The Yeti Quotient

By P.J. Allen

Finally, two humanitarian scientists, Drs. Maggie James and Jangbu Tong, have developed the fountain of youth by slightly altering and augmenting a plant growing naturally in northeast Nepal. The properties in the plant have the potential to prevent diseases, even those caused by deadly viruses, improve the quality of life for the sick, and turn back the clock for the elderly. It’s a win, win . . . Or is it? As news of the miracle plant is leaked by an enthusiastic Peace Corps volunteer, envy, greed, and power take over, by way of a merchant herbalist, politicians, bankers, and their lobbyists. As these interests collide, the United States and China are pitted against each other, and both must face Nepali Gurkhas, provoking an international incident that will decide whether a health miracle will be available to all, or sold for record profits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728323206

P.J. Allen

P.J. Allen lives and writes in Frederick, MD. She earned a Ph.D. in Communication from Florida State University and works to promote education and health in developing countries in Asia, Eastern Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. Allen is also a licensed acupuncturist. Lies Beneath Ellicott City is her third novel, following the publication of Deadly Untruths, a political thriller, and The Yeti Quotient, a mystery. Her next novel depicts paranormal investigations by the Dulany Team in historic Frederick, MD.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Memsahib, you will do best to find a Gurkha to serve as your Sherpa to help you to the village, the stocky, rather short but handsome older man said in his lilting Nepali-English. The two were standing in his small shop on a dusty street in the middle of Kathmandu. The noise from the constant honking was so loud, she could hardly hear him. I have just the person for you, he added with a glint in his eye. His name is Dhana. He is the one for you. I will call for him, he said eagerly.

Wait, Maggie said, holding up her hand. First, what is a Gurkha? she asked innocently, wondering if her colleague who had suggested this travel shop had been here recently. It seemed so … unsophisticated.

Ah, Memsahib, you do not know? Gurkhas are the most fearless, most proud, most loyal, most courageous, he continued, … most gentle, he now added, smiling … and yet, he said, pausing to think, … also the most cheerful. You will see.

But …

Boy, he yelled suddenly, motioning to a young boy loitering in a nearby alley. The boy came running. He was wearing a tattered tee-shirt and shorts that were at least two sizes too big, Maggie noticed. His face and hands were almost as dirty as his bare feet. The man gave the instructions while he pointed with his pursed lips to the left. He waved his hand in the same direction. The little boy, whose eyes were so large they took up most of his small round face, grinned largely and went running off in the same direction. The man, who had introduced himself to Maggie as Gopal, turned back to her and smiled again, motioning for her to sit on the tiny stool in his shop, which butted up against the congested street. Tea? he asked, as he reached for the metal pot on the small burner.

No, thank you, Maggie replied, looking a bit skeptical.

Tea, the man said, handing it to her.

She took the cup. It smelled delicious. Thank you. Please tell me more about the Gurkhas, she asked politely, shooing away the flies.

I will gladly, Gopal said enthusiastically. But I can only do so by telling you a story.

Maggie nodded okay. She sipped the tea. It tasted as good as it smelled.

There was once a small boy who lived in a village far from Kathmandu. It was to the west, someplace you may someday visit, he added, smiling again. This small boy was born to the Gurung tribe.

Maggie looked confused.

Do not worry, Memsahib. You will become accustomed to the sound of our language, over time, the astute Gopal commented.

Suddenly, multiple drivers began honking as a cow, sacred to the Hindu nation, entered the nearby intersection and lay down. Maggie couldn’t believe it. Gopal ignored it and continued, as did the honking. Drivers going in opposite directions began swerving into each others’ lanes as they tried to bypass the nonchalant bovine.

"The young boy went to bed hungry every night. He didn’t think it was fair, but he had become accustomed to the ache in his belly, ever since he could remember. He thought each day when he awakened that maybe today would be the day that his parents would feed him more, especially if he did his chores better and faster. His major responsibility was to collect wood from the valley below. It took him over two hours every day to descend into the forest and another hour to chop the most available limbs from the trees. Three hours later he would return to his mother’s small kitchen with the wood for cooking the rice. But the day never came. There was just never going to be enough for all seven of them, him and his four sisters and his parents. All of them were hungry. As he grew a bit older, he began to feel guilty for wanting more than the others were able to have, and so he shrugged off his family’s plight and promised himself that he would be better, he would somehow be the one, although he had no idea how, to improve his family’s lot in life.

More tea, Memsahib? Gopal asked, interrupting himself.

Yes, please, Maggie replied quickly, wanting him to continue.

