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  He walked to his director’s seat and from under it took a bottle of water. He opened it and took a swig. He thought about his own background. He was part of the Dorje Shugden sect that actually opposed the Dalai Lama. Most of the members were placid, peaceful Buddhists who practiced the Buddhist virtues of tolerance and peaceful living. But a few hotheads might like to know before anyone else the whereabouts of the new Dalai Lama.

  And what about the Chinese government? They despised the Dalai Lama. You could almost hear the cheering and the ringing applause from Beijing when the last Dalai Lama died. They would pay hugely to know the location of this boy.

  And then another idea came to him. They would pay even more hugely to have the boy delivered to them.

  He thought hard. Those two naïve students. They were the key. They would help him find this little kid.

  He knew they were students at something called the Melbourne Theology College. He had written it down. They had suggested - jokingly, he thought at the time - that he might wish to visit and discuss religion. He had politely taken the details on a piece of paper, and later had nearly thrown it in the trash can. He wasn’t even sure how serious they were. But something had told him to keep it.

  Christians were supposed to forgive and repent, weren’t they? He phoned the number on the scrap of paper. “I demand to speak to your principal,” he told the receptionist. “I want to register a complaint about the criminal activities of two of your students.”

  Chapter 28

  Central Australia

  Sunhee had not anticipated these feelings of nerves.

  Partly it was anxiety as the mission got under way, no doubt compounded by fatigue after the overnight flight from Seoul. But she also felt a degree of underlying tension at being alone in the car with Brother Park on the long drive from Alice Springs to Uluru.

  Brother Park was a member of an Australian branch of her church, and apparently a coordinator for the operation, but it was clear that he resented having to escort and cater to a woman who was the main player in this mission. She felt that he doubted her abilities.

  She fingered the crucifix around her neck, the one given to her after her escape from North Korea, the crucifix that told her of the touch and the love and the power of Jesus. Then she glanced at Brother Park, slouched over the wheel of their Toyota Landcruiser, his lips moving to the lyrics of the sentimental Korean love ballad blasting from the vehicle’s audio system. He appeared to be in his fifties, with red cheeks, tired eyes and thin black hair stuck tightly to his scalp with a surfeit of oil.

  She gazed back out the car window, amazed at the bleak Australian landscape, so different from anything she had known in North or South Korea. The sandy ground was a burnt red color, like the cracked dry chilli that housewives buy at the markets for spicing up their kimchi. A few hardy plants pushed through the sand, and she even spotted some clumps of pretty daisy-like wildflowers. Though it was the middle of winter down here, the sun shone more brightly than in the Korean summer, from a cloudless blue sky.

  Somehow she vaguely expected to see kangaroos everywhere. But she had yet to spot any. Instead, she had noticed some cattle, and also, to her absolute amazement, a couple of camels.

  She found it hard to believe that a country could be so vast. They seemed to have been driving for hours. Actually, they had been driving for hours, and they were still some way from their destination.

  She was impressed with the resources of her church. She arrived at Sydney Airport on the overnight KAL flight, and someone was waiting to ensure she managed the transfer to the domestic flight to Alice Springs.

  Alice Springs Airport was a surreal place, in the middle of the desert, with a terminal decorated with a kaleidoscope of dazzling Aboriginal art. Brother Park was waiting there, to take her to the next phase of the mission.

  Now she turned to him again. “Was it difficult setting up this operation?” she asked.

  The man glanced at her, almost as if he was deciding how much she could be trusted with such information. But he knew that she was entitled to know everything, even if he resented having to tell her.

  “It wasn’t easy. As you know, everything happened very, very fast. But there are tens of thousands of Koreans living in Australia and our church here has several branches. We could draw on some very talented people. Once we heard that the new Dalai Lama is from around here, we were able to send in people to find a Christian family with a young son. I know that it was far from easy.”

  “But what sort of family allows their son to be raised as a Tibetan Buddhist?”

  Park paused for a lengthy time, his eyes on the long, straight road ahead. “A lot of money was involved,” he said at last. “We shall be supporting this family for many years.”

  “And they are Christians?”

  “They are, yes. Their boy has been christened.”

  “And they don’t mind their son being dragged off to India?”

  He smiled grimly. “As I said, a lot of money is involved. I don’t think they’re doing this for their love of Jesus. Anyway, we don’t know if the kid’s going to be dragged off to India. From what I’ve heard, even the priests up in India don’t know themselves what’s going to happen. I’m told they’re as astonished as anyone that the new Dalai Lama is being found in the Australian outback. Who would have expected that? A Tibetan Buddhist community in California, perhaps. But not Australia. I think everyone’s playing it by ear right now. Seat of the pants. Not only us.”

  He turned to glance at her. “Who knows how this is all going to work out? It’s going to be interesting.”

  Chapter 29

  Uluru/Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Sunhee was apprehensive about being alone together with Brother Park at the resort hotel near Uluru that was to be their base. She need not have worried. He was an absolute gentleman - a Korean gentleman that is, which meant he wanted to drink whiskey with her in the hotel lounge and sing karaoke. But he didn’t object when she instead retired to her room.

