to Agarthi. I do not suggest that the chest contained these so-called Keys - for we have already established that they have no physical dimension. What I do fear is that this chest may have contained the means by which to access the Keys."

Tseten paused, apparently gathering his thoughts, and Jigme likewise paused, in rapt anticipation.

"Which is?" Adam finally asked, in an attempt to restart the narrative.

The old man sighed and went on, Jigme softly echoing him in translation.

"We have in our tradition something known as Termas, or Treasure Texts, which are discovered from time to time to advance enlightenment and keep our religion evolving. In opposition to the Termas, there also exist false Termas - you might call them Black Termas - anti-Buddhist texts whose mastery could be said to produce reverse enlightenment. En-darkenment, if you will, or black magic. Not only does the use of such texts result in evil, but such involvement precipitates the practitioner into horrific realms in the next life."

Tseten indicated the sketch of Green Gloves, where it lay beside Peregrine's photos and other sketches and the flag. "I believe that Green Gloves may have possessed some of these false Termas - that these were what constituted his treasure. Given the outcome of the war, it is doubtful he was able to put these false Termas to their evil use - perhaps he died before he could do so. If so, and if he knew death was approaching, he would have made provisions to safeguard his most precious possession, to transport it to a place of safety - a place from which his successor is presently attempting to recover it."

' 'Are you saying that U-636 may have been carrying these false TermasT' Adam asked.

Tseten nodded.

"I can think of no other possible connection between this man" - he indicated the sketch of Green Gloves - "and any German submarine. All the evidence before me points to an enterprise laid, if not by Green Gloves himself, then by his followers on his behalf, to recover the submarine's evilj cargo. As their strength lies partly in secrecy, we can be sure they would not risk calling attention to themselves for the sake of any ordinary treasure of gold and jewels."

His listeners traded glances, and Adam returned his gaze to the old lama, mulling what he had just heard.

"This is certainly consistent with what we know of attempts to smuggle other valuables out of Germany after the war," he said. "It's common knowledge that many art treasures and other objects of value ended up in South America, and many top Nazi officials also made their escape there. In many instances, the safest form of transport by far was by submarine."

McLeod glanced at him uneasily.

"If I'm following you, it sounds like you think Mick Scanlan and his partner may have been killed because they stumbled on this submarine. The question is, Did their killers get what they were after?"

Tseten's gaze returned to Adam, and Jigme continued translating as he replied.

"I think not - at least not yet. But I cannot overemphasize the danger, if the false Termas are retrieved by those who seek them. If those who killed your young Irishmen were willing to profane the Phurba to achieve their ends, it is doubtful they will recognize any other ethical constraints. Should they succeed in obtaining and mastering the false Termas, they will have at their disposal a power equal to their ambitions. To gain some impression of the scope of those ambitions, you have only to recall Nazi Germany at its height.

"You must go to Ireland, Adam Sinclair - you and your associates. You must find the submarine that yielded up this flag, and rescue or destroy the Black Treasure Texts before these evil men can appropriate them for their own use."

Adam inclined his head. "I will accept this charge, Rinpoche, and I am prepared to be guided by you. I believe the sub can be located, using the flag as a focus. Can you tell us what kind of resistance we might encounter?''

In a guarded sanctum at Tolung Tserphug, the author of the expected resistance unfolded his instructions to the man selected to execute them.

"I'm not certain I understand," Raeburn said, still kneeling at the foot of the dais where sat the Man with Green Gloves, Dorje Rinpoche. "You say you know where the sub is - it isn't even underwater - but you want me to go and retrieve the cargo, when any decent demolition man could be hired to blow the hatches and get you in. Why drag me into this, after so many years?"

"Those I would trust not to bungle the assignment are all Oriental," Dorje said with tart candor. "Their very presence in the area would be cause for comment, and would draw unwelcome attention to the undertaking. No, the salvage work must be handled by a Westerner like yourself."

"There are other Westerners."

"None so qualified as you; do not interrupt. The cargo she carries, long thought lost, is both valuable and precious. I wish to retrieve it. I have reason to believe that you are the person best suited to arrange it."

Wincing as he shifted from one aching knee to the other, Raeburn shook his head dubiously.

"There's more you haven't told me," he said. "May I sit? My knees aren't what they were last time we met."

Without waiting for permission, he eased his hip onto the dais and stretched one cramped knee, moving at a gesture from Dorje to sit on a cushion the other tossed in front of him. After stretching both legs, one after the other, Raeburn settled himself in the same cross-legged posture as his host.

"Thank you," Raeburn said, relishing even this small triumph. "Tell me more about this cargo."

Dorje inclined his head indulgently.

