The Gods' Gambit (6 page)

Lao spotted James in the porch. “Good morning, James.” He
joined his palms in front of his chest in greeting, a traditional Thai bow.

James saluted him in an identical way.

“We could do a training session together,” said Lao.

“I only had a quick jog in mind this morning,” replied
James.

“Very good, but first, do me the honour of practicing with
me. Then you can do your running.”

Lao was a Muay Thai master. He had taught James the secrets
of this traditional style of Thai boxing since James’ early teens. They
normally trained together every Thursday evening but James had skipped the last
few sessions because he had to work on the final draft of the
Star Gods
manuscript. Now Lao was trying to make him catch up. James didn’t feel like
doing anything except taking a refreshing run in the forest. He and Elizabeth
had spent most of the night making love. He could still feel a relaxing
weakness in his muscles. However, he knew that this time Lao would not take
‘no’ for an answer. He had become increasingly insistent about James’ boxing
training, especially after he got a job about a year ago as a supernumerary
religious analyst in the British security services. James had tried more than
once to convince him that this new job didn’t differ too much from his writer’s
job, but this didn’t seem to change Lao’s attitude at all. “In this business,
one can never be sure of anything,” had been Lao’s response.

The gym occupied about one-third of the former stable block.
It was fully equipped, including punchbags, a mannequin for precision hitting
and a Thai-style boxing ring. In addition, it housed many different Asian
swords and a variety of ancient combat weapons, which were displayed on the
walls. On the wall opposite the entrance stood an altar cabinet complete with a
metre and a half-high marble statue of Buddha Shakyamuny perched on top of it.
In front of the altar there were two candlesticks holding thick candles and two
vases containing fresh flowers.

Lao and James knelt and bowed to Buddha’s statue, touching
the ground with their foreheads. James began the training session with the
ceremonial boxing dance Wai-Kru. The purpose of this dance was to express
respect to the teacher, but at the same time it doubled as a warm-up. Lao made
James play out a basic boxing routine called Mae Mai, and then guided him
through some more detailed Look Mai techniques that reflected Lao’s own
personal style of boxing. After this, they had a short sparring session and
finished with special breathing and relaxing exercises.

“I can sense that your boxing rhythm is disturbed,” said
Lao.

James nodded and replied, “Thanks for the lesson, Lao.”

“I know you’re busy now. You and Elizabeth are planning the
wedding.”

“You’re right. But I’ll try to find time to catch up,” James
almost snapped back.

Lao turned his head in surprise to express disagreement with
what he had just heard. “It is not the quantity of exercise that is important
for you. You need to do quality work.”

“Do you mean that I need to place emphasis on the ‘soft’
approach – using the power of the opponent against him?”

Lao again turned his head towards James in disagreement. “A
Muay Thai boxer does not become undefeatable because of the proficiency of his
technique, his strength, his stamina, his boldness, or his willpower. He
becomes undefeatable because he is able to govern his own mind.”

“I’ve heard this before.”

“Clearly, it hasn’t helped you much. You still can’t find
the right state of mind. That is the key to victory.”

“What state of mind is the right mind?” James’s curiosity
had been aroused.

“It’s the possession of the right awareness.”

“Right awareness as part of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold
Pat?”

“Yes and no.”

“How can this be?”

“Because this is a thing to do, to experience. When you talk
about it, you strain.”

“Yet, this is something within the Eightfold Pat.”

“You could say that.”

“So, it’s the right thinking, speech, action, way of living,
understanding, effort, awareness, as well as meditation.” James listed the
principles of the Noble Eightfold Pat. “These elements are interdependent.
Developing one of them means working on the other seven as well. I believe it’s
an impossible task for a contemporary man to perfect them all.”

“You can interpret that as much as you wish. In my opinion,
an interpretation is not helpful in reaching true understanding.”

