Military Orders Page 15

  Harel looked. He knew that Aboriginal images existed as a kind of spiritual map, showing in the one scene both actual locations and spiritual events - usually a journey of some kind by spiritual beings from the creation myths of the artist’s particular tribe, known as the Dreaming. Each artist had his or her own myths, and even unique symbols and patterns.

  He recognized a cluster of little arrows as representing the feet of emus, and immediately knew that this showed the present location. Uncle Barra was famous for dozens - probably hundreds - of paintings based on the emu Dreaming. Some wavy lines represented flowing water. Past this were two sets of concentric circles, representing water holes, joined by more wavy lines. Near them were some more arrow motifs, but drawn with triple parallel lines. Harel knew that these meant kangaroos.

  “Dalai Lama boy,” said Uncle Barra simply, and turned to return to his home.

  “No, wait, please,” said Harel. “These emus” - he pointed at the design - “that means here, right?”

  “Uncle Barra looked hard at Harel, as if he were stupid to have to ask such a question, and then nodded.

  “But which direction do I go?” asked Harel, a hint of desperation in his voice. “It seems I need to go towards some running water.” He pointed to the wavy lines. “But how do I know which direction that is.”

  Again Uncle Barra appeared to be regarding Harel with some pity. He pointed vaguely at the giant rock, Uluru. Then he walked back inside his house.

  Chapter 34

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Harel smiled. Yes, he thought. Uluru is full of springs. So I drive past Uluru until I find some water holes connected by a river. With kangaroos nearby. Something like that.

  He set off in his rental car. He drove past the massive rock. It was still early in the morning and the tourist buses were just starting to arrive.

  Then the road took him back into the desert. Water holes, river, kangaroos. He really did not know what exactly to expect. And then he came to a small bridge. He slowed. As he passed over he peered down. It was a kind of ditch, and it was dry, but it could probably be regarded as a river. Or at least a riverbed.

  He stopped the car in the red sand on the side of the road and looked around. As best as he could tell the riverbed snaked in either direction through the desert. He wondered if he should get out and walk. But he knew that stories of tourists getting lost in the desert were legion in Australia. In any case, he was searching for a family home - it had to be accessible by road.

  He drove further and came to a turn-off. It looked as if it might connect with the meandering riverbed. He followed this road and after half a mile came to the riverbed and an outcrop of red rocks. Yes, this was almost certainly a water hole. At least, it was a dried up water hole.

  And then he smiled, as he looked harder at one of the rocks - for there he could discern, vaguely, the shape of a kangaroo, head down, body high, powerful bent legs. It was a bit of a stretch, he knew - like discerning patterns in the clouds - but he had done some studies of Aboriginal folklore. So he knew that natural formations throughout Australia were regarded as representations of mythical beings and as possessing certain mystical qualities.

  He arrived at a house, standing alone in the desert, although beyond it he could see what appeared to be the beginnings of a small town. He guessed - or, at least, he hoped - that that was Burumarri Creek.

  He pulled up the car, next to a white pick-up truck, and got out. He looked around. To his delight he spotted a man with a young boy on the ground, near the back of the house. He walked up to them. They were painting on a large canvas. He even vaguely recognized the style, although he could not put a name to the artist.

  The man looked up. “Yeah,” he said. It wasn’t unfriendly, but it wasn’t particularly welcoming, either.

  In the car Harel had been so intent on not getting lost that he had not really prepared what he was going to say in the event he actually located the right little boy.

  “Is that your son?” he asked weakly.

  “What do you want?”

  “Look, this will sound very strange…” He paused. The man was regarding him with intense suspicion - rightly so, reflected Harel - and even looked as if he might become aggressive. “I’ve actually come from America, believe it or not. There’s talk that a very special boy has been located around here.”

  The man’s suspicions seemed to intensify. “What are you talking about?”

  Harel suddenly wondered if had misread Uncle Barra’s map. “This is Burumarri Creek, isn’t it?”

  The man nodded.

  “Well, you know, some people are saying that a little boy from around here could become the next Dalai Lama. I know it sounds ridiculous. But a lot of important people believe it. I understand some Tibetan priests have been in this town interviewing a particular boy.”

  He waited, hoping for a reaction from the man, but none came.

  “Have some priests, some Tibetan priests, visited here in the last few days?”

  The man stood. He looked enraged. “Is this some kind of stupid joke? What are you talking about? Of course no Tibetan priests have been here.”

  Harel’s heart sank. So he was at the wrong house. But he still needed to appease this guy. “That’s a fine painting,” he remarked, nervously moving a little nearer, worried that the man might still want to remove him physically from the premises. “Those parallel lines, like arrows, they’re kangaroos. And I saw the rock back there, like a kangaroo. I’m guessing that’s part of your traditional Dreaming.”

  The man looked at him curiously. “You know about our art?”

  “I teach spiritual art in California. I’ve done some research into Aboriginal art.” He looked more closely at the painting. Something in the corner caught his eye. “That’s something interesting your son is painting there. In bright red. In the corner of the painting.”

