The Avatari
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Synopsis
A mythical kingdom Legend has it that only those chosen by destiny can gain entry into Shambhala, the mythical kingdom believed to hold the ancient wisdom that humanity will need to resurrect itself from the inevitable apocalypse. They are the Avatari. An ancient artefact When Henry Ashton, a retired British Army officer settled in the Yorkshire dales, receives a letter from a monk entreating him to prevent a `hidden treasure? stolen from a Laotian monastery from being misused, he finds himself honour-bound to respond. Assisted by a retired Gurkha Sergeant, a high-strung mathematician from Oxford with a Shambhala fixation of her own, and an American mercenary on the CIA?s hit list, Ashton?s mission leads to an ancient map that dates back to the time of the great Mongol, Kublai Khan. A secret that must not be revealed The group follows the trail, risking the perils of the inhospitable deserts of Ladakh, turmoil in Pakistan and the rugged mountains of Northern Afghanistan, where the Afghan War is at its height. But they are up against a deadly adversary with seemingly unlimited resources, who will stop at nothing to get possession of the ancient secret ? a secret that, if revealed, could threaten the very fabric of human civilization?'
Release date: February 5, 2014
Publisher: Hachette India
Print pages: 386
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The Avatari
Raghu Srinivasan
THE AVATARI
RAGHU SRINIVASAN
First published in India in 2014 by Hachette India (Registered name: Hachette Book Publishing India Pvt. Ltd) An Hachette UK company www.hachetteindia.com
This ebook published in 2014
Copyright 2014 Raghu Srinivasan
Raghu Srinivasan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Map on page vii illustrated by Sworup Nhasiju
All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system (including but not limited to computers, disks, external
drives, electronic or digital devices, e-readers, websites), or transmitted in any form or by any means (including but not limited to cyclostyling,
photocopying, docutech or other reprographic reproductions, mechanical, recording, electronic, digital versions)without the prior written permission of the
publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Certified that the views expressed and suggestions made in the book are made by the author in his personal capacity and do not have any official
endorsement.
Print ISBN 978-93-5009-574-4
Ebook edition ISBN 978-93-5009-601-7
Cover design by Siddharth Dasari
Originally typeset in Adobe Jenson Pro 10/13 by Ram Das Lal, NCR Delhi
Hachette Book Publishing India Pvt. Ltd 4th & 5th Floors, Corporate Centre Plot No. 94, Sector 44, Gurgaon 122003, India
For Appa, who Im sure would have been a bit surprised; and very proud
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Postscript
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
The Monastery of the White Elephant, Louangphrabang
1986
The man made his way silently along the corridor, his body almost hugging the wall. His head was covered with the cowl of his robe and his movements were
quick and jerky. He neednt have been quite so furtive; the whole monastery was asleep and there were still two hours left before bleary-eyed young acolytes
began sounding the gong to awaken the other monks. The mans heart was pounding so hard he could hear it beat above the murmur of the Mae Nam Khong, the
Mekong River, which ran along the monasterys stone walls.
When he came to his destination, a room to the right, he pushed aside the curtains and stepped in without sparing a glance at the dark corridor he had
sneaked through. He stood silently in the doorway for some time, till his eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the room. The tiny glow of light in the
corner from a brass lamp, half-filled with butter, failed to reach the low wooden bed in the centre, where the Teacher lay deep in slumber, his bulky form
half covered by a white sheet. The intruder stared at the sleeping man and listened intently to his soft, whistling snores. His eyes darted to the rooms
single window; the shutters had been thrown open and the smell of the river, flowing two storeys below, wafted up to him.
When his eyes had fully adjusted to the gloom, he saw that the Teacher was lying in a foetal position, buttocks slightly raised; the position made him look
somewhat ridiculous. The man stood absolutely motionless, making sure the Teacher hadnt stirred and was still fast asleep. After several minutes had
passed, he crouched forward and knelt at the foot of the bed. From the folds of his robe, he took out a pair of khems
needles one of the eight worldly
items mandated to all Buddhist monks. He also brought out a small glass bottle, half-filled with a translucent, viscous fluid. Opening the bottle carefully,
the man dipped the needles in the liquid till they were half-submerged. He pulled the needles out and placed the bottle gently on the floor.
With a needle in each hand, he leaned over and pricked the sleeping man just above the ankle with surgical precision, making sure that one of the needles
went into the artery and that the two pinpricks were half an inch apart. As he pulled out the needles, he held his breath, crouching on the balls of his
feet and ready to spring up and flee should the need arise. But the Teacher merely stirred to change his position and straighten his knees so that he was
now sleeping on his stomach.
Crouching at the foot of the bed, the intruder forced his breathing to return to normal and maintained his vigil. Forty-five minutes. The Kammu medicine man
had said it would take that much time for the poison the venom of the ngu tab tan,
the Blue Krait, sixteen times more potent than the cobras to take
effect. The alpha neurotoxin would paralyse the victim as it moved up through the artery. The medicine man had been right about the victim not feeling the
jabs of the needle; many victims of the ngu tab tan
died in their sleep without ever knowing they had been bitten.
After an hour had passed, the intruder felt certain that the poison had taken effect. The snores of the sleeping man had subsided ten minutes ago and there
were no visible signs of him breathing. The intruder now moved to the head of the bed, rubbing the stiffness from his legs. Leaning low over the Teacher, he
gingerly felt his neck and found the cotton thread from which a single key dangled. Taking the key between his fingers, he carefully removed the string,
pulling it over the mans head. Suddenly, he froze; the Teachers eyes had opened and were focused on him! He felt his insides turn to water as the
prostrate mans lips moved, trying to form words. Involuntarily, the intruder leaned forward to catch them.
You will embrace the third sister as well, the dying mans voice rasped, sounding very tired, his eyes devoid of expression. Then his eyelids drooped and
the Teacher slumped forward, saliva dripping in an uncontrollable stream from his mouth.
Clutching the key in his trembling hand, the assassin knew he should be elated, but instead felt tears streaming down his cheeks. He knew the curse of the
dying man would haunt him in the days to come.
