CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A crush of humanity made up of pilgrims and tourists created a cacophony of voices in different dialects as the team waited to enter the Jokhang Temple. This was the only place where they'd been denied preferential status, as the monks who kept the lines orderly seemed to feel that waiting was part of the enlightenment process. But as they waited, the team shared the same concern; in a place like this, and how many others in the world, how did one not touch another living soul? The spread of contagion by touch was imminent. Fighting it on an individual basis was futile. They had to get to the root source, not go about some insane, government-inspired extermination and quarantine strategy. They needed the antidote. The portals had to be sealed.
During the wait to access the most illustrious temple in the region, the open air allowed the team to recover partially and digest their leisurely consumed meal. Perhaps there was some wisdom in the monks' approach. Damali looked down at the polished stones beneath her boots, awed that millions of feet and prostrated bodies performing the sacred act of chak devotion - flattening one's entire body on the earth one-hundred and eight times as a rosary bead was pushed and a mantra spoken - had made the stones gleam. There was something to be said for the crush of humanity and the fierceness of spiritual devotion. That, too, was not to be discounted here.
Spirit of the divine most assuredly presided in this sacred place. How anyone could be bold enough to shell this temple and to fill it with desecration would be akin to razing the Vatican. Real bad karma. Enough, also, to make the angels weep. Just thinking about such unholy abuse made her shudder as they neared the courtyard entrance flanked by two willow trees and also hosting a third one that was planted and still living from the time the temple had been built. Another trinity. Trees, perhaps representing what had been in the original Garden. As they passed, she assessed all this like a detective.
Damali looked at the stump planted by Queen Wengcheng that had taken a mortar shell but survived. It told her much about the spirit of the people that still lived here. Tough, but also very beautiful. She clung to that for hope.
Awed as they entered the six-columned portico, it suddenly dawned on her that a woman built this. Yes, a woman knew where to construct this palace. A woman had hooked it up spiritually, architecturally, and the first wife had paid for all this - back in a time when women were treated like less than dirt. Oh, yeah, girlfriend had to be onto Lilith's shenanigans, and men had respected that. Hmmm... Okay, dual energy was in full effect, male and female cooperation. Damali took note.
As more awareness came to her, Damali put both hands on her hips and smiled. "Bet a lot of Egypt has some untold designers and architects, too," she whispered, receiving a knowing smile from Marlene. Now she could move forward. A huge part of the worry about where she and Marlene had ultimately decided to locate the team vanished. It was in their DNA, the ability to home to a safe spot to put down roots, no matter how temporary.
"It is in the Aya," Monk Lin murmured, coming near her. "In the bones, we say."
The construction also gave Damali ideas as they walked through the main gate, the Zhung-go, a structure outfitted with a finely carved door and murals of the future Buddha on the left and the past Buddha on the right; soon she became very aware that this part of the stop was primarily for her benefit. Wrathful deities painted in bright hues to protect the hallowed Entrance Hall looked at them with unmoving, fierce eyes. She could tell that the male members of the team were interested, but looking around somewhat detached, while the females in her group were rapt. Jokhang's series of walled spaces were set up like a giant maze.
Guides pointed out that the Inner Jokhang had three stories forming a great square around a huge hall known as Kyilkhor Thil. The inner roundabout was called the Nangkhor, which was to be walked clockwise for enlightenment as prayer wheels were spun. But the Outer Jokhang, referred to as the western extension, housed lesser chapels, kitchens, storerooms, and residences. Detailed murals covered every wall, and on the northern side was once one of the residences of the Dalai Lamas.
Okay, she got it. The new compound design was locked into her brain and Monk Lin smiled briefly, bowed, and ushered them through the balance of the tour with haste. She'd never seen him brimming with such excitement, and it was as though he'd also shared her discovery.
"Monk Lin, we've come a very long way to get a floor plan," Damali said, teasing him in a discreet whisper.
"It is also a battle tactic, what you keep within layers of flanking - circles within circles. It is a map."
The two nodded as they scanned the team. Carlos remained unusually quiet.
"This didn't do it for him," Damali whispered.
Monk Lin only nodded. "Perhaps the Potala will."
"What we need isn't here," she said, quietly disappointed. "But this is the greatest temple of them all."