  In the morning he drove her to Burumarri Creek, where the little boy lived. This was a township of wide dusty roads, soaring eucalyptus trees and even some verdant parkland running alongside the creek that meandered through the center of town. Aboriginal kids played in the streets. A group of mothers stood talking outside what appeared to be the town general store.

  They stopped outside one of the houses, a trim wooden structure with a lawn at the front. On the grass were an empty rubber wading pool, a tricycle and a pram. She walked with Brother Park to the front door, and he knocked.

  An Aboriginal lady answered. She was short and stocky, with elegantly styled black hair and a floral, Hawaiian dress. She smiled when she recognized Brother Park. “Today’s the day,” she said, and burst out laughing. Her eyes shone. “I am so excited. My little boy is about to become famous. I drove to the hotel yesterday to have my hair done.”

  She led them down a hallway to a large living room at the back, with windows looking out onto another lawn. Through trees and bushes Sunhee thought she could see the creek, running behind a row of houses.

  A young boy was sitting on the living room floor, stacking colored blocks on top of one another. He did not look up.

  “This is Toby,” said the lady.

  A Dalai Lama named Toby, thought Sunhee. The boy still did not seem to have noticed their presence.

  “Where is your husband,” she asked.

  “He’s gone to the hotel to meet the two gentlemen from Tibet. He’s going to drive them here. Sit down. Sit down.” She beckoned them to a long sofa that was upholstered in a bright fabric similar to her dress. “I’ll bring some tea.”

  “So it’ll all happen here,” said Sunhee to her partner. She scanned the room. A modern flat-screen television, probably a 46-inch model, dominated the room, with the chairs facing it. On the side was a large wooden cabinet full of china and glassware, and next to it was a low bookshelf with paperbacks - mainly thrillers - and a row of
children’s books. On one wall was a Van Gogh sunflowers reproduction. Several rugs were thrown across the wooden floor. It reminded Sunhee of almost any suburban living room in Seoul.

  “They’ve sent over two priests,” said Brother Park. “Quite high ranking, so I believe. They’re going to sound out the little boy.”

  “Sound him out?”

  “Look, I don’t know what they’ll do. They have their tactics. They’re going to try to determine that this boy is the Dalai Lama. His reincarnation. We expect they’ll bring some objects that the former Dalai Lama used to own. Apparently the key is that he calls out ‘It’s mine, it’s mine.’ That’s what we’ve coached him to do. People from our church have spent a while with the boy and the family.”

  “But it will just be chance if he recognizes something.”

  “It seems that one of the priests who’s flown over has some - what’s the word? - understanding with our church. I don’t know which one of the priests it is. So he’ll be trying to help the boy.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But after that it’s all in God’s hands.”

  “And I’m going to be looking after the boy?”

  “There could be some danger. I’m sure you’ve been briefed on possible enemies. If we know where this boy is, then others probably do, too. But whether they’re prepared to risk anything against him here in Australia is another matter. I personally doubt it. Anyway, once it’s determined that this kid is the new Dalai Lama - assuming that’s what happens - then it’ll be publicly announced, and presumably the Tibetans themselves will start guarding him. Not to mention the local Australian authorities.”

  The boy’s mother had just returned with a tray of tea and chocolate brownies when Sunhee heard the front door opening. The lady gathered Toby in her arms and walked out of the room.

  “I’m going to wait in the kitchen,” said Brother Park. “They don’t need me. And if they ask who you are - which they almost certainly won’t, but just in case - say you’re a family friend.” He rose and exited.

  Sunhee heard loud talking, and then an Aboriginal man entered the room, followed by two priests, both in their traditional saffron robes. One was carrying a small canvas bag. Behind them came Toby in the arms of his mother. Sunhee stood.

  But there were no introductions. Even Toby’s father didn’t acknowledge her presence. Instead he seemed quite nervous, ushering the two visitors into the living room and beckoning them to sit in large armchairs. He sat in a smaller chair near the window. His wife, also now apparently nervous, passed Toby to his father.

  “I’ll make more tea,” she said, retreating to the kitchen.

  Sunhee looked around. Toby’s father was a handsome, round-faced Aboriginal man, probably in his mid-thirties. He was smartly dressed in grey trousers and a freshly pressed white shirt. He was smiling hard, displaying a mouth of teeth that grew at various angles. Toby, perched on his lap, was a large, chubby boy, with wide eyes and blonde strands in his long black hair. But hadn’t the Dalai Lama passed away only two years earlier? This boy certainly looked older than two.

  She guessed that the two priests were at least in their sixties, and possibly their seventies. Both had hard, red, lined faces. Even their arms were wrinkled. Both wore glasses. They too were smiling relentlessly. If smiles could stop global warming it would be snowing right now in Burumarri Creek.

  “Thank you for coming all this way to our house,” said Toby’s father.

  The two priests both bowed their head to him in acknowledgement.

  “This is Toby,” said the man, patting him on the head. “I think you want to talk to him. After all, you’ve come all this way…” He gave an agitated laugh.

  “Yes,” said one of the priests. “We want very much to talk to this boy.” His English was good. Sunhee guessed that the temple in Dharamsala would have had to choose priests who spoke good English for this mission.

