Chapter 23
IF Mary Joe was to lay her hands on the treaty that was hidden in the Potala and then make a successful get-away it was necessary that she should be able to enter and leave the palace unobserved. She had given a lot of thought to this problem. The best way was to somehow stay back overnight in the palace, complete the job in hand, and then leave the next evening along with the rest of the staff in the routine way. If she could manage to stay back in the evening without attracting the notice of the security staff, it would give her the entire night to explore the palace and find the treaty. This was difficult because tokens were issued to the staff when they came in to work and these had to be deposited at the entrance counter before leaving the building at closing time. Still it could be done, if for example one of the tourists agreed to be an accomplice. It was a long shot but not impossible.
Now however, there was no time for enlisting outside support or elaborate preparation. She knew that she could not hope to deceive Yao much longer. He had seen through her cover. It is true that he had nothing definite to go on, but he was suspicious and she couldn't go on playing on his lust to buy time indefinitely. The game would be up once she was taken to the detention centre on the Chagpori hill or the PSB basement. Being a professional she realized that the capacity of the human body to withstand torture is limited, notwithstanding the myths of popular fiction. If ever the Chinese interrogators got their hands on her, it would be only a matter of time before they got the details of the mission out of her. If therefore she wanted to break into the palace, she had to do in now. It was now or never.
So what options did she have given the fact that she had only about six hours of darkness left, in which to complete her mission? She knew that the Potala was a massive building and must have many underground passages and secret entrances, but her informants had not been able to tell her of any, nor had she, in her hurried attempts to explore the palace discovered any such entrance. There was no time now to look for such a passage. She could think of climbing over the walls; the western wing had low walls which seemed easier to scale but it was too far from the town to give her the time to make the attempt after completing a circuit of several miles. Going around the Potala would take time, leaving no margin for her to break in, get her hands on the treaty and then make good her escape. There was nothing for it but to go in for a frontal assault.
The main entrance to the Potala palace is approached by a long flight of steps from the bottom of the Marpori hill. The steps go straight up towards the palace for three fourths of the way, then turn left to lead to the fortified gateway, which is set into bastions built at an angle of ninety degrees to the north south axis of the building. Guards are posted at the guardhouse near the base of the steps and at the fortified gateway on top which is kept locked at night. To the east of the steps is open ground over which is possible to climb up towards the entrance gateway, provided one first gets over the low wall at the base of the Marpori hill which runs around the entire palace complex.
Mary Joe's plan was to climb to the top of the steps using this open ground, knock out the guards at the gateway, use there keys to open the gates, and after completing her task, to come back the same way. It sounded simple but it wasn't quite as simple as that. First she had to get to the top of the steps without being detected. The open ground petered out some way short of the top. This meant that she would have to complete the final ascent by walking up the steps, right under the nose of the guards. If she could reach the top without being seen, she would then have to silence not one guard but two, both of whom were armed with Chinese built lightweight 5.6mm automatic rifles, capable of firing a hundred rounds per minute. Assuming that she could do this successfully, she would then have to tie and gag the guards and get the keys of the main gate from them. She would then have to place them where they couldn't be seen from the guardhouse at the bottom of the hill. She would further have to hope that no one came up or called during the time that she would need to spend inside the palace. The guardhouse and the gateway were linked by telephone. If someone called from the guardhouse and did not receive any answer he would come up to investigate. If this happened the game was up. So it wasn't quite as simple as it seemed, in fact not simple at all. Still, it was her only chance and she was going to take it.
Scrambling over the low wall at the base was no problem at all. She slipped over the wall and went forward swiftly using the shelter of the tall reeds and grasses that grew rankly all over the waterlogged ground that surrounded the ornamental lake. Going around the group of outhouses and barracks at the bottom of the hill, she reached the slope that led up the hill. To her west was the flight of steps leading up the entrance gate. Half way up the hill these steps made a right angle turn to the left and then went up for about a hundred feet to reach the platform before the gate. Mary Joe kept the steps on her left and climbed quickly over the gently sloping ground.