CHAPTER 1
Yorkshire, England
AUGUST 1986
It had not rained very heavily the previous night; the ground, though damp, was still firm. Henry Ashton got off the trail, running through the woods and on
to the tarred road that wound its way uphill to Stiles, the manor house that had been with his family since the Boer War. His boots were wet, plastered with
the leaves of ferns and gorse he had been tramping through, and he shrugged off the droplets of water which had dripped from the trees onto his waterproof.
When he left the house after lunch, it was foggy and overcast; the weather had improved since. It would be nightfall soon enough, but it was still bright;
the light lasted a mite longer this time of the year. Ashton took the incline slowly. Not that he was tired, but the leg was giving him trouble again; it
did in wet weather.
Soon, he had reached the manors tall wrought-iron gates. One stood open; a car had evidently passed through. He could make out its muddy tyre marks on the
gravel drive. Someone is visiting
, he thought. Quite unusual.
People usually took the trouble to call in, considering that Stiles was at a dead end, six
miles from the village through wooded country. He walked through the open gate, pulling it shut after him. His grandfather, Lord Mortimer Ashton, the man
who had built Stiles, had been something of a recluse. He had chosen his house wisely, if you went for that sort of thing. Ten-foot-high lime-and-stone
walls, crowned with broken glass, enclosed the property, the only access to it being the gates his grandson had just passed through.
There were two cars parked in front of the house. He recognized one the Panda belonged to Constable Heron. The other was a Bentley with police markings he
hadnt seen in the village before; he guessed it was from the County Headquarters. What the devil was going on?
A young police constable in uniform stood
next to it, with the police radio on. As Ashton passed by, she mumbled a greeting. He nodded in acknowledgement, although he hadnt seen her before. He
thought about asking her what this was all about, then quickly changed his mind. The people who had arrived in these cars were probably already inside the
house. He assumed that if they had taken the trouble to drive all the way here, they were going to tell him what had brought them. He also wanted his tea.
He climbed up the front steps and used the old-fashioned knocker on the heavy oak doors. Duggy, his house manager, had no doubt been waiting in the hallway,
for he opened the door almost instantly. Henry Ashton raised his eyebrows enquiringly, but the other man simply shook his head. Behind him stood another
police constable.
I dont know, sir. They wouldnt tell me, Duggy finally offered in response to Ashtons unasked question, then added, there was a call while you were
out. From a Mr Liu Than who said he had come from London and urgently wanted to meet you. I took the liberty of calling him over for tea. It could well be
about that.
Ashton glanced over his house managers shoulder at the young constable who was staring blandly at the hallway, but probably taking in every nuance of their
exchange.
They are waiting for you in the library, Mr Heron and an inspector whose name I didnt quite catch, the house manager now informed Ashton. Go on, sir.
Ill send Martha with the tea.
Thanks very much, Duggy.
Ashton hung his waterproof and slouch hat on the coat hooks and took off his overboots in the hallway. He ran his fingers through his short but thick
salt-and-pepper hair and straightened his scarf as he walked into the library. The police inspector and Constable Heron, who had been seated at the table,
rose to their feet as he entered. Ashton nodded at George Heron who was looking flushed. His companion, a tall, dark-haired man, flicked the constable a
sideways glance before holding out his hand.
Good evening, Sir Henry. Im Peter Orwell, the man said, taking Ashtons hand in a warm, friendly grip. Just taken over as inspector at Bromwich and
havent had the pleasure of meeting you, sir. Turning to acknowledge the presence of the constable, he added, George here tells me how well regarded your
family is in these parts. And, indeed, you yourself are held in high esteem, sir.
As they shook hands, both men sized each other up. The inspectors voice was deep and sincere. He looked younger than George, though Ashton guessed he was
older. The inspector had noticed that Ashton was about his own height, only more powerfully built. His amiable expression and twinkling grey eyes offset the
strong rugged features and square jaw which would otherwise have made the man distinctly imposing. To the manor born
, he thought wryly.
Indeed, Henry Ashton reciprocated, turning from the inspector to the other man, whose hand felt somewhat moist in his own. Please sit down, gentlemen.
Ashton and the two men sat facing each other across the table. He had noticed they were already halfway through their tea.
Well, he said, looking at the inspector, how can I help you gentlemen? I take it this is not a social call?
Youre right there, Sir Henry, the inspector admitted. There has been something of how shall I put it an incident hereabouts. You wouldnt mind if I
asked you some questions, would you?
Ashton cocked his head to one side, an amused smile on his face, and replied, I dont think my minding would make much difference, Inspector. But please go
right ahead.
He poured himself a cup of tea from the pot which Martha had carried in on a tray and placed in front of him.
The inspector didnt smile back. Were you expecting anyone? he asked. I mean, the man your house manager would probably have told you about when you came
in? A Mr Liu Than?
No, not really, Ashton replied. Cant really say I have ever heard the name.
Take your time, sir, the inspector persisted. Perhaps someone you had asked to come by a while ago and had forgotten to tell your house manager about?
Orwell paused, then added, A young, slightly built, clean-shaven Oriental man with long hair? A student type?
The inspector turned and stared pointedly at the assorted figurines of the Buddha on the shelves.
Ashton shook his head. During my days in the army, Id been around in the East and met many people of that description. He smiled politely. But no, I
dont think I know the man. Maybe if I saw him, it would ring a bell.
How about your house manager? Does he have relatives or friends who drop by?
Duggy? Surely youve already asked him that question? Well, none of his relatives have ever come here to visit. And then hes a Gurkha, while this name you
just mentioned Liu Than is not a Nepali name.
There was a silence. Ashton took a sip of his tea, then looked at the inspector and asked gently, Now, shouldnt you be telling me what this is all about?
Yes, of course, the inspector agreed, though his hesitation suggested he might be weighing how much it would be prudent to disclose.
He took out a small spiral-bound diary from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. He flipped through the pages, referring to his notes.
Well, sir, he began, there has been, as I said earlier, an incident, to put it mildly. A young man Oriental, Chinese, whatever who gave his name as
Liu Than arrived this afternoon, possibly from London, in a taxi and made his way to the Wordsworth Arms in the village. The inspector paused before
continuing, According to the landlady, Mrs Harris, the man, who had a student ID from the London School of Economics, had checked into one of the rooms at
the inn before coming downstairs and asking if you lived nearby. When she told him you did, he made a call from the desk to Stiles and spoke to your house
manager. He then asked Mrs Harris to help him call a cab that would take him to your place. We had his name checked out with LSE; they dont have any
student by that name. So the ID was probably forged. We have also asked Scotland Yard to help us trace the cab the young man hired to get to the village.