James was about to request clarification of this statement
when Lao stopped him by lifting his arm. Obviously, this time Lao didn’t want
to enter into one of their usual philosophical discussions. “You’re the expert
at talking, James, not me. My words cannot go beyond what I’ve just told you,”
he said.

* * *

After his training session, James emerged from the shower
and felt his stomach rumble. The early morning physical exercise had made him
as hungry as a wolf. He reached for the bath towel, dried himself, dressed with
barrack-like speed and headed directly for the kitchen. He had anticipated that
Elizabeth would be tired from the flight and from their long night of
lovemaking and so would still be in bed, but she was already in the kitchen
helping Pema with the breakfast. James greeted them both and kissed Elizabeth.

“How was the training?” asked Elizabeth. “Pema saw you and
Lao in the gym earlier.”

“I feel great, except I could eat a horse… Speaking of
which, Pema, please, make me a double breakfast, will you?’ He poured himself a
glass of water and sat at the table.

“I don’t know what’s come over old Lao, making you exert
yourself so early in the morning,” Pema said. She possessed a quiet melodic
voice, which suited her gentle face and frail figure. Her hair was raven-black
and plaited in a single long braid and, like her husband, she looked much
younger than her actual age.

“Don’t worry; it was good practice. I’m grateful to him,”
responded James.

“I heard you talking on the phone this morning,” said
Elizabeth.

“Yes. Sorry if I woke you. It was that old friend of mine,
Lino, from Italy.” James reminded Elizabeth about Lino, adding a few funny
stories about when he and James were at Oxford together. However, he didn’t
mention exactly why Lino had called him. He had decided there was no need to
bother Elizabeth with such things.

After breakfast, James and Elizabeth went for a walk in the
forest as usual. The weather was pleasant and the sky was clear and there was a
feeling of spring freshness in the air. They had just reached the first row of
pine trees when James’ mobile rang.

“Mr James Whiteway?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Hello. I’m detective superintendent Peter Oliver, Criminal
Investigations.”

“What can I do for you, superintendent?”

“I have something I want to show you. Are you available to
come in and have a look?”

“Yes, I am. What’s it about?”

“I’d like you to take a look at a crime scene. Could you do
it now?”

“Yes, if it’s necessary.”

“I would appreciate it. Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“OK, a car will be there in ten minutes.”

James hung up, “El, I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our
walk.”

Brighton, UK

“Do you need anything?” The blonde airhostess leaned over
the seats occupied by Margaret and Charles Whiteway. “We’ve got about
forty-five minutes before we land at Cusco Airport.”

Before either of them had a chance to answer, a man sitting
opposite them interjected, “I strongly recommend that you to try out the local
chicha. It’s a tasty and light natural alcohol.” He lifted his hand to show
them an elongated mug made of clear jade encrusted with rubies and turquoises.
The tone of his voice was polite but had a slightly arrogant and patronizing
tone.

A little girl sitting in front of Charles and Margaret
started to pull at her mother’s sleeve and cried, “Mummy, Mummy, I’m thirsty.”

 “Capacocha!” chimed in the man in a coarse voice.

Margaret gave the man a scathing look. “What on earth is he
talking about?” she asked her husband.

“Capacocha is an old Inca ritual during which little
children are sacrificed in order to propitiate the gods, deflect natural
disaster, or when a mighty ruler dies,” Charles explained.

“We shouldn’t let him speak that way,” said Margaret.

The young airhostess, who had by this time moved several
steps away, stretched her arm towards Margaret and Charles to reveal two big
red dice resting in her palm. “The lots have been cast,” she whispered and
disappeared without a trace in a blink of an eye. Only her uniform remained,
swaying in the air before crumpling to the floor.

Suddenly, the plane began to shake. Objects began to fall
from the storage units and oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling.

“We’re going to die. Lord, save us!” cried the young mother,
desperately clinging to her daughter.

Charles and Margaret stood up holding hands. They moved to
the corridor, their eyes fixed on a dazzling white halo that had just appeared
in front of them. Its depth was endless. As they stepped towards it, the young
mother shouted, “Please, take us with you! Don’t leave us here!”