The base of the Potala palace consists of several short lateral extensions. These are short squat structures, only three or four stories high and placed over each other like gigantic building blocks. Their windows are placed high up in the building, the lower portions being sheer sided walls that slope inwards and have no opening of any kind in their blank and featureless expanse. Where the flight of steps turns right is one such building and the steps that go up to the top run under the forbidding southern wall of this building. If one continues up the hill, instead of turning right towards the steps, it is possible, though not easy, to gain access to the roof of this building from the back where the rising hillside approaches it more closely. This roof runs like a catwalk above and alongside the steps and ends just a few short of the platform at the top.
Flitting silently from the shadow of one sage bush to another, Mary Joe reached the back of this building and clambered on to the roof. Once on the top she lay prone on her face, listening and regaining her breath. The flat top of the roof was brilliantly lit up by the moon. On the north side of the roof were the soaring walls of another wing of the palace, on the south side, about twenty feet below the roof was the flight of steps. The only bit of cover was a narrow band of shadow about two feet wide at the base of the upward rising walls. The roof narrowed to a ledge about a foot wide as it reached the head of the steps-the catwalk spoken of earlier.
Rising from her prone position with infinite caution and tip-toeing to the base of the walls, she crept forward along the wall, using the thin ribbon of shadow to hide herself. The moon was moving slowly up in the cloudless sky and in a little while it would be high enough to light up the scene completely. The small band of shadow would disappear, and along with it her only chance of reaching up to the top of the steps. She remembered the cloudy skies of her native Vermont. A pity that Tibetan skies were always so clear and intense. She thought of all the weapons that she had used during her training, throwing knives, blowpipes, guns with silencers, all the deadly arsenal of silent killers. None of these were available. She had to depend on her own body, her own speed and skill.
As she reached the catwalk she saw the moon rising over the wireless antennae of the Chinese detention centre on Chagpori hill. It was only a matter of minutes now when the brilliant wash of vitreous light would reach her, leaving her completely exposed on her ledge.
The wind was blowing furiously, as it usually does in these latitudes. Sheltering from the wind, the guards were lolling in the shadow of the gates, avoiding the exposed front portion of the platform. A small stone rolled down the steps, its noise clearly audible over the sound of the wind. The guards heard the sound but did not get up from their sheltered position. The Potala is an old building, it is not unusual for pieces of Plaster and masonry to come crashing down from the roof. But then there was a clearly audible whistle. It seemed to come from somewhere down the steps. One of the guards got up to investigate. He shuffled down the steps, reluctantly to leave his shelter and walk into the fierce wind. He had only walked about twenty steps when a shadowy from dropped down on him from the catwalk, noiseless as a cat One arm went around his neck, choking the cry that was forming in his mind. An elbow rammed into his ribs, knocking his breath out of him. The last thing the guard remembered was a chopping blow on the back of his neck. Then he lost consciousness and went limp in the arms of his assailant.
The other guard unmindful of the fate of his comrade went on smoking. He sat on a small stone parapet under the great portals, enjoying his smoke, the cigarette end glowing like a cyclopean eye in the gloom. Then he heard his companion returning.
"So what did you find comrade? What was it that made the noise.?"
But there was no reply. Clearly there was something wrong. It was then he realized that this wasn't his companion. It was in fact a girl She had a gun in her hand, his friend's carbine no doubt, and the muzzle was pointing straight at him.
"All right then, now drop your gun and put your hands up", said the girl, and she sounded as though she meant business. The guard had in any case no intention of disobeying a command that was reinforced with the barrel end of an automatic carbine. He put his hands up meekly.
"Now turn your face to the wall and keep your hands raised!" Again the guard did as he was told. He never saw the blow that knocked him cold. Mary Joe now took out a long length of nylon cord that she carried with her and tied up both the guards hand and foot. Gagging them was more difficult as she had no tape with her. The cord had to do double duty, therefore. She searched for a suitable gag, then decided to use the long silken scarf which she wore. She tore the scarf into two pieces, stuffing them into the mouths of the guards. The nylon cord bit deep into their cheeks as she tied up the gags, but there was no help for it. Having tied and gagged both the soldiers she dragged their still unconscious bodies into the shadows.