The inspector rocked back in his chair and continued, Liu Than took the local cab at around 3.30 p.m. and started off for your place. Talked a bit on the
way, asked about you, according to the cabbie, who turned out to be quite chatty himself. Quite an anomaly hereabouts, I would imagine.
The inspector paused, his amused glance straying in Georges direction. The constable remained impervious to the implied dig and continued to stare stolidly
at his pad. Ashton observed that Georges face was still flushed. Something had rattled the man and that
was unusual; he didnt rattle easily.
May I smoke, sir? the inspector asked politely.
In response, Ashton took his cigarette case out of his pocket, snapped it open and held it out to the other man. The inspector accepted a cigarette. Taking
one himself, Ashton shut the case and put it back in his pocket. Meanwhile, the inspector had fished out a lighter. Leaning forward, he lit Ashtons
cigarette before lighting his own.
Thank you, sir, the inspector said. Well, he continued, it seems the cabbie knew you. He glanced at his notes. Jimmy Holmes? He looked at Ashton
enquiringly.
The local grocers son. Yes, I do know him; he has been accepted at Sandhurst. Frightfully keen to join up, he had asked me about the army. I shared some
of my experiences, though I did warn him I was frightfully out of date, he replied. I imagine hell be leaving for Belfast at the end of the month for his
military training before joining Sandhurst.
I see, the inspector replied, looking thoughtful. Well, Jimmy and Liu Than were apparently followed on their way here by two Land Rovers. Jimmy initially
assumed it was just his passengers overactive imagination at work. But when the vehicles followed them right up to the place where the bylane leading to
Stiles branches off from the main road, he was convinced that something was up. At this point, the Oriental gentleman apparently became terribly agitated
and urged Jimmy to hurry, whereupon our young man led those Land Rovers on quite a chase. At the lay-by after the arch bridge, one of the vehicles overtook
them, almost pushing them into the gulley so that they were forced to stop. It was here that the Oriental gentleman jumped out of the vehicle and made a
dash for the woods, with seven or eight men wearing ski masks in hot pursuit. Interestingly enough, although they were armed, they didnt fire at him.
Needed to get him alive, Ashton murmured softly, not wishing to disturb the flow of the inspectors narrative.
Precisely. Well, they approached him from all directions and began closing in. Then comes the interesting part. Our Oriental friend sits down on the
ground, pours something on himself lighter fluid, possibly and sets himself on fire. Jimmy says it was quite a blaze! The trees nearby were charred and
if it hadnt been for last nights drizzle, putting out that fire would have been quite a job for the forest chaps.
The hair on the back of Ashtons neck bristled. He could feel his temples throbbing. No wonder George was looking rattled! He brought his cigarette up to
his lips and squinted through the smoke.
Thats something, Ashton remarked, relieved that his voice sounded steady. Dont think about Saigon!
He turned away and stared at the fireplace, knowing
that the inspector was watching him.
The ensuing silence was broken by the lady constable who walked in with an update.
The lab people have finished at the site and they say its all right for us to come by, sir, she informed the inspector.
Thank you, he said, then turned to Ashton. I shall have to request you to accompany us, sir, just to check if you can identify anything. Not that there
is much to go by; its quite grisly, really. He paused. Once youve finished your tea, of course.
That all right, Ashton said, pushing his cup away.
The group trooped out to where the cars were parked. Ashton saw that Duggy had taken their car out of the garage and was at the wheel, parked behind the
Bentley.
We dont really need to take another car, the inspector said authoritatively, waving at Duggy and gesturing for him to step out. He then turned to Ashton.
You can both come with us, Sir Henry, he offered by way of explanation. It wont be any trouble dropping you back home.
I would rather take my car, if thats all right with you? Ashton said quietly, but crisply.
Peter Orwell picked up the tone and saw that Ashtons affable face was set in a firm line, his grey eyes staring back expressionlessly at him. As you wish,
sir, the inspector replied, quickly backing off.
They set off in the three cars, Ashtons following the Bentley and the Panda. The moment they were on their own, Duggy and Ashton lapsed into Gorkhali, the
language of their regiment.
Yo keko barema ho?
Whats all this about, Sergeant?
Thaha chaina.
Havent a clue. After they had been driving for a while, Duggy added, Liu Than, the man who rang, said I should tell you that the Teacher
has asked you to redeem a promise you had made.
It was the second time that evening that Ashton experienced a prickle of unease and even though Duggy was looking straight ahead and couldnt see his
expression, he could tell something was wrong.
Are you all right? the sergeant asked.
Fine, just fine, Ashton replied. You didnt tell the police about Liu Thans message, did you?
They didnt ask.
They had travelled four miles from the house when they came to a small clearing, where the dense growth of trees on either side of the road thinned out.
Police cars and an ambulance were parked off the road. On one side, the ground fell away to a rocky stream about nine or ten yards below the level of the
road; on the opposite side, the ground sloped upwards. The police had fenced off the area with yellow tape and Ashton could see what looked like a media
crew huddled behind it. He recognized one of the reporters, who began approaching him, but a constable quickly intercepted the man and sent him back. The
inspector came forward, took Ashton by the arm and, lifting the tape, guided him through to a clump of bushes on the high ground at the top of the slope. He
turned and pointed to the clearing behind them.
This is where the first car overtook the cab, he explained.
They could see the tyre marks, deeply embedded in the moist earth, giving the road a wide berth before getting back onto it thirty yards or so ahead. Since
the car to which those tyres belonged seemed to have climbed back onto the road almost at a right angle to it, it could be inferred that its driver had been
attempting to block the road and intercept an approaching vehicle.
Since it was uphill the bigger vehicle could generate more power then the cab, the inspector went on.
There were other tyre marks too, criss-crossing each other and indicating that the vehicles which had left those telltale tracks had reversed and got back
on the road.
The cabbie says the men in the first vehicle were getting off, when his passenger, who was in the back seat, jumped out, stumbled and made a dash for the
high ground there. The inspector turned and pointed back up the hill. The cabbie tried braking to avoid ramming into the vehicle ahead and swerved off the
road instead. He says the next thing he saw, once he had got a grip on himself, was that his passenger had reached the top of this mound and was near that
clump of bushes. The next moment, there was this big fireball.