  For the first time, the man’s suspicions seemed to evaporate, and he even seemed proud. “He works with me on my paintings. I encourage him. And recently he’s been drawing little pictures of his own. They’re not Aboriginal motifs, so I have to cover them over later. But I want to encourage him, so I don’t try to stop him.”

  “Do you know what he’s painting there? In the corner?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just something he saw in one of his picture books, I guess. It actually looks like a little bell. With an ornate handle.”

  Harel looked at the man. “You’re right. The handle is indeed ornate. That’s because it’s a vajra bell.”

  He saw the man staring at him.

  “A vajra bell,” said Harel. “The vajra is also called the diamond thunderbolt. It is the supreme symbol of the spiritual power of Tibetan Buddhism.”

  Chapter 35

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Sunhee was unhappy. After the theater of the priests’ visit the other day, she was now stuck in this house until they confirmed little Toby as the new Dalai Lama. Or decided to come back and ask more questions, which she thought the likely next step. Or simply rejected him out of hand.

  She was not quite sure what she had been expecting. It was her first overseas assignment. But somehow she thought it would be exciting, dramatic, full of action. Instead, she had become a kind of live-in maid and nanny for this family.

  They were certainly pleasant enough, a youngish couple with three kids, two of them at school. But how long was this going to last? She could be here for several months until a firm decision eventuated. Brother Park had gone, but she knew that even he was now dubious about this mission.

  Once Bishop Lee and Brother Half Angel realized that all the action would happen in Australia, not in Dharamsala, they should have abandoned this mission, in her opinion. Or at least waited a little longer before rushing in with this inappropriate little boy.

  Though at least Toby was a good-natured kid, quite easy to manage. She was watching him now, playing in the back yard with a bunch of friends, while
his mother did the shopping.

  It seemed that the local mothers were quite happy to have their kids, even those as young as Toby, wander round the township alone. The roads were wide, with few cars. In any case, the homes didn’t have fences, so the children could move unhindered from house to house. Possibly the worst that could happen is that someone might fall into the creek, but that was only inches deep.

  Sunhee reflected that she could even describe Toby as cute, with a shy smile and somewhat raffish long curly black hair streaked with blonde. She knew Korean ladies who spent hundreds of dollars on a single visit to the hair salon to get their hair looking like Toby’s.

  Did Toby know that he might become the next Dalai Lama? Of course not. But, if it transpired, what happened then? Would he be transported off to India to be raised and trained by the Tibetan priests? Surely he would become like them. And what happened when the press learned - as surely they eventually would - that he had been christened, and that his family was Christian, yet they were prepared to give him up to become a lama? Surely there would be enormous suspicions. The more she reflected on it, the more she thought this mission had not been embarked upon with sufficient thought and planning.

  She also realized that she had not planned sufficiently for a stay in the remote Australian outback. Already, after just a few days, she desperately missed kimchi, miso, tofu and more of the familiar Korean delicacies. Even the rice here lacked the rich, nutty tastes she was accustomed to in Korea.

  She had a pot of rice on the boil right now. She went to the kitchen to check if it was ready - without a rice cooker she had to rely on a pot over the gas flame - when she heard some of the kids out the back screaming.

  She walked quickly to the living room and looked out the window. To her shock a man was standing next to a tree, watching the children.

  She knew her role. She ran outside and grabbed Toby in her arms.

  She realized too late that this was probably a mistake. By her actions she had possibly just alerted the intruder to the identity of the boy he was pursuing.

  And then she saw that at his side he was holding a sleek, fat-barreled revolver. He raised it. “I want the boy.”

  She doubted that he would shoot while she was clutching the boy. On the ground was a toy train locomotive, made of hard metal. She grabbed it and hurled it at the man, then retreated behind a tree.

  He ducked, and shouted, “Give me the boy. Give me the boy.”

  Sunhee looked at him. He was a small man, with a red face. He looked like some kind of garden gnome.

  “I will shoot,” said the man. “Give me the boy.”

  Sunhee knew she had little choice.

  “What is this about?”

  “I want the boy.”

  “Which boy? Are you sure this is the right boy?”

  The man looked around for a moment.

  “There are lots of kids playing outside,” said Sunhee, although the others had now all fled. “Are you sure this is the right boy?”

  “Let him go. I want him.”

  Sunhee walked towards the man, carrying Toby. “Take him,” she said.

  The man, hesitated, then with both arms outstretched tried to hold him. This was Sunhee’s chance. Despite clasping Toby, she was able to push the man with full force. He stumbled and fell backwards to the grass, his gun spiraling to one side.

  She dumped Toby on the ground. “Run,” she screamed at him, and gave him a spank of encouragement on the bottom. “Run to the other kids. Quick. Now.” The boy obeyed with impressive alacrity.

  Sunhee dived for the gun, but the man got there first. So instead she seized his arm and twisted it. He screamed, and again the gun tumbled to the ground. She twisted the arm further, but the man, though small, was strong. He swung a punch at her face with his free arm.