"It will consist of several smallish wooden crates, each easily carried by one man, and a somewhat larger one, requiring two - but getting the contents out of the country could present certain difficulties. That is another reason I desire your expertise. I should prefer that no explanations need be given to local authorities."

"Is it Nazi gold?" Raeburn asked bluntly.

"No, it is not."

"What, then? You've suggested that the cargo is - questionable. Since some risk clearly is involved, I'd like to know what I'm dealing with."

He cocked an inquiring eyebrow and waited. The abbot, for his part, turned his attention to pouring tea into the translucent china bowls, one of which he tendered to Raeburn with a faint smile.

"The cargo is diamonds, dear Francis," he said softly. "A veritable fortune in cut and uncut stones."

"Indeed?"

Raeburn's gaze narrowed slightly as the abbot settled back on his cushions and lifted his drinking bowl to his lips in green-gioved hands.

"Do you think I would go to so much trouble to bring you here if I were making this up?" Dorje asked over the rim. "I assure you, I shall make it worth your while. The diamonds came mainly from Amsterdam. They were a convenient form of portable wealth, far more handy than gold. During the latter stages of the war, when it became apparent that Germany was in danger of falling, many different caches of treasure were amassed, with the intention of dispersing them to places of safety in the event of disaster. Some were intended for Swiss bank accounts, where it was hoped they could eventually be retrieved and used to finance the ultimate rebirth of the Reich.

"But Germany was overrun before most of the treasures could be moved. Rather than allow them to fall into enemy hands, orders were given to dispatch much of this wealth to South America by submarine. Many reached their destination, but many did not. When [7-656 disappeared off Northern Ireland, it was reported that she had been sunk by British warships; indeed, two Royal Navy frigates claimed the kill. Now we know better - and can make good use of that knowledge."

The story made sense - of a sort - but Raeburn sensed that there was more to the tale than had been told.

"You said you would make it worth my while, if I agreed to help you," he said. "Assuming I'm prepared to do as you ask and direct this undertaking, what are the benefits in it for me?"

The abbot's eyes went cold, like chips of ice. "You should be grateful merely to escape reprisals for the destruction of our base in Scotland and the attendant loss of an irreplaceable artifact. However," he amended in a milder tone, "I am willing to make some concessions for your trouble. If you succeed in salvaging the cargo, half the diamonds are yours to do with as you wish."

"A generous concession." Raeburn's pale eyes flicked round the room. "You're obviously doing well, but I'm surprised you can afford to part with that much wealth. Unless, of course, the diamonds are only a side issue. Unless," he concluded thoughtfully, "there is something else aboard that submarine that you want to get your hands on - something of even greater value than diamonds. I wonder what that something might be."

He raised his eyes to meet those of his former schoolmate and encountered a piercing glare. After a bristling silence, the abbot said coldly, ' The question of worth is purely subjective. Most men would consider the diamonds to be of paramount value and importance. The submarine was also carrying a number of Tibetan manuscripts. But those have value only to someone able to fathom their secrets."

"Manuscripts." Raeburn's tone was thoughtful, but his long, lean body was taut with sudden expectancy. "Would they be anything like the one that was in the possession of the Head-Master?"

The abbot's jaw tightened, then relaxed. "The document to which you are referring was from a similar source," he acknowledged with a curl of his lip. "The Head-Master removed it without authorization. It is no wonder that he failed in the work he set out to do, for his information was incomplete. Only the Man with Green Gloves, the Keeper of the Keys of Agarthi, has the knowledge and the power to make use of these manuscripts."

Raeburn let this declaration pass unchallenged, only gazing at the abbot with an air of bemused satisfaction. After a moment, Dorje resumed his revelations, almost as if under some compulsion to do so.

' The full collection of these ancient texts was housed at Munich until the changing fortunes of the war dictated that they should be consigned to a safer haven," he said. "My guardians were similarly persuaded that the single best hope for smuggling the texts out of Germany was by submarine.

Out of that shared conviction was conceived the idea of a joint venture intended to preserve two treasures for the Fatherland."

"Your guardians let themselves in for quite a gamble," Raeburn said, toying with the dregs of his tea. "If that sub was supposedly bound for Brazil, something must have gone seriously wrong in transit."

The abbot paused to replenish his bowl from the teapot, avoiding Raeburn's eyes - why?

"Possibly," he conceded. "Perhaps merely a change of plans. But that hardly matters now."

"No, I suppose not." Watching the other man closely, Raeburn added, "Forgive me for speaking bluntly, Rinpoche, but once you've given me the location of this sub of yours, what's to prevent me from taking the whole hoard, diamonds, scrolls, and all?"

"My assurance," said the abbot, "that you would not survive the attempt."