How can you be sure the men chasing him didnt set him on fire? Ashton asked, knowing what the answer would be.
Thought about that, the inspector replied, but no, that wasnt the case, because the cabbie reported that none of the men were close to halfway up the
mound when his passenger burst into flames. Also, the dead mans body shows no signs of a struggle. The inspector stopped and looked keenly at Ashton
before continuing, It makes you wonder why Mr Liu Than didnt try to make for the woods when he was ahead, eh?
Ashton refrained from comment, merely nodding in response.
As the two men climbed further up, a man in a lab coat approached, nodding to the inspector before stepping aside to give them an unimpeded view of the
body. The head and upper chest were so badly burnt, the skin so charred and mottled, that it was hard to believe they had once belonged to a human being.
The figure, although it had toppled over to one side from its seated position, was still cross-legged. Part of the lips had burnt away, exposing teeth and
gums in a way that gave the corpse a frighteningly feral expression. Bits of charred cloth clung to the body. One hand lay in the corpses lap; the other
rested over its left breast, as if the man it had belonged to had been taking a pledge with his dying breath. The burns were concentrated on the head and
upper torso; from the waist downwards, the body was almost intact, suggesting that the man had emptied the bottle of inflammable fluid over his head. A
light breeze brought a disturbing whiff of burnt flesh their way.
The constable whom Ashton had seen in his driveway had followed them up. She gagged at the sight and turned away.
Not a pretty sight, sir, the inspector said grimly. Any chance you can place him?
Im afraid not, Ashton managed to reply, his voice hoarse, as the memories threatened to flood back. But in the present circumstances, thats okay
, he
thought, my reaction will seem natural
.
Thought not. No identification on the body either. The cabbie says all the man was carrying was a cloth satchel; whats left of it is on his lap. The lab
boys will go over it as a matter of course, but I wouldnt bet on them finding anything worthwhile. I had someone go through his things back at the village,
but again Im afraid theres nothing that could offer us a lead.
The inspector looked back and summoned the paramedic with a wave of his hand. The man came up and knelt by the corpse. Ashton knelt alongside and watched as
the paramedic pulled the corpses right hand off its chest with some difficulty; rigor mortis was setting in. The skin on the chest covered by the hand was
pale and unmarred, Ashton noticed, marked only by a tattoo of the Buddha. The colours of the figure changing from red to blue and to many, many more hues.
A
series of images flashed in his mind and he felt he was tumbling into an abyss. Ashtons head whirled and he stepped back, pointing and muttering
incoherently. I have seen that image before in the book at the monastery!
The inspector held him by the shoulders and asked urgently, What colours? Then
realizing that Ashton was in no state to respond, he shook him and said soothingly, Its all right, sir.
Ashton felt his head clear slowly and realized that both the inspector and the paramedic, who had dropped the corpses hand and risen to his feet, were
staring at him. His eyes strayed back to the dead mans tattoo, which was now partly obscured from view. He saw no images this time.
Im sorry, Ashton said, cant make out what came over me.
Its all right, sir. Did something to me too, the first time I saw the body, the inspector said sympathetically.
He took out his packet of cigarettes and offered one to Ashton, who gratefully accepted it. They lit up and the inspector indicated that they should walk
down to the road.
Was there something in that tattoo you recognized? the inspector asked as they walked down. It seems as if Liu Than had wanted to protect it as if he
wanted to ensure it would be seen.
So he had noticed
, Ashton thought.
No, nothing, he now said, replying to the inspectors question. He drew on his cigarette before adding, Apart from the fact that its a Buddha figure.
You would have got that, of course.
Yes, we did, as a matter of fact, but theres nothing unusual about that. A lot of college students of the dead mans, well, ethnicity sport such tattoos.
Its either that or Bruce Lee.
They had reached the road.
Well, then, sir, thank you for your trouble, the inspector said. Actually, we had to follow all the leads.
He indicated the ring of reporters and photographers waiting for him. Some of them were recording the proceedings on movie camera.
This, he said, gesturing in their direction, is evidently going to be the biggest story in the county tonight.
Jimmy, I mean, the cabbie, Ashton asked. Hes all right?
Aye, hes a strong lad. Just a bit shaken. Hes the one who broke the news. Had to walk back to the village the masked men knocked off two of his tyre
valves. Couldnt even use the spare. But they didnt harm him.
Lucky they didnt go for him. They appear to be quite a desperate crew, Ashton remarked.
Professionals, really. They must have realized that bumping off the cabbie would serve no purpose. Their quarry, the guy or whatever they were after
was back there, the inspector said, looking back up the slope. Also has something to do with keeping the police interest low. The story is big right now,
but the fuss will die down soon enough. There isnt likely to be much of an outcry over an unidentified Oriental who apparently committed suicide. Killing a
local boy would have been a different bag altogether.
Would have shaken Jimmy, though, Ashton said.
Must have, but he seems a level-headed lad. You can have a word with him if you want to. He must be in the ambulance, the inspector said, pulling away as
a constable indicated that his presence was required near the Rover.
Thank you again, Sir Henry, the inspector said before he left. Do tell us if you get to know something. He reached into his pocket and handed over his
card. Seems like gang rivalry to me, though cant really see where you come in.
Ashton met the inspectors quizzical eyes with his own steady gaze. The inspector nodded and extended his hand. The two men shook hands before the police
officer turned away.
Ashton walked up to the ambulance and found Jimmy standing near it with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. He patted the young boy reassuringly on the
back. Jimmys face was still pale from shock, but when he spoke, his voice was steady.
Good evening, sir, the boy said in greeting.
Good evening, Jimmy, Ashton responded. Strange happenings, eh?
You could say that again.
Ashton saw Duggy approaching. Hamiharu jaoon huzoor.
Lets go, sir, he said.
Ashton was keen to stay for a while. He wanted to talk to Jimmy, but noticed that Duggys expression was firm, almost obdurate.
Ill talk to you later, Jimmy, he said feebly.
They shook hands and Ashton walked down to where Duggy stood waiting.
Now what was all that about? he asked sharply.
Ill tell you once were in the car.