When he was eight he was allowed to join the men around the fire at night, which was a customary rite for boys of similar age in his village. This is when he began hearing stories about who he was, his tribe the Gurungs, and the practice of becoming a Gurkha.

Maggie interjected. So they are like Ninjas?

What? Gopal asked, looking quizzical.

Maggie realized how stupid she sounded and said meekly, Never mind.

Over time, a whole new world was opened to this young boy’s eyes. He heard of people from his tribe, men who had been hired away to provide military service to both a country called England and a country called India. These men were trained in cutting-edge military tactics and worked with other men who were also Gurkhas, but from other tribes. The men became comrades, working together to defend those who had hired them all over the world. They were highly respected, and they earned a great deal of money, a new word for the young boy, provided to them for the rest of their lives. So far, no one from his village had been selected. And what exactly was it that England and India were looking for in Gurkha characteristics, the discussion had continued. They wanted the best and the brightest, those young men who were physiologically, psychologically, and mentally capable of taking on the defense of their countries. One of these criteria came naturally to Gurkhas—hard work. The boy learned that the hard work they all engaged in every day at eight thousand feet and above made them some of the strongest, stockiest men alive. He had never thought about it, but suddenly this young boy was looking at the other men and noticing their muscles. Reactively, he looked to see if he had them, too. He could see the beginnings. By the time he was nine, following all of the discussion around the fire, this young boy had decided he would do everything in his power to be hired by England or India. Now, every day was just another chink in his plan to make it. He considered his chores his training, and he considered putting up with the chores and putting up with the poverty to be building blocks for his character.

At this point a person walked into the shop to buy a trekking map. Gopal returned eventually, smiling again at Maggie. Now where was I? he asked.

The little boy’s training, Maggie quickly replied, eager to hear more.

Yes, yes, Gopal said, nodding. Sure enough, just like the men had said, at some point, when the boy was around seventeen years of age, the rumor spread through the village that the English people were recruiting from their region. The boy, now nearly a young man, along with all of the teenage boys in the village, prepared to go to the site to see if they could be selected. They found out it was taking place in a town called Pokhara. The night before they were leaving for Pokhara, the boys’ village held a festival for all of the potential candidates to wish them good luck. The young man had never seen so much food, and so much fun. Later, his parents gave him gifts for good fortune. His mother had made him a sweater, and his father had provided him with a pendant that had been passed down through the generations. The little boy, who was now a handsome young man, was overjoyed.

Both Maggie and Gopal were distracted momentarily when three street boys ran to the intersection and tried to push the cow to make her move, but nothing happened. Then the drivers started yelling at the boys, since they were now part of the problem. A rickshaw driver actually charged at them, trying to physically move them. Eventually, the three gave up. Gopal looked at Maggie and shrugged. It was a good attempt, he said, chuckling slightly. More tea?

No, thank you, Maggie immediately replied, wishing he would get back to the story.

Let’s see, he began, "… ah yes, so the young man and six others left the next morning and walked for five days. When he reached Pokhara, he was shocked at what he saw: lights, cars, roads, vegetables on the side of the street, and so many huge animals, cows and pigs and water buffalos, more than he had ever seen at one time, milling all over the place. He could not close his mouth, it was so astounding.

"Then he reached the recruitment center. Hundreds of young men were already hanging around. It was truly intimidating. The next day, the examinations began. What an experience. The young man was measured and weighed and poked at and then tested over and over again; tested for speed, tested for strength, tested for stamina and endurance. Though he was dead tired from the activities and the tests, he had never eaten so well.

But the day the selection was to be made the young man could not keep his food down. He was so anxious that he could barely hear the announcement of names. As men started to cry when they were picked, and when they were not, he began to focus. Then his name was called out. He could not believe it. He had been selected. His ears were buzzing, his whole body shook, and he too began to cry. The tears were unstoppable. Gopal Pradesh had made it.

Maggie looked at Gopal when she realized what she had just heard. She began to smile, and Gopal smiled back.

How long ago was that? she asked.

Too long for me to take you to the village, Gopal replied, laughing loudly. Ah, here comes Dhana, he said, looking up at the young boy holding a man’s hand as he led him to the shop.

Dhana, meet Maggie. She is preparing to begin a journey.

PART I

1

"What you mean you decided to kill him?" Chen demanded of the young woman, in his broken English.

She immediately appeared to become less arrogant and a tad submissive, given the tone of his question. You would have done the same, Grandfather, she replied, still not thoroughly intimidated. Ganesh was threatening to go back to Kathmandu, to gather together a gang of thugs to come up and decimate the village. I didn’t think that’s how you wanted to handle this. What choice did I have? she asked flippantly.

