False Horizon

“Except for you,” Annja said. “Imagine that.”

“Well,” Mike said. “I might be wrong, too. I guess we won’t know for sure until we actually get out there and find it.”

“What made you think you could even find the place, anyway?”

“It’s been a hobby of mine ever since I read the book that first described it in detail.”

“But Lost Horizon was a work of fiction. No one really believed that, did they?” Annja asked.

Mike nodded. “Plenty of people did. And plenty of them thought they were going to find it. As recently as a few years ago, there were still exploration teams making concerted efforts to locate it. But no one has ever succeeded.”

“Until now.”

Mike raised his glass. “You’re always the optimist, Annja. That’s what I love about you.”

“Plus, I’m the only friend of yours who’s crazy enough to actually fly across the globe to be a part of this.”

“There’s that, too,” Mike said with a laugh. “But if nothing else, at least we’ll have a fun time of it.”

Annja sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Shangri-La. It’s incredible to think that in this day and age a place supposedly so mystical and fantastic could even exist.”

“Well, what it is, is open to speculation. I never really bought in to the notion that it was some incredible utopia. It’s more the idea of the place that draws me in. That prospect of finding an untouched bit of geography that has been able to keep itself from becoming as molested as the rest of the planet—that’s a pretty potent lure for me.”

“And what happens if we do find it? What then?”

Mike shrugged. “I’m in academia. You know the golden rule.”

“Publish or die.”

“Exactly.”

“But won’t that mean exposing the place to the horrors of modern society?” Annja said.

Mike frowned. “I suppose it would. But I guess it depends on what we uncover when we find it.”

“If we find it,” Annja said.

“Hey, what happened to all that optimism?”

The waiter returned with Annja’s burger and she bit into the thick patty, finding it just as juicy as it looked. She chewed slowly, savoring the rush of saliva in her mouth.

Mike watched her intently. “Good, huh?”

Annja nodded and around mouthfuls asked, “How many did you eat?”

“Only two,” Mike said. “Doctor’s orders.”

Annja frowned and wiped her mouth. “What’s that mean?”

Mike shrugged. “Seems my diet is starting to catch up with me. My cholesterol is too high.”

“A lot of people suffer from high cholesterol. Can’t you go on statins or something? What are all those pharmaceutical ads I keep seeing during my dinnertime back in the States?”

Mike smiled. “I’m on the statins, yeah. But even with them, I’ve got to make some major changes to my diet or else I’m history.”

“Mike, you’re as strong as an ox,” Annja said.

“And nursing a cholesterol count of nearly three hundred,” Mike said. “Fitness isn’t all of the picture, apparently.”

Annja frowned. “Then I guess you’d better store up on the burgers while we’re here, huh?”

Mike took another sip of beer. “If you can help me find Shangri-La, then that will be better than any amount of these delicious, incredible burgers.”

Annja took another bite. “You’ve got all the help you need. You know that. Just let me enjoy my food and you can tell me all about what we’re going to be doing.”

Mike finished off his beer and leaned back. “My first order of business is ordering another burger.”

Annja stopped eating. “I thought you said you’d had your fill.”

“Well, yeah, but that was five minutes ago. I’m hungry again.”

Annja started to laugh, but then caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. The surly twosome who had eyeballed her when she’d entered the bar were maneuvering closer to where she sat.

Annja allowed her eyes to pass over them as she casually scanned the bar. Nothing about them sparked any memories. Not that that meant anything. She had been around the world enough and on too many adventures to know everyone she might have angered. The list of people who wanted her dead was probably a long one.

But she hadn’t told anyone the details of her trip. And she thought the idea that someone would know she was coming was a bit far-fetched. So if the two guys eyeing her weren’t there for her, then were they there for Mike?

“Say, Mike…”

“Yeah?”

“You aren’t in any trouble, by any chance, are you?”

“Me? No. Why?” he asked.

Annja put down the rest of her burger and wiped her hands. The two men were headed straight for their table. “Because we’re about to have guests.”

2

From deep within the recesses of the crumbling brick facade across the street, a small Nepali man known as Tuk watched the restaurant with little more than a bored expression that echoed the blandness he felt inside. He was being well paid to watch the strange and beautiful woman he’d followed from the airport, but he knew nothing as to the reason. But Tuk had learned a few important things in his life as an orphan outcast, one of which was simple—when a foreigner offers you money to watch and do little else, it is smart to accept the generous offer.

Tuk scented the air and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke on the wind, hidden just a little by the pervasive gas fumes. His eyes moved in their sockets but did little else. As far as Tuk knew, no one could see him, ensconced as he was in the depth of shadows amid the twilight.

His stature made him perfectly suited for the role of surveillance. He was thin, almost wiry, yet possessed strength in his frame. He moved quickly and could easily pass through crowds like a soft breeze and no one would ever be the wiser.

Tuk had come to Katmandu as a child. He had little memory of his life before that. All he knew was that he had no one. He assumed his family had either abandoned him or they’d been killed in an avalanche, perhaps.

Tuk had wandered down the river valleys and shallow hills of the mountain ranges until his feet carried him to the outskirts of Katmandu. From there, he managed to scrape out an existence, although it was only such by the barest of measure.