Then he felt it.
His fingers clearly dipped into the middle of the rock.
It wasn’t a deep indentation, but certainly too specific to be caused by natural erosion. Once he’d cleared it of leaves and petals, he placed the base of the Arcane Stone into the groove.
The stem sunk perfectly into it and the device locked.
“Now what?” Tom asked.
“Now, we wait for the sun to rise.”
At precisely 5:05 the sun came over the mountain.
Sam stared through the looking glass.
Instantly the orange glow of the sunlight moved from where it shone on the first mountain to midway up the third — Kangchenjunga.
Sam took a GPS Laser Pointer and marked the location on the mountain.
“Well, Tom. There’s our mountain.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s go inform our guides that they’re helping us climb the world’s most lethal mountain.”
An hour later, Sam found the two guides sitting by the helicopter. Dmitri, their pilot, was asleep in the cockpit.
“Lakpa, we’ve picked our mountain.”
“Good. Which one?”
“Kangchenjunga.”
“Kangchenjunga? And what year would you like to climb?”
“This. Starting today, to be exact.”
The man laughed, and then stopped suddenly. “You are serious?”
“Yes. How long will it take?”
“A week,” Lakpa said. Then, turning to speak to his father, who, he advised them, was the best climber in all the Himalayas.
The two conversed in their native tongue. A short, fast, discussion.
“My father says you are both very brave. And must be great climbers to even consider such a mountain. Where have you climbed previously?”
“You can tell him that we have climbed extensively through the Dolomite Mountain Ranges — last season to be exact.”
Lakpa spoke with his father and then back to them.
“My father says the Dolomite Mountains are excellent for technical skills, but you need endurance as well as skills to climb Kangchenjunga.”
Sam grinned.
He wasn’t about to tell his new found admirer that his recent climbing experience, in its entirety involved a three-day weekend hike along the Via Ferrata, or iron stairway, in Italy while searching for The Magdalena — a Jewish airship lost while escaping Nazi Germany.
“You can tell him that Tom and I are exceedingly fit people. We may not be the greatest climbers that your father has ever set eyes on, but we have stamina and a purpose for a climb that will drive us to succeed where others have failed.”
“My father says you speak like a true Tiger. But only a Jackal takes money from a fool.”
“Then tell him that he will be a very rich Jackal, because I have a lot to give, and a purpose that necessitates climbing that mountain. I have to find an ancient temple that I hope will provide answers that may save my friend’s life.”
Pemba faced Sam, and spoke in perfect English. “I will take you up the Kangchenjunga. But when you fail, I will not risk my life, nor the lives of my men, trying to save your stupid self. Is that agreed?”
“Yes, perfectly.” Sam laughed. “You speak English?”
“I’ve been guiding English people over these mountains since I was eight years old. Of course I speak bloody English. I only pretend ignorance, because I can’t stand to speak to tourists. But you, I see, are seeking the ancient archives of Atlantis.”
Tom opened his mouth to speak and then stopped himself, unable to find the right words.
Sam said, “So, you know about Atlantis?”
“Of course I do. My people once descended from there.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Tsoka Monastery was perched at 12,000 feet and nearing the end of the Goecha La Route. Kanchenjunga stood proud behind them, surrounded by other majestic snow-covered mountains.
Sam shook Dmitri’s hand and said, “We’ll give you a call in a few months for our return flight.”
“No problem. I will be waiting for it. Have you decided on a mountain to climb?”
“No,” Sam lied. “At this stage we’re going to hike the Goecha La Route and acclimatize with the plan to summit one of these mountains before the end of the climbing season.”
“Good luck.”
After the helicopter left, the small party began its long walk toward Kanchenjanga. They had more altitude to make up before they reached the place where they would climb. Pemba had told them both it would be impossible to climb the mountain without at least a week to acclimatize.
Sam had protested that he had no intention of reaching the summit. Only about one third of the way up. Even so, Pemba have provided him with the ultimatum — “Hike in or find another guide.” And so, they began their journey.
It took them through a thick rhododendron forest, and fir, festooned with lichen and moss, which gave it a truly magical air. At Phedang they passed a large grassy clearing surrounded by large purple rhododendrons.
Several hours into the journey, Pemba and Lapka led by hundreds of feet. Tom trailed only just behind Sam, not because he couldn’t keep up, but instead because he was enjoying the magnificence of his environment. The Clematis Montana, with its typical purple flowers, encapsulated the mountainside.
Tom caught up with Sam. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s beautiful here.”
“Not about the place.” Tom looked up ahead at their guides. “About them?”
“They seem competent so far.”
“No. What do you make of their story about descending from Atlantis?”
“I believe them. How else would they know about it? We hadn’t told them anything about why we wanted to climb Kanchenjanga.”
Tom looked concerned. “What about their looks? They don’t even look German.”
“Who said that the people of Atlantis were the great ancestors of Germany?”
“Hitler did, when he sent Himmler to go in search of the perfect Aryan bloodline.”
“Hitler said a lot of things that weren’t true when he was driving his propaganda machine. You don’t think he was going to say, ‘Hey, here’s another race who were exceptional. They look nothing like us, but they were really clever.”’
“Fair point. I just assumed because we found the Arcane Stone in the Dutch National Archives…”
Sam began explaining. “Neolithic tools found in the Kathmandu Valley indicate that people have been living in the Himalayan region for at least eleven thousand years. Coincidence?”
“Are you saying these simple folk are descendants of Atlantis?”
“It’s unlikely,” Sam mused. “But then again. Even you must admit that the coincidence is uncanny. And it just so happens that the oldest known population layer is believed to be represented by the Kusunda people. Do you know where the highest population of Kusunda live?”
“Let me guess. Somewhere in the Five Treasures of Snow?”
“Right you are!”
“So, if these were truly descendants of the ancient people of Atlantis… one question… what happened to them? I mean, look at them. They’re simple mountain people. Living lives which have barely changed in the last 11,000 years. Don’t you think if they came from a master race that had significant powers and technologies back 11,000 years ago, wouldn’t they be living at the top of the world?”
Sam looked around. “They kind of are.”
“No, you know what I mean. If some disaster struck America and only a small portion of the population survived… those who did survive, their descendants wouldn’t be living in huts!”
“Wouldn’t they?”
“’Course not.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ve come from a civilization that knows about internal plumbing, smartphones, cars! We would be doing just fine.”