The Visitor (17 page)

Mei Ling stood by, dutifully waiting for orders for refreshments. “The baron is on an overseas call and should be with you shortly. While you wait, might you be interested in tea? The baron is known for having very fine Oolong tea.”

Shanta looked at Andrew, smiling. “Oh, yes.”

“Do you have any bourbon?” Andrew asked.

“Yes, we keep the major liquors here.” Mei Ling disappeared and returned with the tea on a tray and a bottle of bourbon.

Andrew saw the bourbon and let loose. “I own that one!”

“How wonderful,” Mei Ling said. She put the bottle in front of him on the table, along with a saucer of ice and a glass so that he could pour as he wished. He took the glass, put in a few ice cubes, and poured himself bourbon. He was not interested in waiting for anyone else to mess around with tea.

Mei Ling then turned to the tea. She first washed the tea leaves in the small pot with hot water and, while waiting, she warmed the small cups with hot water. She poured out the hot water in the cups and then poured out the tea with its rich, golden color. She passed it to Shanta.

Shanta took the cup and had her sip. Her expression changed to one of delight. “Oh my, this is wonderful!”

“The baron has his own tea plantation where this is grown,” Mei Ling proudly announced as she refilled Shanta’s cup. “See?” she asked, opening the lid of the pot, “the tea leaves have a purple color, even though the tea does not. Some say this is the best available.”

“I like to think that it is the best.”

The voice of a large set of lungs filled the room, their owner having overheard. They looked up to see Baron Von Limbach entering with his unforgettable presence. Just behind him was the red-haired, lovely Tak, in her same outfit, but now sporting makeup, since having learned how to apply it at the department store in Europe.

“Master Saunders.” Baron addressed him as “Master” to provide him with a sort of title, done as a matter of great respect. He had learned of Saunders before the meeting, and knew that he was the heir to one of the larger fortunes. One of Saunders’s holdings, that was easy to find, was the bourbon distillery, and Baron had Mei Ling get some flown in from the US.

“Yes,” Andrew answered and shook his hand, enjoying the respect.

“And this must be the beautiful Mademoiselle Laxshimi whom the famous pleader Eschmann, Esquire, described to me.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron, sir.”

“This is my wife and business partner, Baroness Von Limbach,” Baron said. “You may speak freely in front of her.”

We are honored to meet you too, Baroness,” Shanta said for the both of them as Andrew was not taking the lead in the introductions.

Shanta noticed Baron’s outfit, a three-piece suit, made of gray wool with tiny specks of yellow-gold colored thread in the weave. His vest was gold in color. Across the vest was a gold pocket watch chain, with a rare, multi-colored jade fob.

Tak was wearing her alien outfit, which did not command the attention of Baron’s, with his presence of elegance.

“Baron, I love your outfit,” Shanta complimented, looking at him. Then she realized that she may have just insulted the baroness, but decided not to make it worse by saying anything further.

“Why, thank you,” Baron said, devoid of modesty. “This one was made for me in Delhi. I especially like the vest, made of real Kashmir wool. That comes from the underside of the throat of the Kashmiri goat that is collected in tiny bits from many hundreds of goats by the local women and woven, in a painstaking process, into the softest wool on Earth. It takes many women hundreds of hours just to make something like this. Touch it if you like.”

He opened his jacket farther, to allow Shanta to touch the vest.

She stepped forward, and touched his vest. “I’ve heard of this divine wool, but have never actually been able to touch it. It feels heavenly!”

“Rather nice on a cold, rainy day such as this,” Baron said, having set the stage perfectly for a spectacular gift. He motioned to Mei Ling who, knowing her cue, picked up a box wrapped in gift wrap from a table against the wall and handed it to Shanta.

“A small token for such a beautiful lady.”

Shanta opened the box excitedly, anticipating that it might be something made of that spectacular wool. Inside was a natural colored scarf of the legendary Kashmir wool. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she took it out to feel its softness, unlike any other fabric on Earth, and rubbed it on her face.

“For me?”

“Just for you.”

“Oh my God!” she shrieked.

It was extravagantly big for the most luxurious material on earth, seven feet long and two feet wide. It was natural in color, a delicate brown.

She put it around her shoulders, continued to rub it on her cheeks, stood up, and turned around a few times, to enjoy and parade the most valuable present she had ever been given.

“Have a seat, please,” Baron said, wanting to get down to business. “I see you have already tried the tea. Did you like it?”

“It is the best I’ve ever tasted,” Shanta stated, still in awe of the scarf present, now enamored by the tea and the entire experience.

“Yes, the bourbon is great, too,” Andrew agreed.

“I grow that tea myself,” Baron boasted, “in the highlands, near Chang Rai, Thailand. Thank you, Mei Ling,” he told her, which was her cue to leave. “I already know what you want as the most able pleader Eschmann told me. But I need to know just how committed you are. I have some questions.” He turned to Andrew. “Can we speak freely, Master Saunders?” He was referring to the presence of Shanta.

Andrew caught on right away. “Yes, absolutely. Shanta and I are very much in this matter together.”

“You wish to know if there is some way to put the Dalai Lama back in Tibet, correct?”

“Right,” Andrew answered.

“Who else, other than Mr. Eschmann knows of what you want to do?”

