William Dietrich - Blood of the Reich

She wished there was drama, just a little, so she could have the satisfaction of telling him to stick to his own side of the cabin, but he seemed as weary as she. So they bedded down on either side of the fireplace, a Puritan six feet between them.

Rominy begged for sleep to come but her mind kept nagging at where she’d seen Hood’s pattern before. Some art museum, maybe, or a child’s book of mazes. Why couldn’t she think of it? She needed sleep! She sneezed from all the dust.

And then it came to her with a bang like the explosion of her beloved car. She sat abruptly upright in her bag. It was utterly dark in the cabin, inky and spooky.

“Jake, I’ve got it!” she hissed.

No reaction.

So she crawled out, still in jeans and her morning’s knit top-she wasn’t about to give him a peek at her panties, although she had considered it-and shook him. “Jake!”

“What?” He’d already fallen asleep. Men!

“I think I’ve got it! Hood’s map-it’s not contours, it’s a fingerprint.”

“Huh?”

“Light the lantern.”

When he did so, both of them shivering in the cold of the cabin now that the fire was only dull coals, she reached inside the cookie tin from the bank and took out Hood’s mummified finger. Carefully she rolled it in the dust of a kitchen shelf and lifted the hissing camp lantern to study the dust. It had left the faint impression of a fingerprint. Then she looked at the inked calendar page. “This one.” Jake bent close. “See? This ridge has the same pattern as his finger.”

He sucked in his breath. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve no idea. It’s midnight in the middle of nowhere.”

He grinned, looking up at her. “I rescued a genius,” he whispered in triumph. And then, before she had a chance to think about it, he kissed her.

Lhasa, Tibet

September 21, 1938

T he close cropping of her hair had the effect of emphasizing the beauty of Keyuri Lin’s face: the dark eyes, the fine ears, the sculpture of cheek and chin and brow as she and Raeder stood in the glow of butter lamps off the main audience hall, the serene gaze of a gigantic Buddha filling the chamber like a cloud. She had the regal bone structure of a Nefertiti. There was also a calmness that Raeder didn’t remember from before. That crazed religion, he guessed.

Serenity made him uneasy.

Her presence in the Potala Palace was the worst luck, and yet he still felt the old desire. She was exquisite! Once more he ached to possess her, especially since as a nun she was more unobtainable than ever. Yes, the Germans were tormented by longing, as Reting had said, but wasn’t that what made them succeed?

At the same time, his weakness irritated him. A fabled power at stake, and he wasted feeling for this woman? Any woman? Discipline!

She studied him with an objectivity that surprised him; why wasn’t she more afraid? Maybe she thought she was untouchable because of the protection of the Reting and the nunnery. That was nonsense. Everyone was vulnerable. In the end, you had to rely on yourself.

“You’ve come a long way from washing camp dishes,” Raeder began.

“And you from hunting specimens for a museum, Herr Raeder. Now you’re a diplomat for Himmler and Hitler?”

“I represent my country. It’s humbling.”

“I very much doubt that.”

Again, that disquieting self-confidence. “Does your regent know about our past together?”

“He knows I’m a scholar of Shambhala. Its purity intrigues me.”

If she was trying to insult him by referring to his impure tastes, he wouldn’t acknowledge it. “Why do you think Reting is willing to help us?”

She thought. “The Reting is curious if you could actually find Shambhala, but isn’t unhappy at the thought of your failure, either. If you search for what you seek, there’s a good chance you’ll never return, and the problem you represent is solved. If you do return, he’ll take the secret from you. I suspect he finds humor in putting us together, a woman and the uniformed Nazis. And my research has alarmed him.”

“Alarmed?”

“What if myth is true? Dangerous opportunities. Delicious dilemmas.”

Which was why he was here. “Why did you become a nun?”

“You know that better than anyone.” Now she betrayed some coolness, a flash of bitterness, that actually reassured him. As long as he understood her, he could control her. He was already sifting possibilities.

“Why do you study?”

“You Europeans talked of these tales during Hood’s expedition, and after experiencing what I did, it was time to retreat and think. As the Buddha pondered, why is there suffering?” She held his eyes with her own, her hands splayed at her sides. “So tell me, Kurt Raeder, what I still wonder in the dark of every night: Did I cause my husband’s death by being friends with you?”

“Of course not,” he lied. “His fall was an accident; I told you that.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“You should believe your friends. I wanted to be a friend, Keyuri.”

That lie hung like incense smoke above the lamps. Raeder had told it deliberately to provoke her. To maneuver her to doing what he hoped.

She tried to mask her own calculations. “As to the legends, I wanted to learn the truth myself, before anyone else did. What if Shambhala does exist? Your Western curiosity incited my own. What is Tibet’s responsibility, then?”

“Your regent says your responsibility is to work with us Germans. To help us. What are you going to do?”

“I’m hearing you out.”

“Do you think it’s in the Kunlun Mountains?”

“That’s the most likely place.”

“Is it possible to get there?”

“It would take months. Winter is coming on.”

He nodded. “The British held us too long in India. What if we had trucks or motor cars?”

“You’ve seen Lhasa. There are none, except the Reting’s ceremonial car and those of the British. A wheeled vehicle could go only partway anyway.”

“But cut months to days, no?”

She glanced at the Buddha, massive, serene, a golden genie. “Yes.”

He took a breath. If she really knew something useful, he had to try. “I loved you, Keyuri. In my own way. I’ve… reformed. Help me hire the British cars. You’ll be our guide, a nun above reproach. In return, we’ll share what we find with your kingdom. Germany is on the rise. It will be a partnership to save you from everyone-the British, the Chinese, the Russians. National Socialism will protect you.”

“Maybe Tibet can save itself.”

“Has it so far? Have Tibetans found and harnessed Shambhala?”

She was silent.

“Can the Tibetan army fight a modern invasion?”

She looked up at the Buddha. Its stare was to infinity.

“Time is short,” he pressed. “The world is about to go to war. How will your country survive it?”

She shook her head. “The British won’t rent to you.”

“Then you must get the cars for us. The Reting must. Buy the trucks. Steal them.”

She looked at him with her great, dark eyes, or rather looked above him, as if studying some aura above his head. “Let me make inquiries.”

She was going to do it. She was going to betray him as he hoped! Keyuri thought she was misleading him, but he could read the calculation in her eyes as easily as the text of a newspaper. Her hatred would prove to be the swiftest way. He bowed. “Even if we can’t be friends, we can be partners.” He smiled, the effort feeling like a crack in stretched parchment, his mind aghast at the irony, the karma, of having to deal again with this woman at all. But the Germans couldn’t afford to sit in frustration in Lhasa as they had sat in Calcutta. By next spring there might be world war.