The ancient man rocked in his old bamboo chair, silently agreeing, but disapproving of her demeanor. The two of them were in his office. As he observed Luli, sitting in the desk chair with her long, slim, but muscular legs stretched out on his oak desk, twirling her shiny black hair between her fingers as she gazed at the world map on the wall, he reflected on her behavior. He was glad she had such self-esteem, but unhappy about how headstrong she was. She was too young to be so . . . so . .  . what word did people use now, he tried to recall, … ah yes, so cockeee, he thought.

Finally he spoke, slowly. People find him, know it was you, simply by association. You cannot go back to continue effort now, Chen stated, steely faced.

They will not, Grandfather! Luli argued back, dogmatically. I am not stupid. I tied a big rock to his foot. He is at the bottom of the river, never to surface again.

Ahhhha, the man said, thinking how that was not a foolproof technique by any means. His granddaughter had seen too many movies. Too much western influence, he thought glumly.

Tell me again about plants. They are what we were told they are?

Yes, Grandfather, Luli replied, becoming animated. Yes. We found the doctor, and he told us that they have good soil that creates plants that keep the people in his village healthy.

He tell you this without forcing him?

Of course not, Luli responded, offended. She was the type of passive-aggressive, know-it-all, gotchya person who did not like to be questioned or challenged. I made up a good story about finding ways to share the river between China, Nepal, and Tibet. I’m a good storyteller, Grandfather, she added slyly, twirling her hair again.

What happened to doctor cum scientist?

He is okay. I beat him up, is all. No matter what I did, he would not tell us where the plants grow. I explained to him that I should kill him, since he would not cooperate with me, but that I will be back. He is to tell his village that they will suffer a worse fate than him if they do not cooperate upon my return. And I let him know that we would be kind and generous with our request and needs, as you told me, Grandfather, she said glibly, smiling slyly.

Chen sighed. He had to admit that she was good. He loved her so much. She had obviously set the stage for their mission. He knew before he sent her there that the scientist would not voluntarily acquiesce to their request. All in all, the outcome was acceptable … so far.

Now, however, upon first hearing of her efforts and the murder, and looking at the photos she had taken of the village and its surroundings, he had had to devise another plan. He laid it out for her after some minutes of contemplation, whereby he could visually observe her impatience. Okay, listen, he demanded. I not believe you can be seen there again, no matter how convinced you are. We must take advantage of number one opportunity now. Big festival in that village coming soon, very soon. You must go back, go quick, stay hidden. For three days and nights, village people occupied with festivities. You must find plant plot during that time. Look here, he said, pointing his gnarled finger to the horizon in the photo. Did you look there? Luli shook her head no, seemingly disappointed. Look there next time, hills there, means maybe caves and cool water, maybe more cool, maybe good for plant growing. Now, do you think … can you do it alone? You must sleep without shelter, on land, and never, never be seen; we must avoid trouble, not attract it.

Of course, Grandfather, Luli replied with confidence. You ask such silly questions. It will be no problem. If I did not have Ganesh with me, I could have succeeded. He was necessary only as a guide. I know now how to get to the village. I returned home alone, in the dark, didn’t I?

Yes, he replied resignedly. Yes, you did. Suddenly, he was very tired. Now, Luli, please leave me. I need rest.

She hopped up, went over to him and bowed, and then turned and practically skipped out of the room.

The behavior, once again, appalled him. She was so impertinent! And yet he cared so much for her. She was made out of the same mold that he was, and he really respected that mold, he had to acknowledge. Now, her future, her success and his, would depend on all of his hard work to educate her. Their future should not be as arbitrary as a fortune cookie reading, he thought somberly, but then he wondered what had really happened at the village, and if there would be bad karma because of it.

2

Screaming frantically, Maggie continued to slide down the precipice, more alarmed than ever. Now she felt herself start to careen off the path toward the ledge. She tried desperately to maintain a hold on any of the vegetation that was rapidly passing her by, but none of it was sturdy enough. Everything she touched just flew out of the thin, damp soil. She tried digging her heels in just as Dhana grabbed the top of her backpack, jerking her into reverse. The nylon straps dug into her armpits as she spun around on her hips, coming to a halt with her feet and calves hanging over the edge. Oh my God, Dhana, thank you. Thank you, she repeated, panting in between gasps for air as she lay on the damp ground. The wet trail had simply become too steep and smooth. They had both slipped at the same time. Why? Why do I do this? Why?