The man from a seat opposite theirs rose. Now, instead of
the jade mug, he held out a crystal knife, pointing it at the child.
“Capacocha,” he repeated sinisterly.

Charles and Margaret looked at each other, turned round and
went back. Charles took the girl in his arms and Margaret took hold of the
mother’s hand, and then they all moved together towards the halo…

A piercing ringing of a car horn cut short James’ dream. He
had drifted off to sleep while travelling in a Secret Service car towards
Brighton, and now the car had arrived in the town. He awoke experiencing an
indescribably peaceful sensation, which he knew had been triggered by the
dream. He’d had this dream many times since his parents died in a plane crash
while visiting James’ grandparents who lived in Peru after their retirement.
Sometimes some of the details of the dream differed, but the main events and
their consequences always remained the same. Every time James awoke after
having that dream, he felt an inner peace, which resulted from the irrational
conviction that his mother and father had gone to a good place. In such
moments, their death didn’t seem as cruel as his imagination normally depicted
it.

* * *

Superintendent Peter Oliver was waiting for James in the
Hotel Altor’s lobby. He was of medium height and slim, dressed in a dark- grey
suit and wore frameless glasses.

He shook James’ hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I hope
it hasn’t caused you too much inconvenience.”

“It’s all right. I’m glad to be of help,” responded James.

“We’ve tried to do discreet work here. Until now we’ve
managed to keep the media at a distance,” explained the superintendent. “It’s
good right now because there aren’t many visitors.” As they got into the lift
he continued, “The apartment where the murder took place is on the third floor.
The name of the victim is Stefan Costov – a Bulgarian scientist who specialized
in molecular genetics. He attended a conference here together with more than
fifty other scientists from all over the world. Costov was noticed missing when
his colleagues tried to call him this morning. A bellboy went to check his room
and found him dead.”

The apartment was fourth left from the lift door. The area
had been cordoned off with police tape and was protected by a police guard.
James could see a man from the police’s scientific department examining the
door frame for fingerprints and other evidence.

When they entered the room, James noticed two plain-clothes
police officers, but the sprawled dead body on the floor immediately grabbed
his attention. There was a large swastika carved into the man’s torso. In the
point where the arms of the swastika crossed, an ugly round wound gaped. The
veins on the man’s left forearm had been slashed deeply, and a puddle of blood
had soaked into the carpet. Strange symbols had been drawn in blood on the
carpet around the body. James couldn’t hold back an exclamation. “Jesus!”

The superintendent stretched out his arms in a gesture of
bafflement. “This must be the work of a very ill mind. Or rather, minds. The
killers must have hated him. His hand was cut to the bone. They didn’t think it
was enough just to open his veins. The swastika was carved in the same way.”

As he listened, James felt a hardening in his stomach. This
man had indeed experienced a strange and cruel death.

“What exactly did Stefan Costov do for a living?” he asked.

“He was head of a laboratory at a Bulgarian branch of a
large US pharmaceuticals company.”

 “I can see a lot of blood, but no traces of a
struggle,” said James.

“That’s one of the mysteries. It looks like he was conscious
and unrestrained when they cut into him. But none of the guests or the hotel
staff heard any shouting or noise.”

“Maybe he’d been drugged.”

“Probably. My first thought when I saw him was that there
was a neo-Nazi connection. Because of the swastika.”

James shook his head. “Not necessarily. The swastika is one
of the oldest abstract symbols used by civilizations. Archaeological swastika
findings have been made all over the world. The symbolism of the entire scene
here appears to be religious rather than political.”

“Yes, that’s a possibility,” agreed the superintendent.

“What else have you got?”

“The drawings were done with the victim’s blood, drained
from the veins in his wrist. After the swastika was carved he was stabbed in
the chest. That’s what finished him off. We’re pretty sure this was done by a
group of people.”