"Indeed."

Dorje stared at him long and hard before continuing.

"Do not provoke me, Gyatso," he murmured. "I think and hope that you are intelligent enough to realize your own limitations where you are dealing with me. Content yourself with what I am offering you in diamonds. I assure you, even a quarter of the trove will suffice to set you up in splendor for the rest of your life, with ample means to expand your personal operations far beyond your present scope. The manuscripts, on the other hand, would be of no use to you, for you lack the transmission of power to unlock their secrets. To tamper with them in ignorance would be to court a fate worse than that which befell your Head-Master."

Seeing Raeburn silent, he relaxed a measure of his severity. "I shall send Nagpo and Kurkar with you. As you have already observed, their talents are not inconsiderable. Beyond that, you are free to choose your own men, so long as they all are Westerners and not likely to call attention to themselves."

Raeburn sat very still, fingertips drumming lightly on the rim of his empty cup.

"You say that this sea cave is in Ireland?" he said. "Your men have no doubt that the sub is there, and that it's intact?"

"This is not an exercise to vex you, Francis," the abbot said sharply. "You will be provided with detailed maps, and Nagpo and Kurkar will meet you there. I suggest that you approach by boat, and that you plan to make a direct transfer of the cargo from the sub."

"I thought you said it wasn't accessible by sea," Raeburn said.

"It will be. My two dagger-masters are quite capable of blasting open the cave so that the sub can pull out at high tide."

"Whoa! Wait just a minute! No one said anything about moving the sub!"

"I am saying it now," Dorje replied. "Kurkar reports the hull appeared sound. One of the fuel tanks has ruptured, but there will be enough remaining to run the diesels."

"This is ridiculous," Raeburn muttered. "Even if the sub were entirely seaworthy, I couldn't run it alone! Even to run on the surface, I'd need at least a skeleton crew."

"And you shall have one." The abbot's smile was very cold. "They have been at their posts for nearly fifty years."

For the first time, Raeburn felt real fear clutch at his entrails.

"What are you saying?" he whispered. When Dorje only stared at him, he ventured, "Surely you aren't seriously proposing to reanimate the dead?"

The abbot reproved him with a superior look. "Not 1, but it can be done, as you are well aware. You need not act so incredulous. One of your own followers performed a similar operation, I believe, on a corpse far longer dead than these, who yielded up their lives a mere half-century ago."

Through his shock, Raeburn was more than a little surprised and not especially pleased to discover how well-informed his rival was about his doings. The operation in question had actually been performed by one of his more promising lieutenants - highly successful, for what it was, and of course Raeburn himself had trained Geddes - but the subject had been one man, not an entire submarine crew - even a "skeleton" one.

"That was different," he said defensively. "Only information was required. We didn't need him to do anything."

Dorje dismissed this objection with a wave of his green-gloved hand.

' 'Be at ease, Gyatso. You need not concern yourself with this aspect of the undertaking. Go now and begin working out your requirements for opening the submarine and conveying its cargo to safety. You will be provided with whatever you need by way of resources and communication. By tomorrow, you must be ready to put your preparations into operation."

"Tomorrow? What's the hurry?"

For the first time since the outset of their conversation, Raeburn thought he could detect a hint of uncertainty behind the other's maddeningly self-confident fa9ade.

"The portents regarding this venture are auspicious at present," Dorje said, "but there are certain indications of instability if we wait too long to act. I have been warned of enemies afoot - servants of the Light, with the will and perhaps the knowledge to meddle to some constructive purpose, if we do not take advantage of the moment. I have waited nearly the whole of this present lifetime to reclaim this legacy!" he concluded with sudden sharpness. "I do not intend to allow anyone or anything to cheat me out of it."

He levelled a long look at Raeburn. "Have you ever before had dealings with anyone who might be described as a Hunter? "

Raeburn stiffened slightly, his right thumb nervously fingering his Lynx ring as a queasy chill went up his spine. "Why do you ask?"

"It was a symbol cast up to us in the midst of divining the outcome of this venture," the abbot replied, his eyes narrowing as he searched Raeburn's face. "In attempting to interpret the significance of the sign, my seer spoke of a longtime adversary who must be killed if he cannot be eluded."

Raeburn's jaw clenched, and a venomous expression crossed his face.

"That's very interesting," he said softly. "The group that defeated the Head-Master goes by the name of the Hunting Lodge. Their Master Huntsman is a man called Adam Sinclair."

"You have encountered him yourself, then?" "Only indirectly," said Raeburn, "but that doesn't alter the fact that he's cost me a lot of trouble in the past. If he's in any way involved in this affair, I will welcome the chance to even the score."