Because you nice researcher wanting to visit scientist friend, Jangbu, right? Dhana replied in his halting English, as he extended a hand to her. He was already standing, calmly brushing himself off as she lay there shaking, her breathing still shallow due to both the fall and high altitude. The two were trekking in Nepal, in the northeastern region, heading to a small village called the Village of Light in English. It was located near the Tibetan border.

Yes, I suppose so. Yes, that’s it, she said, as he helped to pull her upright. She brushed what mud and leafy debris she could off her knees and elbows and then leaned down to pull up her socks, whereupon she plucked a leech off her right ankle. A smudgy red spot remained where it had been feasting, joining other such splotches on her ankles and legs. Leeches she could take; narrow mountain paths and heights were not her strong suit, however, and she’d had just about enough.

How much further, Dhana? The strong, sinewy man looked up at the sky and out toward the foothills. The woman noticed that, while he was wearing the hiking watch she had given him during her last visit, he never even glanced at it.

We get there by dark, maybe. You ready, Memsahib? he asked in the same breath.

What choice do I have, Dhana? You’re the Sherpa, I’m just the employer, and out here, I have no leverage whatsoever, she said, joking. He looked at her quizzically and then started off. Either he didn’t understand her attempt to make light of their situation, or he understood it perfectly but didn’t find it funny. The bottom line was that they had to get to their destination before nightfall, because there were no places to set up camp. He had told her this when they had mapped out the trip.

Last day, big deal, he’d said. Big push to reach village.

At the time it had been easy to say, Yes, let’s do it, Maggie recalled. The revised routing had shortened her travel time by two precious days; days she needed in order to more thoroughly observe and discuss Jangbu’s findings. She just hoped they would make it before dark, or the next time they slipped they might just keep falling.

The journey was uneventful for the next few hours as the path slowly became wider and more flat. Now that it was not so treacherous, Maggie was left to contemplate this latest trip to Nepal, her fourth over the course of the last two years. It felt good to be back. It always did. She was thrilled to be linked up with Dhana again, too.

How is your trekking business? Maggie asked, after a long period of silence. Has the unrest affected it much?

Good, Memsahib. The Gurkha network help much. Maoists back off. Now part of government. Maoists don’t want trouble with Gurkha who worked for Great Britain or India. While Dhana had spent over twenty years with the British, his mastery of the English language had never really blossomed. He could understand a lot more than he spoke, Maggie knew.

How many friends do you have from your days in the military?

Few real friend, Memsahib, but all Gurkha be friend. I know Gurkha who sail boats, who fly jets, fly copters, ride horses. All friend. All live and work in Kathmandu, in Nepal, everywhere. Most Gurkha come home after retire.

Maggie knew this last comment to be true. She figured it was like a big fraternity, a very big fraternity. It made her happy. That’s great to hear, was all she said. Dhana was always a joy to be with, and she was glad to know that his trekking business was still successful, even with the political changes.

They were in the valley now where the village was located, but it was on the opposite side of their current position. It was actually very far due to the breadth of the valley, and Maggie knew from the map that, after they left this main path to drop down to the village, it was at least another half hour’s trek. All other times she had come, they had entered from the other side. At this point, they were at approximately eight thousand feet. She could actually feel that her breathing had improved. At some point earlier, they had been as high as twelve thousand. As they trudged along in silence, it had become evident by the sun’s slanting rays that they would not reach their destination before nightfall. In fact, dusk was quickly approaching now. Dhana, it’s close to 6:00. It looks like we’re not going to make it before sunset. The man said nothing. He just kept walking, as though he hadn’t heard her. What do you propose? she asked, confident that the guide would provide a logical and sound response.

Do not know, Memsahib.

Well, that was a surprise. After a few more minutes, she decided she knew what to do. Dhana, let’s just camp on the path, she offered. It should be safe right here in the middle of it. Why don’t we just sit it out until dawn?

Too dangerous, Memsahib. Dacoits, other bad people, walk here at night, searching for innocents. Believe me, he said, pausing for a second to turn and talk. Then he started off again, and she followed. Maggie knew that when Dhana referred to dacoits he meant robbers, armed robbers. She took heed.

Not another word was spoken until it was almost too dark to see. They had made it to the drop-off point and had just begun their descent to the village, which lay a couple of miles north. Dhana turned to give her a hand. In so doing, he said, "Don’t turn flashlight on yet, make eyes even more difficult to see. Wait till pitch black."

