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Since they were the only witnesses to what had occurred on the mountain, aside from the deceased Z-9 crew, no one in the Chinese government was aware of the incursion. As far as anyone knew, Gupta and his passengers had simply been on a sightseeing tour.
After a brief checkup at an Itanagar hospital, Sam and Remi were dismissed. Marjorie was kept overnight for observation. Like her father, she was hardheaded, suffering only a mild concussion from Remi’s blow.
Karna refused medical attention until he was across the border in Nepal but had his entry and exit bullet wounds cleaned and dressed by Gupta.
After lengthy conversations with Rube Haywood, Sam arranged for Zhilan Hsu and Marjorie to be discreetly and securely transported to Washington, D.C., where special agents of the FBI were waiting for them. During interrogation, Zhilan Hsu held nothing back about Charles King. According to Rube, the FBI and the Justice Department had formed a task force devoted to unraveling King’s many illicit operations. It was predicted that King would spend the rest of his life behind bars.
The Nepalese government and their scientific community kept the chest under close security while their chief anthropologist, Ramos Shadar, and his associates had time to study its contents. It was decided the discovery of the Golden Man and the Shangri-La temple’s location should be kept secret until they were ready to be revealed to the world.
Now the time had come.
“Cheers!” Remi announced, holding up her glass of champagne.
The rest of the assemblage—Sam, Jack Karna, Adala Kaalrami, Sushant Dharel, and Ramos Shadar—echoed the toast and clinked glasses.
“Now it’s time for the unveiling,” said Shadar, smiling. “I’m sure you’ve all been anxious for this moment.”
“To the Theurang,” Remi said softly.
They climbed the stairs to the stage in Kathmandu University’s marble-tiled exhibition hall. The official unveiling and media conference would not happen until the following evening, but Sam, Remi, and the others were being honored with a private viewing.
“Who’s going to be the first of you to lift the lid and see the Golden Man?” asked Shadar, knowing well what lay inside and already amused at how the others would react. “Who would like the privilege of lifting the lid?”
“No question about it,” Sam replied, “Jack deserves to be first.”
“Mr. Karna,” said Shadar, motioning toward the chest, “If you please.”
Tears brimming in his eyes, Karna nodded his thanks to the group, then walked to a low velvet-draped object. Slowly, with great reverence, he grasped the draw cord and pulled.
The chest of the Theurang lay open with the lid lying alongside. They all stared in awe, except Shadar.
Lying inside, curled in a fetal position, was a nearly complete, fossilized skeleton completely gilded in gold. Under the overhead lights of the stage, the sight was awe-inspiring. Everyone went silent for several seconds.
Finally Jack Karna muttered, “Why is he so small?”
“It looks like a little boy,” said Remi softly. “No more than three years old.”
“Can’t be much over three feet tall,” guessed Sam.
Shadar grinned, “Three feet two inches, to be exact. The weight we estimated at about fifty pounds. Its brain was about the size of a soft baseball.”
“It must be fake,” Adala Kaalrami spoke for the first time.
Shadar shook his head. “You may not believe it, but you’re looking at a thirty-year-old human being. We can arrive at a reasonably close age by the wear on the teeth and bone structure.”
“A dwarf?” Sam offered.
“Not a dwarf,” answered Shadar, “but a separate species of human who lived between eighty-five thousand and fifteen thousand years ago. When it was found by my ancestors in a mountain cave, they gilded the bones and considered them sacred.”
“And worshipped him for over a thousand years,” added Sam.
Shadar’s eyes took a sly gleam. “Not him,” he said slowly, “but her.”
There was a long moment for the revelation to sink in.
“Of course!” Remi snapped. “Life giver. The Mother of Mankind. The Theurang was a woman. No wonder they glorified her.”
Sam shook his head, but with a twinkle in his eye. “Why is it,” he asked, “that women always have to have the last word?”
