The Mahdi [antikvár]

BOOK ONE One li,'. ' I Ii;:': il 1 i r 1 !. i I ' It was a pilgrimage. A journey to satisfy a soul. He turned off the main Kuala Lumpur-Penang road onto a dirt track and into deep jungle. 'Go to the Klang River,' he had been told, 'and then turn left. You'll know it when you see it.' He felt he should have sent a message - perhaps in a cleft stick carried by a loin-clothed runner, but the station man had laughed and shaken his head. 'He will know you are coming. Take a tuxedo. He always dresses for dinner.' In the headlights the track appeared to grow progressively narrower as it wound through tall forbidding trees. Occasionally a small animal would flit across in the dim bouncing light and doubts began to play across his mind. Had he taken the right turning? What was he doing here anyway, in the thick of the Malayan jungle? In truth he should have caught the afternoon plane to Tokyo and after a night's layover, been on his way to Washington, home and Julia. But he was in a mental magnetic field - drawn to meet, and pay his respects to, ?he doyen of his profession. Nevertheless the doubts continued to build until suddenly and dramatically he turned a corner and in the headhghts stood two white Done columns and between them huge black wrought-iron gates. He braked gently to a halt. He should have sent a message - the gates w.ere nrmly closed. He sat still in the car for several moments trying to make up his mind, then he was about to get out for a closer inspection when the gates slowly began to open inwards and he discerned the small sarong-clad man behind. He eased the car forward and the man bowed from the waist and gracefully gestured him on. Now the jungle took on formality. The trees and shrubs had been culled to a less cluttered pattern. The track improved to a road and swung in towards the wide river and then he braked again, for in front of him stood the structure. Not a house, not a villa, nor even a i' i V i. i ;