CHAPTER 2
Cambridge, England
AUGUST 1986
So what did Jimmy tell you?
They had been on the road for a while before Henry Ashton asked the question. Concentrating on his driving, Duggy did not reply. Ashton grew impatient.
Duggy could be really quite trying at times.
Nothing really, the house manager finally answered. Hes got his call letter. Off to Belfast next week, I was told. With six six.
This was a reference to the Sixth Battalion, the Sixth Gorkha Rifles. There was no point pushing, Ashton told himself. Duggy was going to take his time.
Oh, thats good, he said, playing along. Jack Mitchell is commanding. Ill have a word with him. Whos the RSM?
Tara Bahadur, Dugg
RAGHU SRINIVASAN
First published in India in 2014 by Hachette India (Registered name: Hachette Book Publishing India Pvt. Ltd) An Hachette UK company www.hachetteindia.com
This ebook published in 2014
Copyright 2014 Raghu Srinivasan
Raghu Srinivasan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Map on page vii illustrated by Sworup Nhasiju
All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system (including but not limited to computers, disks, external
drives, electronic or digital devices, e-readers, websites), or transmitted in any form or by any means (including but not limited to cyclostyling,
photocopying, docutech or other reprographic reproductions, mechanical, recording, electronic, digital versions)without the prior written permission of the
publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Certified that the views expressed and suggestions made in the book are made by the author in his personal capacity and do not have any official
endorsement.
Print ISBN 978-93-5009-574-4
Ebook edition ISBN 978-93-5009-601-7
Cover design by Siddharth Dasari
Originally typeset in Adobe Jenson Pro 10/13 by Ram Das Lal, NCR Delhi
Hachette Book Publishing India Pvt. Ltd 4th & 5th Floors, Corporate Centre Plot No. 94, Sector 44, Gurgaon 122003, India
For Appa, who Im sure would have been a bit surprised; and very proud
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Postscript
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
The Monastery of the White Elephant, Louangphrabang
1986
The man made his way silently along the corridor, his body almost hugging the wall. His head was covered with the cowl of his robe and his movements were
quick and jerky. He neednt have been quite so furtive; the whole monastery was asleep and there were still two hours left before bleary-eyed young acolytes
began sounding the gong to awaken the other monks. The mans heart was pounding so hard he could hear it beat above the murmur of the Mae Nam Khong, the
Mekong River, which ran along the monasterys stone walls.
When he came to his destination, a room to the right, he pushed aside the curtains and stepped in without sparing a glance at the dark corridor he had
sneaked through. He stood silently in the doorway for some time, till his eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the room. The tiny glow of light in the
corner from a brass lamp, half-filled with butter, failed to reach the low wooden bed in the centre, where the Teacher lay deep in slumber, his bulky form
half covered by a white sheet. The intruder stared at the sleeping man and listened intently to his soft, whistling snores. His eyes darted to the rooms
single window; the shutters had been thrown open and the smell of the river, flowing two storeys below, wafted up to him.
When his eyes had fully adjusted to the gloom, he saw that the Teacher was lying in a foetal position, buttocks slightly raised; the position made him look
somewhat ridiculous. The man stood absolutely motionless, making sure the Teacher hadnt stirred and was still fast asleep. After several minutes had
passed, he crouched forward and knelt at the foot of the bed. From the folds of his robe, he took out a pair of khems
needles one of the eight worldly
items mandated to all Buddhist monks. He also brought out a small glass bottle, half-filled with a translucent, viscous fluid. Opening the bottle carefully,
the man dipped the needles in the liquid till they were half-submerged. He pulled the needles out and placed the bottle gently on the floor.
With a needle in each hand, he leaned over and pricked the sleeping man just above the ankle with surgical precision, making sure that one of the needles
went into the artery and that the two pinpricks were half an inch apart. As he pulled out the needles, he held his breath, crouching on the balls of his
feet and ready to spring up and flee should the need arise. But the Teacher merely stirred to change his position and straighten his knees so that he was
now sleeping on his stomach.
Crouching at the foot of the bed, the intruder forced his breathing to return to normal and maintained his vigil. Forty-five minutes. The Kammu medicine man
had said it would take that much time for the poison the venom of the ngu tab tan,
the Blue Krait, sixteen times more potent than the cobras to take
effect. The alpha neurotoxin would paralyse the victim as it moved up through the artery. The medicine man had been right about the victim not feeling the
jabs of the needle; many victims of the ngu tab tan
died in their sleep without ever knowing they had been bitten.
After an hour had passed, the intruder felt certain that the poison had taken effect. The snores of the sleeping man had subsided ten minutes ago and there
were no visible signs of him breathing. The intruder now moved to the head of the bed, rubbing the stiffness from his legs. Leaning low over the Teacher, he
gingerly felt his neck and found the cotton thread from which a single key dangled. Taking the key between his fingers, he carefully removed the string,
pulling it over the mans head. Suddenly, he froze; the Teachers eyes had opened and were focused on him! He felt his insides turn to water as the
prostrate mans lips moved, trying to form words. Involuntarily, the intruder leaned forward to catch them.
You will embrace the third sister as well, the dying mans voice rasped, sounding very tired, his eyes devoid of expression. Then his eyelids drooped and
the Teacher slumped forward, saliva dripping in an uncontrollable stream from his mouth.
Clutching the key in his trembling hand, the assassin knew he should be elated, but instead felt tears streaming down his cheeks. He knew the curse of the
dying man would haunt him in the days to come.
CHAPTER 1
Yorkshire, England
AUGUST 1986
It had not rained very heavily the previous night; the ground, though damp, was still firm. Henry Ashton got off the trail, running through the woods and on
to the tarred road that wound its way uphill to Stiles, the manor house that had been with his family since the Boer War. His boots were wet, plastered with
the leaves of ferns and gorse he had been tramping through, and he shrugged off the droplets of water which had dripped from the trees onto his waterproof.
When he left the house after lunch, it was foggy and overcast; the weather had improved since. It would be nightfall soon enough, but it was still bright;
the light lasted a mite longer this time of the year. Ashton took the incline slowly. Not that he was tired, but the leg was giving him trouble again; it
did in wet weather.
Soon, he had reached the manors tall wrought-iron gates. One stood open; a car had evidently passed through. He could make out its muddy tyre marks on the
gravel drive. Someone is visiting
, he thought. Quite unusual.