  “Hello Toby,” said the other priest. “How are you?”

  The boy seemed indifferent to the two men.

  “We have some things to show you.” The man looked at Toby’s father. “We would like to show him a few special objects. We are hoping he might recognize something.”

  “Go to the men,” said Toby’s father, and Sunhee noticed that as he placed the boy on the floor he also was whispering something in his ear.

  The boy sat on one of the rugs. The two priests rose and then squatted with ease next to him, clearly comfortable seated on the floor. One took a bag. He pulled out a small object. Sunhee squinted. It appeared to be a tiny golden bell. The man placed it before the boy.

  The boy immediately took the shiny object. It rang, a soft but distinct peal, like a pianist tinkling the highest notes on a piano. He shook it some more.

  Sunhee looked at Toby’s father, and spotted that he was trying to mouth something to his son. At that moment Toby cried, “Mine!” He rang the bell some more. “Mine! Mine! Mine!”

  The two priests looked at one another. Sunhee tried to catch some meaning in this silent exchange, but could discern no noticeable change in expression.

  They waited for about a minute until it appeared the boy was becoming tired of the bell. Now they took another object from the bag. It appeared to Sunhee to be a small red purse. She guessed that Tibetan priests didn’t have pockets in their robes, so carried money in a purse.

  The priests handed it to be boy. “Mine!” he cried, holding it aloft. He turned to glance at his father.

  Again the priests exchanged looks.

  After another minute the priests proffered a further item, something that appeared to be a small prayer book. “Mine!” cried the boy, clearly excited at this new game.

  Sunhee could not believe that the priests would not see right through this. This was so obviously fake that, well - she was starting to get angry. How could her church ever think they could pull off some fraudulent scheme like this? Was this really God’s plan for her church? For her?

  She stood. “Excuse me,” she muttered, and walked to the kitchen. Brother Park was there talking with Toby’s mother.

  “I’m too nervous to watch,” said the woman.

  “How is it looking?” asked Brother Park.

  Sunhee hesitated. She did not want to say anything that might upset or disillusion the women. “It’s looking like we are idiots,” she muttered in Korean.

  Chapter 30

  Melbourne, Australia

  Frank Respier, lecturer in missiology at the Melbourne Theology College, wondered why suddenly the late Dalai Lama seemed to dominate his life. First bad news, and then something good, in quick succession. What was God trying to tell him?

  First he had to sort out this mess over two students trying to picket a movie set, of all things. Naive young idiots! What on earth were they thinking? If there was one lesson that he taught the students it was to be respectful of other religions. If you want to talk to people of other faiths, and help bring them to Jesus, you did not do it by attacking them. Or by trying to disrupt a movie set with some kind of silly protest demonstration. And certainly not one over an ancient and internationally famous Bible story.

  So now he had to sort it out. The man had actually phoned the college to complain. It turned out that he was a renowned Bollywood director, and also a Tibetan Buddhist, which seemed unusual for an Indian. According to the college principal, he had sounded quite livid, even suggesting that this might be a criminal matter.

  So the principal had invited the director to the college, to accept his apologies and also to speak to some of the comparative religion students about the Dalai Lama.

  But then came the good news - the garbled conversation with an old friend, Rafa Harel. As best as he could make out from the rushed and extremely hard-to-hear phone call - apparently made from an airport somewhere in Asia - Rafa was searching for the new Dalai Lama. What on earth did he mean by that? Why would that bring him to Australia, after a few days in Japan and Korea? He wondered if he had heard correctly. Anyway, he would be meeting
Rafa at Melbourne Airport the next morning. He would find out soon enough.

  Chapter 31

  Melbourne, Australia

  Chodrak arrived at the Melbourne Theology College. He couldn’t believe that his plan was really going to work. But it was a good plan - he knew that - and if it did work then it would solve all his financial woes.

  So he was going to have to discuss Tibetan Buddhism with a class of Christian students. If they were anything like the pair who had tried to disrupt his movie it would be little challenge.

  He had no idea what to expect at a Christian college of theology. Still, he reflected, if you had asked him before he arrived whether he would expect to see young men dressed in torn jeans and dirty t-shirts, resembling some of the beggars who work the Mumbai hotels, he would have said no.

  If you asked whether he expected to see men with rings pierced into their lips and noses, and with tattoos on their arms, like some of the degenerates of Mumbai, he would have said no.

  If you asked if he expected to see young women wearing tightly clinging blouses, like ladies of the street, he would have said no.

  Yet he just seen all these as he strolled through this Christian college searching for the reception desk. So it was a relief when he met the man designated to escort him, a teacher named Frank Respier. He was an elderly, distinguished, white-haired man, actually wearing a cream-colored suit, as if he were about to take high tea in the tropics.

  Chodrak divided all those he did business with into two categories, actors or financiers, and he decided Respier was the latter, a very sharp person.

  They shook hands, and exchanged name cards. Chodrak looked at the card he had been given. ”Missiology?”

  “The study of mission work.”

  “You mean, all those Christian missionaries running around India trying to covert the poor natives?”