The next thing was to find the keys of the gates. There was a small postern within the huge wooden gates, barred and padlocked. The big gate was locked as well, but to open it would be cumbersome and make a lot of noise which Mary Joe wanted to avoid. Her plan was to open the smaller gate to secure entry into the palace. She found the bunch of keys in one of the guards' pockets. One by one she tried each of the keys and on her third attempt the key turned in the lock and the gate was finally open. Shutting the gate carefully behind her, she stepped gingerly over the threshold.
After walking through a long dark passage, she found herself in the forecourt of the palace. The enormous pile of the Red Palace towered over her. To its right was the massive bulk of the White Palace, her destination, and to its left were the soaring walls of the eastern wing, no less imposing than the other buildings, but a little lower than the other two palaces. The whole building was bathed in the white radiance of the moon, which made the whitewashed walls of the palace look more dazzlingly white and intensified the darkness of the shadows to a solemn blackness.
She walked through the corridors of the Red Palace, now almost in complete darkness. She was trained to use her visual memory to locate objects in the dark and to find her way through unlit passages, benighted buildings and terrain, once she had been over them during the day, and she had been through the corridors of the Potala, not once but a hundred times. Every twist and turn in the corridors had imprinted itself on her memory and she could find her way through the building blindfolded, if need be. She was helped by the moonlight which seemed to find its way into the corridors through the casements, many of which were unshuttered.
As she hurried through the corridors she heard faintly the sound of whistles being blown and some sort of commotion, far below. So the guards had been found. Some one must have phoned from the guardhouse and getting no reply; come up to investigate. Or maybe they changed the guards every few hours and the new shift had come up to take its place and found the trussed up guards. Soon the entire perimeter of the palace would be swarming with soldiers. But it was too late to do anything about it now. She had to complete her task and find a way out of the palace without getting caught.
After walking through miles of corridors, she came at last to the padlocked door that led to the lower wing of the White Palace. This was where the keys she had picked up from Yao's room would come in handy. The old brass padlock with its semicircular iron hasp was inscribed with Tibetan hieroglyphs. She tried a large brass key with a similarly inscribed hoop and it fitted into the lock. The imposing doors, bearing the seal of the Dalai Lama were at last open and she found herself within the forbidden portion of the White Palace which contained the treaty that she had come so far to recover.
She went down two flights of steps, as she had been told, turning into the corridor on the third floor from the top. On one side of the corridor was a row of doors exactly like the other floors, but on the other side, the side that contained rooms that looked out over the ramparts, there were only three doors set widely apart. The second door was set exactly in the middle of the long corridor and it was this door that she had to enter. This was a door that was framed by an elaborately decorated frieze. The gilded mouldings on top of the door were supported by carved consoles, and on the golden band over the lintel was engraved the emblem of the Buddhist faith, the wheel framed by two hinds. This was obviously a room of some importance.
Mary Joe tried the brass door handle but the door was locked. One by one she tried all the keys that she had with her, but none of them fitted in the door lock. Removing one of the long hairpins which she wore in her hair, she slipped it into the lock. Her trained fingers expertly manipulated the long pin, seeking out the contours of the levers within. Her mentors at the agency had trained her well. Within a few minutes of her manipulations the lock yielded with a decisive click.
Gingerly she opened the door, peering into a long dark room which was lit faintly by the spectral light of the moon filtering through its many windows. It took a while for her eyes to get used to crepuscular light, but once she was accustomed to it, she could see well enough. In fact she soon found that the room was actually quite well lit compared to the gloom of the passage outside.
She saw that she was in a room that was a library of sorts. There were book shelves lining the wall on the side of the door. There were reading tables and chairs. The room was nonetheless richly furnished. Heavy brocade curtains hung from the high ceiling and there was a lot of bric-a-brac scattered all over the room, gilt statues, porcelain vases, elaborately framed pictures and gorgeous wall hangings. If this was a library, its use must have been restricted to important personages. Mary Joe walked over to one of the windows. It was set high up in the wall, so that she had to stand on tip toe to peer out. The windows looked out over the city of Lhasa, now in darkness, save the Chinese quarter to the west where the glow of neon could still be seen. The natives of Lhasa it seemed, still did not enjoy the luxury of electric lighting.