People usually took the trouble to call in, considering that Stiles was at a dead end, six
miles from the village through wooded country. He walked through the open gate, pulling it shut after him. His grandfather, Lord Mortimer Ashton, the man
who had built Stiles, had been something of a recluse. He had chosen his house wisely, if you went for that sort of thing. Ten-foot-high lime-and-stone
walls, crowned with broken glass, enclosed the property, the only access to it being the gates his grandson had just passed through.
There were two cars parked in front of the house. He recognized one the Panda belonged to Constable Heron. The other was a Bentley with police markings he
hadnt seen in the village before; he guessed it was from the County Headquarters. What the devil was going on?
A young police constable in uniform stood
next to it, with the police radio on. As Ashton passed by, she mumbled a greeting. He nodded in acknowledgement, although he hadnt seen her before. He
thought about asking her what this was all about, then quickly changed his mind. The people who had arrived in these cars were probably already inside the
house. He assumed that if they had taken the trouble to drive all the way here, they were going to tell him what had brought them. He also wanted his tea.
He climbed up the front steps and used the old-fashioned knocker on the heavy oak doors. Duggy, his house manager, had no doubt been waiting in the hallway,
for he opened the door almost instantly. Henry Ashton raised his eyebrows enquiringly, but the other man simply shook his head. Behind him stood another
police constable.
I dont know, sir. They wouldnt tell me, Duggy finally offered in response to Ashtons unasked question, then added, there was a call while you were
out. From a Mr Liu Than who said he had come from London and urgently wanted to meet you. I took the liberty of calling him over for tea. It could well be
about that.
Ashton glanced over his house managers shoulder at the young constable who was staring blandly at the hallway, but probably taking in every nuance of their
exchange.
They are waiting for you in the library, Mr Heron and an inspector whose name I didnt quite catch, the house manager now informed Ashton. Go on, sir.
Ill send Martha with the tea.
Thanks very much, Duggy.
Ashton hung his waterproof and slouch hat on the coat hooks and took off his overboots in the hallway. He ran his fingers through his short but thick
salt-and-pepper hair and straightened his scarf as he walked into the library. The police inspector and Constable Heron, who had been seated at the table,
rose to their feet as he entered. Ashton nodded at George Heron who was looking flushed. His companion, a tall, dark-haired man, flicked the constable a
sideways glance before holding out his hand.
Good evening, Sir Henry. Im Peter Orwell, the man said, taking Ashtons hand in a warm, friendly grip. Just taken over as inspector at Bromwich and
havent had the pleasure of meeting you, sir. Turning to acknowledge the presence of the constable, he added, George here tells me how well regarded your
family is in these parts. And, indeed, you yourself are held in high esteem, sir.
As they shook hands, both men sized each other up. The inspectors voice was deep and sincere. He looked younger than George, though Ashton guessed he was
older. The inspector had noticed that Ashton was about his own height, only more powerfully built. His amiable expression and twinkling grey eyes offset the
strong rugged features and square jaw which would otherwise have made the man distinctly imposing. To the manor born
, he thought wryly.
Indeed, Henry Ashton reciprocated, turning from the inspector to the other man, whose hand felt somewhat moist in his own. Please sit down, gentlemen.
Ashton and the two men sat facing each other across the table. He had noticed they were already halfway through their tea.
Well, he said, looking at the inspector, how can I help you gentlemen? I take it this is not a social call?
Youre right there, Sir Henry, the inspector admitted. There has been something of how shall I put it an incident hereabouts. You wouldnt mind if I
asked you some questions, would you?
Ashton cocked his head to one side, an amused smile on his face, and replied, I dont think my minding would make much difference, Inspector. But please go
right ahead.
He poured himself a cup of tea from the pot which Martha had carried in on a tray and placed in front of him.
The inspector didnt smile back. Were you expecting anyone? he asked. I mean, the man your house manager would probably have told you about when you came
in? A Mr Liu Than?
No, not really, Ashton replied. Cant really say I have ever heard the name.
Take your time, sir, the inspector persisted. Perhaps someone you had asked to come by a while ago and had forgotten to tell your house manager about?
Orwell paused, then added, A young, slightly built, clean-shaven Oriental man with long hair? A student type?
The inspector turned and stared pointedly at the assorted figurines of the Buddha on the shelves.
Ashton shook his head. During my days in the army, Id been around in the East and met many people of that description. He smiled politely. But no, I
dont think I know the man. Maybe if I saw him, it would ring a bell.
How about your house manager? Does he have relatives or friends who drop by?
Duggy? Surely youve already asked him that question? Well, none of his relatives have ever come here to visit. And then hes a Gurkha, while this name you
just mentioned Liu Than is not a Nepali name.
There was a silence. Ashton took a sip of his tea, then looked at the inspector and asked gently, Now, shouldnt you be telling me what this is all about?
Yes, of course, the inspector agreed, though his hesitation suggested he might be weighing how much it would be prudent to disclose.
He took out a small spiral-bound diary from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. He flipped through the pages, referring to his notes.
Well, sir, he began, there has been, as I said earlier, an incident, to put it mildly. A young man Oriental, Chinese, whatever who gave his name as
Liu Than arrived this afternoon, possibly from London, in a taxi and made his way to the Wordsworth Arms in the village. The inspector paused before
continuing, According to the landlady, Mrs Harris, the man, who had a student ID from the London School of Economics, had checked into one of the rooms at
the inn before coming downstairs and asking if you lived nearby. When she told him you did, he made a call from the desk to Stiles and spoke to your house
manager. He then asked Mrs Harris to help him call a cab that would take him to your place. We had his name checked out with LSE; they dont have any
student by that name. So the ID was probably forged. We have also asked Scotland Yard to help us trace the cab the young man hired to get to the village.
The inspector rocked back in his chair and continued, Liu Than took the local cab at around 3.30 p.m. and started off for your place. Talked a bit on the
way, asked about you, according to the cabbie, who turned out to be quite chatty himself. Quite an anomaly hereabouts, I would imagine.
The inspector paused, his amused glance straying in Georges direction. The constable remained impervious to the implied dig and continued to stare stolidly
at his pad. Ashton observed that Georges face was still flushed. Something had rattled the man and that
was unusual; he didnt rattle easily.