Andrew and Shanta looked at each other and then at Baron. “Absolutely no one,” Andrew said. “We’re aware that this is extremely secret. We told only the minimal number of people that we were off to see Taiwan and then only to a place that we had not been to, on a holiday tour.”

Baron looked at them, sizing up his new prospective employers as to whether or not they could be trusted. “Do you realize that entertaining such matters as something affecting an entire country will make you, if suspected, the target of an international manhunt? You can never tell a friend, relative, bartender, a priest in confession, or anyone as long as you live. Any breach of security whatsoever will make you a fugitive with no place on Earth to hide. There will be some out to find and kill anyone involved. Resources of entire governments will also be looking for anyone suspect.”

Andrew and Shanta became concerned as they thought of the consequences of which Baron spoke. As it was not her money, Shanta, although willing to sacrifice, passed the decision to Andrew.

“Yes, we know,” Andrew replied. “But atrocities continue in Tibet, and if anything can be done, we want to do it, and do it now--no matter what the cost or sacrifice. If not, there will soon be no more Tibet.”

Baron’s friendly face became all business. “The pressure from the rest of the world has not worked. The communist Chinese want to expand their territories and their race, which they imperialistically believe to be superior. Taiwan lives in constant fear that the United States and its allies will not intervene if China invades. Seven and a half million Chinese have been moved into Tibet to dilute the Tibetan culture. The only way that the Dalai Lama might be able to return to Tibet is if, suddenly, the Chinese no longer occupied it because of some catastrophe. Even if there were a catastrophe and the Dalai Lama returned, he would never be allowed by the Chinese to claim a new sovereign Tibet. You must not underestimate the number of communist Chinese soldiers and the formidable number of weapons in their arsenal.”

Andrew considered what seemed to be an impossible task. Shanta could see his frustration and hesitation to speak, and said for them, “We understand that if anyone might know of a way to put the Dalai Lama back in Tibet, it would be you. Do you know how it might be done?”

Baron was gaining confidence in the two people and considered the request further. “If the Chinese, or a major part of them occupying Tibet, were to die or evacuate for safety reasons, the Dalai Lama might be allowed to back in, but only on a controlled basis. I know of a way that it might be done, but I have to confirm it.”

“Are you referring to a nuclear bomb?” Shanta asked, impetuously. “What about the Tibetans?”

“Certainly not. The use of a nuclear weapon would make one the subject of an endless manhunt throughout the world, and there would be no safe quarter. Experts can tell exactly where the material from such a bomb came from. And, in any event, the use of a nuclear bomb would make Tibet uninhabitable. Out of the question.”

“Then what?” Shanta said. “How do you propose to go about getting seven and a half million Chinese to move out of Tibet where they have been specially placed there by the Chinese government?”

Baron raised an eyebrow. “What if a large number of Chinese in Tibet were to die or flee? It might be arranged for the Dalai Lama to return in the wake of such a huge catastrophe, not permanently, but invited under special circumstances as a figurehead to provide spiritual aid for the dying Tibetan culture as a gesture to the world. It would give recognition to the rights of Tibetans, however small. I think this can be arranged. But then, you would have the souls of all those Chinese on your consciences. Do you think you could live with that?”

“Yes,” Shanta responded emphatically. “The atrocities, that they are committing as we speak are so horrifying that they should all be put to death. It would serve them right.”

“I agree,” Andrew added.

Baron looked carefully at them. “But there is something else that I want you to consider. The Dalai Lama Himself would never agree to anything that would take the lives of anyone. What do you think of that?”

Andrew and Shanta looked at each other, but did not speak. They had not considered that. Baron, realizing they might like to talk, said, “Perhaps you would like to discuss this alone? If you’ll permit me, I’ll leave you to do that and go make a call.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “I shall return in half an hour. But I do not wish to rush you. If you cannot decide now, you can go back to your hotel and we can meet again one final time tomorrow. If you have to take the topic back to the United States to consider it further, then you are not committed, and we will drop the subject and never mention it again.”

He rose, took the hand of the baroness, and left the room, leaving Andrew and Shanta speechless. It was clear to them that he was not about to follow them through a soul-searching process as to whether or not they were committed--he was not going to waste time on such things. They had to decide.

Andrew poured another glass of bourbon for liquid courage, arose slowly with the drink in hand, and went to the window to look out at the pounding rain. Shanta came to his side and put her arms around him.

Andrew spoke outward toward the window. “He makes a point. How can we have anything to do with a plan that would kill Chinese in Tibet, even if they are communists, when the Dalai Lama would never approve?”

“When someone breaks into your home to rob, rape, and kill you, aren’t you justified in doing violence to the person to stop it?” Shanta said. “And isn’t that what is going on in Tibet? The Dalai Lama has called for immediate action. If none is taken now, Tibet and the Tibetan culture will be lost forever. The throne of the Reincarnate is lost to those horrible communists. If we do something soon, then He can return, His teachings can proliferate, and the Tibetan culture can be restored. I say we do whatever it takes to get Him back to where He belongs. Let’s do it!”

Both of them watched and listened to the heavy Taipei rain beating against the window, wondering about what it would be like to take any part in anything on such a grand scale. Andrew turned around to look at her, placing him only inches from her face. She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth in a long, slow kiss. That was the first time they had kissed.