False Horizon

“What a relief,” Mike said.

The two men led them out of the Blue Note. Annja looked around but saw little chance for action. Throngs of people swelled around them and the two henchmen bracketed Mike and Annja between them. The tide of the foot traffic carried them along.

Mike whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry, I can handle Tsing.”

“Can you?”

“Sure. He’s a businessman. The last thing he wants is to spill any blood. He’d much rather make money.”

“And the map?”

“I believe it shows the true route to finding Shangri-La.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“An archivist for James Hilton.”

Annja glanced at him. “You mean the same James Hilton who wrote Lost Horizon?”

“The same.”

“But most people who read that book believed that Hilton based it on Hunza Valley in Pakistan,” she said.

Mike nodded. “Yep, and others think it’s actually in the Kunlun mountain range. But neither of those suppositions is correct.”

“And this map shows the way?”

“It’s true that Hilton visited Pakistan and particularly the Hunza Valley only a few years before Lost Horizon was published. But as for him basing the book on the area, that’s rubbish. Hilton knew what he’d discovered and didn’t wish for it to be torn apart by the curious.”

Annja saw the henchmen were steering them down a street with less traffic. They were on the outskirts of Thamel now. Ahead of them, more modern buildings loomed. They passed cell phone shops and nice restaurants.

“So, Hilton…lied?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mike said. “Throughout the early twentieth century and into the 1930s, there were many British explorers over in this region. It was a natural place to go to, given the British Empire’s India connection. Hilton and others like him made trips up to this part of the world and were fascinated by what they saw and perceived as both mystical and wondrous places.”

“So, if neither the Hunza Valley nor the Kunlun Mountains are the location, then where would it be?” Annja asked.

“That’s what the map will tell us,” Mike said. “But we need to get away from Tsing and his goons if we have any hope of discovering it.”

“Seems like Tsing is going to have a problem with that.”

“Who cares?”

Annja glanced at Mike. “I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of spending this entire trip being hunted by the likes of these two. And Tsing doesn’t sound like he’s the forgiving type.”

“He’s not.”

“So, suppose we see what he has to say before we decide to go about this in a different way?”

Mike smiled. “But if we decide to go that way?”

Annja winked. “Then it won’t be a problem.”

Mike nodded. “Good.”

The goateed man called a halt to their march. “Hold up here,” he said.

Annja paused and saw they were in front of a four-star hotel. From the circular roundabout, lush green plants shot skyward in front of the plate-glass windows. In front, several limousines pulled around.

Annja looked at their escort. “He lives in a hotel?”

“Top floor’s a penthouse,” the man responded. “But even still, we won’t tolerate any monkeying around here. Mr. Tsing owns the hotel and doesn’t want his guests disturbed.”

“Ever the gracious host,” Annja said.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” The man nudged her forward. “Walk into the lobby and head for the elevators. Remember we’re right behind you.”

Annja and Mike entered the hotel lobby. In any other part of the world, they might well have appeared underdressed given their immediate environment. But in Katmandu, they looked like any other well-heeled adventurous couple. And no one paid any attention.

Behind them, the henchmen came up close.

Annja and Mike stepped into the hotel elevators and waited as the men joined them. The goateed man stepped inside and slid a special key into the lock. Instantly, the doors slid shut, mirrored panels casting their reflections back. The huge men faced Annja and Mike.

“Won’t be long now. Mr. Tsing has just finished another business meeting so I don’t think you’ll have to wait.”

Annja felt the sudden sensation of her stomach dropping as the elevator shot skyward. Numbers flashed and she realized they were going much higher than she expected.

At last the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The goateed man nodded. “Out.”

Annja and Mike stepped onto a plush red carpet that muffled their footsteps. The dim light made her squint to make out the massive pair of oak doors in front of her.

“Mr. Tsing has an aversion to bright lights,” the man said. “He prefers the level of illumination always be kept dim to save his eyesight.”

“You guys wear night vision in here?” Annja asked. “It’s ridiculous how little I can see.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother Mr. Tsing,” the goateed man said.

“Well, as long as there’s that,” Annja said. She looked at Mike. “Have you been here before?”

“Nope. My meetings with Tsing always took place at his restaurant.”

The goateed man grunted. “Mr. Tsing uses the hotel for his most important meetings.”

“Guess I didn’t rate,” Mike said.

“Apparently,” Annja muttered.

The big henchman knocked once on the door, his knuckles creating a massive boom that echoed for a moment before dying in the artificial twilight. He looked back at Annja and Mike. “Behave yourselves when we go in.”