May I smoke, sir? the inspector asked politely.
In response, Ashton took his cigarette case out of his pocket, snapped it open and held it out to the other man. The inspector accepted a cigarette. Taking
one himself, Ashton shut the case and put it back in his pocket. Meanwhile, the inspector had fished out a lighter. Leaning forward, he lit Ashtons
cigarette before lighting his own.
Thank you, sir, the inspector said. Well, he continued, it seems the cabbie knew you. He glanced at his notes. Jimmy Holmes? He looked at Ashton
enquiringly.
The local grocers son. Yes, I do know him; he has been accepted at Sandhurst. Frightfully keen to join up, he had asked me about the army. I shared some
of my experiences, though I did warn him I was frightfully out of date, he replied. I imagine hell be leaving for Belfast at the end of the month for his
military training before joining Sandhurst.
I see, the inspector replied, looking thoughtful. Well, Jimmy and Liu Than were apparently followed on their way here by two Land Rovers. Jimmy initially
assumed it was just his passengers overactive imagination at work. But when the vehicles followed them right up to the place where the bylane leading to
Stiles branches off from the main road, he was convinced that something was up. At this point, the Oriental gentleman apparently became terribly agitated
and urged Jimmy to hurry, whereupon our young man led those Land Rovers on quite a chase. At the lay-by after the arch bridge, one of the vehicles overtook
them, almost pushing them into the gulley so that they were forced to stop. It was here that the Oriental gentleman jumped out of the vehicle and made a
dash for the woods, with seven or eight men wearing ski masks in hot pursuit. Interestingly enough, although they were armed, they didnt fire at him.
Needed to get him alive, Ashton murmured softly, not wishing to disturb the flow of the inspectors narrative.
Precisely. Well, they approached him from all directions and began closing in. Then comes the interesting part. Our Oriental friend sits down on the
ground, pours something on himself lighter fluid, possibly and sets himself on fire. Jimmy says it was quite a blaze! The trees nearby were charred and
if it hadnt been for last nights drizzle, putting out that fire would have been quite a job for the forest chaps.
The hair on the back of Ashtons neck bristled. He could feel his temples throbbing. No wonder George was looking rattled! He brought his cigarette up to
his lips and squinted through the smoke.
Thats something, Ashton remarked, relieved that his voice sounded steady. Dont think about Saigon!
He turned away and stared at the fireplace, knowing
that the inspector was watching him.
The ensuing silence was broken by the lady constable who walked in with an update.
The lab people have finished at the site and they say its all right for us to come by, sir, she informed the inspector.
Thank you, he said, then turned to Ashton. I shall have to request you to accompany us, sir, just to check if you can identify anything. Not that there
is much to go by; its quite grisly, really. He paused. Once youve finished your tea, of course.
That all right, Ashton said, pushing his cup away.
The group trooped out to where the cars were parked. Ashton saw that Duggy had taken their car out of the garage and was at the wheel, parked behind the
Bentley.
We dont really need to take another car, the inspector said authoritatively, waving at Duggy and gesturing for him to step out. He then turned to Ashton.
You can both come with us, Sir Henry, he offered by way of explanation. It wont be any trouble dropping you back home.
I would rather take my car, if thats all right with you? Ashton said quietly, but crisply.
Peter Orwell picked up the tone and saw that Ashtons affable face was set in a firm line, his grey eyes staring back expressionlessly at him. As you wish,
sir, the inspector replied, quickly backing off.
They set off in the three cars, Ashtons following the Bentley and the Panda. The moment they were on their own, Duggy and Ashton lapsed into Gorkhali, the
language of their regiment.
Yo keko barema ho?
Whats all this about, Sergeant?
Thaha chaina.
Havent a clue. After they had been driving for a while, Duggy added, Liu Than, the man who rang, said I should tell you that the Teacher
has asked you to redeem a promise you had made.
It was the second time that evening that Ashton experienced a prickle of unease and even though Duggy was looking straight ahead and couldnt see his
expression, he could tell something was wrong.
Are you all right? the sergeant asked.
Fine, just fine, Ashton replied. You didnt tell the police about Liu Thans message, did you?
They didnt ask.
They had travelled four miles from the house when they came to a small clearing, where the dense growth of trees on either side of the road thinned out.
Police cars and an ambulance were parked off the road. On one side, the ground fell away to a rocky stream about nine or ten yards below the level of the
road; on the opposite side, the ground sloped upwards. The police had fenced off the area with yellow tape and Ashton could see what looked like a media
crew huddled behind it. He recognized one of the reporters, who began approaching him, but a constable quickly intercepted the man and sent him back. The
inspector came forward, took Ashton by the arm and, lifting the tape, guided him through to a clump of bushes on the high ground at the top of the slope. He
turned and pointed to the clearing behind them.
This is where the first car overtook the cab, he explained.
They could see the tyre marks, deeply embedded in the moist earth, giving the road a wide berth before getting back onto it thirty yards or so ahead. Since
the car to which those tyres belonged seemed to have climbed back onto the road almost at a right angle to it, it could be inferred that its driver had been
attempting to block the road and intercept an approaching vehicle.
Since it was uphill the bigger vehicle could generate more power then the cab, the inspector went on.
There were other tyre marks too, criss-crossing each other and indicating that the vehicles which had left those telltale tracks had reversed and got back
on the road.
The cabbie says the men in the first vehicle were getting off, when his passenger, who was in the back seat, jumped out, stumbled and made a dash for the
high ground there. The inspector turned and pointed back up the hill. The cabbie tried braking to avoid ramming into the vehicle ahead and swerved off the
road instead. He says the next thing he saw, once he had got a grip on himself, was that his passenger had reached the top of this mound and was near that
clump of bushes. The next moment, there was this big fireball.
How can you be sure the men chasing him didnt set him on fire? Ashton asked, knowing what the answer would be.
Thought about that, the inspector replied, but no, that wasnt the case, because the cabbie reported that none of the men were close to halfway up the
mound when his passenger burst into flames. Also, the dead mans body shows no signs of a struggle. The inspector stopped and looked keenly at Ashton
before continuing, It makes you wonder why Mr Liu Than didnt try to make for the woods when he was ahead, eh?
Ashton refrained from comment, merely nodding in response.