Okay, I’ll wait for your signal then, Maggie said, thinking she already couldn’t see anything. The trail was quite narrow now, as it was used mostly by the village people, primarily the women, to get back and forth to the path she and Dhana had just left. The most they would be carrying would be branches for fire. They walked single file just as the couple was doing now. The ground was not conducive for animal carts up here where Nepal met Tibet. It was too bumpy, too narrow. Instead, people labored by hand, as their ancestors had for hundreds of years before them. The land was their life, their sustenance, and their love.

Dhana stopped so suddenly that Maggie ran into him. It was like hitting a brick wall. The man was solid muscle. And right now, not one of those muscles even twitched. He was totally rigid. His head moved slowly to the left and then right. Then with an even slower, more deliberate move, he turned to look back. In so doing he put his arm across Maggie’s upper chest and neck, wrapping his hand around her right shoulder. She felt him tense up even more. Very carefully he put pressure against her so she moved behind him.

She was scared. She’d heard nothing, but apparently he had. He continued to stand motionless, again cocking his head slightly to one side and then the other, but never taking his eyes from the trail they had just traversed. Stay, he said very quietly, as he started carefully to move back on the trail. Suddenly, he dropped to the ground in a squatting position, waiting. Within a minute or so, he had risen again. Then he turned around and returned to Maggie. "Run!" he ordered. And they did.

Maggie and Dhana continued to run the trail as best they could, jumping over roots and ducking branches. Maggie’s backpack bounced unmercifully, hitting between her shoulder blades each time she made contact with the uneven ground. Once she almost fell, but Dhana was there to stop her. She knew he was holding back for her, but she couldn’t go any faster. Her heart was pounding and her lungs were burning. All of this in the dark, with only periodic glimpses of light between the trees from the full moon, which had begun to rise but which was covered by clouds more often than not. At one point, the trail crossed a stream. There were rocks jutting out of it, which on a normal day, under normal circumstances, would have been used to keep from getting their feet wet. Now they were a hazard, difficult to see and providing the potential for a twisted ankle. After crossing the stream, though, Dhana stopped.

What? Maggie asked. Why did you stop? I can keep going, although the way she said it, in between breaths, was unimpressive.

No need, he said. No need now. Can’t follow across water.

Who can’t? Who are we running from? she asked anxiously, continuing to look back across the water.

Not who. What, Dhana said. Ghost. Bad ghost.

"What? Maggie felt betrayed, but tried to stay calm. What ghost? she asked incredulously. What do you mean ghost?"

New ghost. Evil in the air, Dhana said with conviction. Bad deed ghost.

Dhana, I don’t want to know about a ghost, Maggie said quietly. Let’s just go. I don’t understand what you’re talking about because I don’t believe in ghosts.

Dhana’s stern voice alerted Maggie to the fact that she must have crossed a line.

Not story. Ghosts real. Do not make fun. Do not disbelieve. They walk with feet turned behind, so toes trail. I have seen their prints.

She was taken aback. In all of the time she had known this fine gentleman and former soldier, she had never seen him angry. He was a Gurkha. He and his people were known throughout the world for their intelligence, loyalty, good sense of humor, and serene temperament. Never had he spoken to her in such a way. She felt confused.

He must have sensed her emotions because right then he patted her back, or rather her backpack, and pointed ahead. Our run help. Village here, he said. Maggie was surprised, and relieved, as she looked ahead where he was pointing now and saw the fires and candlelight twinkling across the immediate horizon. Thank God, she thought, but out loud she said, Thank you, Dhana.

Once they had entered the village they headed toward Kitsi’s home, where they would be staying. They both began returning the Namaste greeting, over their hearts, that the people were offering to them, whereby the palms of the hands were brought together over the heart, followed by a slight bow of the head. The gesture reflects a humbling, meaning we are all equal, all of us are children of divinity. Many of them knew Maggie and Dhana, and she knew some of them. She imagined that Dhana knew them all. But … something seemed out of place. While they all smiled warmly, there were expressions of concern on many of their faces.

Namaste, Kitsi said, as she opened her door to allow them to enter. Maggie returned the Namaste gesture and then hurried to give her a quick tight hug then, holding her away, to peer into her face. Kitsi was beautiful. In fact, all of the people of the village were good looking. Good looking and healthy. You’re looking well, Maggie said.

Thank you, Kitsi said quietly, and nodding at Dhana at the same time, Namaste, Dhana, she said. He returned the greeting.

Kitsi and her husband Kalden were the only ones in the village who had extra rooms for travelers. A small fire was burning in the fireplace in the corner, and lit candles of