The commotion that she had heard earlier was getting louder. She could hear voices, raised in animated conversation. Whoever was looking for her was getting closer. There was no time to lose. She walked about the room carefully looking at the numerous statues that were placed on tables and mantles. She found the statue that she was looking for at the far end of the room. Reposing on a high shelf was a golden statue of Padamsambhava. She recognized the figure immediately. The slanting beams of moonlight fell flush on the idol and its golden tints glowed softly in the pallid light. The founder of Tibetan Buddhism, sat in his characteristic lotus pose, the eyes gazing out fearlessly, the rakish moustache curling up defiantly, his expression challenging yet reassuring, and a half smile playing on his lips. It was said that it was he who subdued the demons that were opposed to the coming of the true faith to Tibet. It was his prowess as a magician, his mastery of the occult lore of Tantra which vanquished the challenge posed to the new faith by the Bonpoba, the druidical priests of the ancient faith of Tibet. OM mani padme hum, the mantra that is chanted night and day by pious Buddhists all over Tibet, is his mantra celebrating his mystical emergence from a giant lotus flower. It was thus Padamsambhava, the great Lobon Rimpoche, who set the wheel of dharma rolling in the land of Tibet, and he has been revered by the Tibetans ever since as the greatest of their spiritual masters.
Going up to the statue, Mary Joe pressed the single large amethyst set in the crown. A panel at the back of statue opened out. Putting her hand in, she drew out a tightly rolled parchment tied up with a red ribbon. There was no need for her to unroll the parchment and read the document. Mary Joe knew that she held in her hand the secret treaty that could change the fate of Tibet.
She could hear her pursuers now, talking loudly somewhere above her. It would only be a matter of time before someone came down to this room looking for her. She thought briefly about hiding herself in the library and slipping out during the day to mingle with the rest of staff. It was possible that she would be able to slip out of the White Palace without attracting notice. It was possible but unlikely. The Chinese were nothing if not thorough. They would look into each room of the Palace. This may take time, but they would do it all the same. They would also seal all the exits to make sure she could not get out of the Palace. They would place guards all over the Potala. They had no shortage of manpower after all. Esacape would become more difficult, the more it was delayed. If she was to ger away, she had to do it now.
And if she was to do it now, there was only one way. She quickly tore down the long brocade curtains and tied them up in one long rope. From the window of the library it was a drop of about a hundred feet to the flat roof of one of the wings that lay over the outer ramparts. Five of the curtains, knotted up should do the trick. Once she landed on the roof of this outlying wing, she would find some way of jumping down into the heavy cover. that came up right to the base of the building. From there she could make her way into the town of Lhasa and take shelter with Norbu. It all sounded very simple in theory. There was only one snag. When she hung out of the window and went down her makeshift rope she would be clearly visible in the bright moonlight. To any observer on the ground she would look like a giant bat crawling down the white walls of the palace. And there were sure to be many observers on the ground.
Still this was a risk she had to take. She tied the knotted curtains to the legs of a massive console table and started to climb out of the window. Keeping one end of the rope between her locked knees and feet, she used her hands to climb down. The walls of the White Palace dropped down sheer to the roof of the outer wing at its base. The wind buffeted her as she dangled from the rope and the moonlight made her feel pitilessly exposed on the bare white expanse of the wall as she went down slowly, one hand-hold at a time. She would be a sitting duck for any sharp-shooter standing below. She fervently hoped no one would see her. However if something can go wrong it normally does. The young captain of the guards as he stood looking at the Palace from the guardhouse at the base of the hill, saw a spider like figure emerge from one of the windows of the palace and begin its descent down the walls. It could only mean one thing. He estimated that he was about half a mile away from the remote west wing of the Palace. He alerted his troops on the hand-held wireless set that he used and started to run towards the west wing.