As the two men climbed further up, a man in a lab coat approached, nodding to the inspector before stepping aside to give them an unimpeded view of the
body. The head and upper chest were so badly burnt, the skin so charred and mottled, that it was hard to believe they had once belonged to a human being.
The figure, although it had toppled over to one side from its seated position, was still cross-legged. Part of the lips had burnt away, exposing teeth and
gums in a way that gave the corpse a frighteningly feral expression. Bits of charred cloth clung to the body. One hand lay in the corpses lap; the other
rested over its left breast, as if the man it had belonged to had been taking a pledge with his dying breath. The burns were concentrated on the head and
upper torso; from the waist downwards, the body was almost intact, suggesting that the man had emptied the bottle of inflammable fluid over his head. A
light breeze brought a disturbing whiff of burnt flesh their way.
The constable whom Ashton had seen in his driveway had followed them up. She gagged at the sight and turned away.
Not a pretty sight, sir, the inspector said grimly. Any chance you can place him?
Im afraid not, Ashton managed to reply, his voice hoarse, as the memories threatened to flood back. But in the present circumstances, thats okay
, he
thought, my reaction will seem natural
.
Thought not. No identification on the body either. The cabbie says all the man was carrying was a cloth satchel; whats left of it is on his lap. The lab
boys will go over it as a matter of course, but I wouldnt bet on them finding anything worthwhile. I had someone go through his things back at the village,
but again Im afraid theres nothing that could offer us a lead.
The inspector looked back and summoned the paramedic with a wave of his hand. The man came up and knelt by the corpse. Ashton knelt alongside and watched as
the paramedic pulled the corpses right hand off its chest with some difficulty; rigor mortis was setting in. The skin on the chest covered by the hand was
pale and unmarred, Ashton noticed, marked only by a tattoo of the Buddha. The colours of the figure changing from red to blue and to many, many more hues.
A
series of images flashed in his mind and he felt he was tumbling into an abyss. Ashtons head whirled and he stepped back, pointing and muttering
incoherently. I have seen that image before in the book at the monastery!
The inspector held him by the shoulders and asked urgently, What colours? Then
realizing that Ashton was in no state to respond, he shook him and said soothingly, Its all right, sir.
Ashton felt his head clear slowly and realized that both the inspector and the paramedic, who had dropped the corpses hand and risen to his feet, were
staring at him. His eyes strayed back to the dead mans tattoo, which was now partly obscured from view. He saw no images this time.
Im sorry, Ashton said, cant make out what came over me.
Its all right, sir. Did something to me too, the first time I saw the body, the inspector said sympathetically.
He took out his packet of cigarettes and offered one to Ashton, who gratefully accepted it. They lit up and the inspector indicated that they should walk
down to the road.
Was there something in that tattoo you recognized? the inspector asked as they walked down. It seems as if Liu Than had wanted to protect it as if he
wanted to ensure it would be seen.
So he had noticed
, Ashton thought.
No, nothing, he now said, replying to the inspectors question. He drew on his cigarette before adding, Apart from the fact that its a Buddha figure.
You would have got that, of course.
Yes, we did, as a matter of fact, but theres nothing unusual about that. A lot of college students of the dead mans, well, ethnicity sport such tattoos.
Its either that or Bruce Lee.
They had reached the road.
Well, then, sir, thank you for your trouble, the inspector said. Actually, we had to follow all the leads.
He indicated the ring of reporters and photographers waiting for him. Some of them were recording the proceedings on movie camera.
This, he said, gesturing in their direction, is evidently going to be the biggest story in the county tonight.
Jimmy, I mean, the cabbie, Ashton asked. Hes all right?
Aye, hes a strong lad. Just a bit shaken. Hes the one who broke the news. Had to walk back to the village the masked men knocked off two of his tyre
valves. Couldnt even use the spare. But they didnt harm him.
Lucky they didnt go for him. They appear to be quite a desperate crew, Ashton remarked.
Professionals, really. They must have realized that bumping off the cabbie would serve no purpose. Their quarry, the guy or whatever they were after
was back there, the inspector said, looking back up the slope. Also has something to do with keeping the police interest low. The story is big right now,
but the fuss will die down soon enough. There isnt likely to be much of an outcry over an unidentified Oriental who apparently committed suicide. Killing a
local boy would have been a different bag altogether.
Would have shaken Jimmy, though, Ashton said.
Must have, but he seems a level-headed lad. You can have a word with him if you want to. He must be in the ambulance, the inspector said, pulling away as
a constable indicated that his presence was required near the Rover.
Thank you again, Sir Henry, the inspector said before he left. Do tell us if you get to know something. He reached into his pocket and handed over his
card. Seems like gang rivalry to me, though cant really see where you come in.
Ashton met the inspectors quizzical eyes with his own steady gaze. The inspector nodded and extended his hand. The two men shook hands before the police
officer turned away.
Ashton walked up to the ambulance and found Jimmy standing near it with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. He patted the young boy reassuringly on the
back. Jimmys face was still pale from shock, but when he spoke, his voice was steady.
Good evening, sir, the boy said in greeting.
Good evening, Jimmy, Ashton responded. Strange happenings, eh?
You could say that again.
Ashton saw Duggy approaching. Hamiharu jaoon huzoor.
Lets go, sir, he said.
Ashton was keen to stay for a while. He wanted to talk to Jimmy, but noticed that Duggys expression was firm, almost obdurate.
Ill talk to you later, Jimmy, he said feebly.
They shook hands and Ashton walked down to where Duggy stood waiting.
Now what was all that about? he asked sharply.
Ill tell you once were in the car.
CHAPTER 2
Cambridge, England
AUGUST 1986
So what did Jimmy tell you?
They had been on the road for a while before Henry Ashton asked the question. Concentrating on his driving, Duggy did not reply. Ashton grew impatient.
Duggy could be really quite trying at times.
Nothing really, the house manager finally answered. Hes got his call letter. Off to Belfast next week, I was told. With six six.
This was a reference to the Sixth Battalion, the Sixth Gorkha Rifles. There was no point pushing, Ashton told himself. Duggy was going to take his time.
Oh, thats good, he said, playing along. Jack Mitchell is commanding. Ill have a word with him. Whos the RSM?
Tara Bahadur, Dugg
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