"I am aware that what we seek on the surface is not here, but this may not be the greatest temple," Monk Lin said slyly. "Ask the Naksong."
He was exhausted and tired of sightseeing. He wanted to get the show on the road. This was not why he came here, not part of the mission. He hated all this vibration drama - why couldn't Monk Lin just point him in the right direction, tell him straight no-chaser where the battle was to kick off, and then they could develop a strategy. Carlos shoved his hands into his pockets and followed Damali and Monk Lin. This was ridiculous.
Another long, slow ride across town set his teeth on edge. Every male on the team had the same reaction. They were all beyond words and kept their gazes out the minivan window, surveying rooftops, alleys, looking at where a predator could exit after dark, and plotting escape routes.
What the females on the team obviously saw as rich history, great places to hunt for bargains and culture, they saw as ambush territory and danger. When was Damali just going to accept that men and women saw the world from two very distinct points of view?
But as they pulled up to the impressive thirteen-story, massive structure bearing what seemed to be a thousand steps built into the side of a mountain, even he was forced to nod with sudden appreciation.
Rising out of the mountainside was a monolithic building of red brick that towered over a lower section of white expansion as though the red encircled the white. Oh, yeah, now a structure like this made sense. Steeply sloping stone stairs gave access to or escape to the layer upon layer of building levels. This was a cliff-side fortress, what he'd been trying to tell D.
"One thousand rooms," Monk Lin said. "The White Palace was the seat of the government and the winter residence of the Dalai Lama. The Red Palace was the spiritual center, which houses many smaller chapels... often only a human skull or thighbone remains present. Thousands of butter lamps were lit here. This is where we will also find the golden chorten, eight in all, containing the ashes of past Dalai Lamas V, and then VII-XIII."
"Wait," Carlos said as the exited the van into Zhol Square. "You have the ashes for the fifth Dalai Lama, plus Lamas seven through thirteen - but what happened to the guy who was number six?"
Monk Lin simply smiled and waved the group forward, his red robes billowing in the wind as they crossed the massive, white stone square that led to a jewel green field of grass that again broke to accommodate what seemed to be a thousand hand-laid stones a city block long in radius. "Between the Red and White Palaces, valuable thangkas, huge murals on fabric, were kept in the yellow Thangkas Room - a building off on its own, but containing majesty."
Okay, so the monk was back to riddles and didn't answer him.
"Yes I have," Monk Lin said with a twinkle in his eyes. "You just didn't hear me."
Groans of discontent filtered through their slow-moving team as they climbed the steps. Berkfield was complaining of chest pain. Rider was fussing about not being able to breathe. Mike seemed like he was about to pass out from the exertion. Shabazz was sweating so hard that everything he wore was wet. Bobby had bent over to puke, but simply dry-heaved. Dan and J.L. had stopped with Jose to assist Marjorie, Juanita, and Inez, but wound up getting helped up the steps instead. Marlene stopped every few feet and leaned on her stick. Damali kept her eyes forward like an eagle with something in her sight line.
Yeah, he felt it, too. Something was here. Carlos glanced at Monk Lin and Damali every so often as they passed exquisite red lacquered doors and entered a world that seemed like it went back in time.
Lush gardens manicured to perfection to appear naturally occurring but beyond naturally neat separated buildings within buildings. Red was everywhere, and the color tugged at his distant memory... the color offered power, was erotic... blood. Gold dust, gold leaf, thrones... thrones... What was the deal with thrones? Dragons and thrones; doors, three times the height of a man; golden knockers with dragonheads.
When they reached the top floor, Monk Lin placed his hand over Carlos's chest. "Breathe deeply and slowly," he said quietly. "We are about to enter the Room of Eternal Life, where the Dalai Lamas studied spiritual scriptures."
Carlos nodded, yet wasn't sure why. But as he entered the room, crests and seals covered a wall of books. He closed his eyes. Books... there was a book. A throne and a book, a book and a throne. He opened his eyes quickly. "What's in the cellars?"
The team drew near.
"The Cave of Scorpions... justice, in those times, was meted out harshly," Monk Lin explained calmly.
"They had a cave where they shackled prisoners to a wall and let scorpions sting them to death? Shit," Rider whispered and looked around. "I suppose the old cultures didn't mess around if you didn't pay your taxes."
Again, Carlos closed his eyes. He could see it. Had been there
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