  She ducked, but her grip loosened sufficiently for him to break free of her hold. He made a grab for the gun, but this time she beat him. She leapt to her feet and pointed it straight at him.

  Now it was his turn to grab at a toy from the many littered on the ground. He threw it straight at her, striking her on the head. She recoiled from the shock and the impact, and in that instant the man leapt up and fled around the side of the house.

  She followed. She could have tried to take a shot at him, but knew that was risky with kids in the area. She had the gun. She watched as he ran to a Toyota Corolla parked outside some nearby houses, then sped away.

  She walked again to the back of the house. “Toby!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “Toby!”

  There was no response.

  Chapter 36

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  Sunhee searched desperately for Toby. She ran right around the house. She sprinted inside and checked every room. She dashed around all the neighboring back yards. She found groups of other young kids playing, but with no sign of her charge.

  Brother Park had arranged a rental car for her, a green Mazda 2. She got in and drove around the small township. Toby was nowhere.

  She could not believe it. His mother would be home soon. She must know where he would have gone. He must have some hiding spots. Or he was inside a neighbor’s house. At lease she hoped and prayed he was.

  Chapter 37

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  “I thought a Dalai Lama would be a little more peaceful,” said Alistair. He was seated in the front passenger seat of the car and holding Toby, who was squirming like a lizard.

  “Cheer up, mate,” said his theology college companion Kevin, who was driving. He stretched out an arm and patted the boy on the head. “This whole thing is going to take five minutes, max.”

  “There seemed to be a bit of commotion back at that house.”

  “Right. There were kids running around everywhere, and a couple of adults as well. But, yeah, it’s like Chodrak said, there are so many kids there they won’t even notice he’s gone.”

  “Yeah. Back in five minutes and no one will even know. Anyway, these places, these outback towns, the kids run around freely all day and then all come home in the evening. The parents aren’t monitoring them twenty-four-seven the way they do in the city.”

  “Who knew that our little demonstration at the movie set would lead to the next Dalai Lama being baptized?”

  “This is history. History. Man, I am pumped.” To prove the point he pumped his fist out in front of him, accidentally smashing it into the car glove compartment.

  “It’s amazing what he told us, that he actually hates the Dalai Lama. Even though he’s a Tibetan Buddhist himself. That’s why he’s really keen to help us. He’ll film the baptism for posterity.”

  “Yeah, that was unexpected. I guess it’s a bit like some Protestants with the Pope.”

  “Right.” Steven slowed the car. “Here it is. The town lake. Looks more like a pond.”

  “Or a puddle.”

  “He said he’d be waiting here for us.” They had arrived at a small municipal park, clearly artificial, with play equipment for children and a small pool of water surrounded by trees.

  “Over there.” Alan pointed at a figure standing under a tree, to one side. “That’s him. Isn’t it?”

  “Chodrak? Yeah, I think so. Waiting for us. I hope he’s got plenty of gear. He’s going to film us. That’s the whole point.”

  “It’s all probably in the trunk. Anyway, he only needs a camera. It’s not a full-scale 3D epic movie production.”

  “Right. Just a record of the Christian baptism of the new Dalai Lama.”

  They pulled up at the pond and stepped out, still clutching the wriggling Toby. The director walked over to greet them.

  “Good work,” he said. “Any problems?”

  “No. It was just like you said. People running around everywhere. Kids and adults. They’re not going to notice this little fellow’s even missing. Let’s get started. Where’s the make-up girl? Ha ha. That was a joke.”

  But then he gasped. Chodrak had pulled out
a long, sharp-looking knife and he was pointing it at them. “Put the boy back in the car,” demanded the director.

  “What…?”

  “Quick. Now.”

  The young man obeyed.

  “Give me your phones. And the car keys.”

  The two students took cellphones from their pockets and handed them over, with the keys. The director tossed the phones into the pond. Then he sped off with the boy.

  Chapter 38

  Burumarri Creek, Central Australia

  At his hotel Harel sipped from a bottle of spring water and gazed out the window at the vast red expanse. He had no idea what to do next. He doubted that Uncle Barra would become any more forthcoming. And he could not go back to that artist and insist that he must be lying, or mistaken, or something. As for that motif on the painting, drawn by the boy, that suggested - what?

  He looked at his watch. He guessed it was around breakfast time in Dharamsala. Anyway, too bad if he was wrong - at the temples they all rose early. He put in a call to Peter, and was happy to hear him respond.

  “Have you met him?” asked Peter. “The new Dalai Lama?”

  “That’s what I’m phoning about. I’m confused. I’ve been to that town you directed me to - Burumarri Creek - and I’ve actually just met a little boy. Quite a special little boy. Without going into details, there really is something about him that suggests he might be the one. And I was directed to that house by someone with quite special spiritual powers.”

  “And…?”

  “And I’m confused. No one’s been to see him. At least, that’s what they insisted to me. I had no reason to suspect they were lying. So it doesn’t seem that he’s the guy your people are searching for.”

  “Well, as far as I know, two senior priests have definitely interviewed the boy. A few days ago, in that place, Burumarri Creek.”