“I just need to look the part.” He glanced down the street again. “How cold will it be?”
“At this time of the year, not too cold. You can get away with a fleece and an outer shell. Maybe a down jacket for the evening.” Tamang looked down at John’s feet. “You already have boots, but you’ll need a pack and maybe a trekking pole. Some thermals if you are worried.”
“That’ll be enough. I don’t plan to be at altitude for too long, and once I’m in India, it will be much warmer.”
“Then follow me. My friend has a shop where you’ll get everything, and he’ll give you a good price.”
John smiled and allowed himself to be led down the street, ignoring calls from shopkeepers and street vendors. He was glad he was with Tamang. The number and variety of goods available were overwhelming.
Five minutes later, John found himself in a tiny shop down a side street, lined floor to ceiling with down jackets, fleeces, sleeping bags, and everything else you could think of. There were items from all the major trekking brands, some seemingly genuine, some with their misspelled names, obviously not. Tamang explained to the shopkeeper what was needed, and after sizing John up with an experienced eye, the shopkeeper started pulling clothing down from the racks and shelves. John examined a down jacket emblazoned with the logo of a well-known mountaineering brand.
“Is this genuine or a copy?”
“It’s a copy, John, but a good one,” Tamang replied. “Half the price of the original but the same quality. This is a China copy.” Tamang shrugged. “Probably from the same factory as the original.”
“Amazing.”
Fifteen minutes later, John and Tamang stepped onto the street, a backpack filled with trekking clothing slung over John’s shoulder and a collapsible trekking pole in his hand.
“That was much cheaper than I thought.”
“You’re lucky you’re with me, John,” Tamang replied, his teeth flashing in a wide grin. “Most tourists would pay double what you paid, even after haggling.”
“Thank you, Tamang.” John patted him on the shoulder. “I appreciate your help.”
John spied a pharmacist across the street. “One minute, Tamang. There’s something else I need.”
John crossed the street and entered the shop.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Do you have hair color?”
“Yes, Sir, this way, please.”
John examined the colors available, picked up a couple of packets, and after paying, joined Tamang outside on the road.
“Just one more thing, Tamang. I need to find a money changer.”
“What currency do you need? You can get Nepali Rupees from any ATM.”
“No, I need to carry a lot of cash. Rupees will be too bulky. Do you know anyone who can give me U.S. dollars?”
Tamang grinned. “Follow me.”
15
Rajiv’s phone buzzed on the desk, and glancing at the screen, he frowned. A Dubai number. He thought fast. Who did he know in Dubai? No one. Unless...
Picking up the phone, he stood and walked over to the door to his office, glancing down the corridor before closing the door. Walking back to his desk, he answered the phone and raised it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Rajiv, my friend.”
“J...” Rajiv recognized the voice but stopped himself from completing the name. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” There was a pause on the other end. “I wanted to thank you for the head’s up last month.”
“Hmmm. Was it needed?”
“It was, unfortunately.”
Rajiv said nothing, waiting for John to continue.
“Are you in the office?”
Rajiv glanced toward the door. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
Rajiv heard John breathing on the other end of the line.
“What’s the weather like there?”
Rajiv frowned and thought for a moment, not sure what he meant.
“Ah… it’s fine but… something tells me a storm is on the way.” He sighed. “What have you done?”
“Nothing yet,” John replied. “I’m sending you something. It will explain everything.”
“Okay.” Rajiv chewed his lip. “I’m sorry, but you know I can’t help you.”
“I know.” There was silence. “I just wanted to say hello to an old friend and... give you some information that might help you understand things.”
“That’s kind of you, but...” Rajiv rubbed his face. “There’s nothing more I can say.”
“I know.”
Rajiv listened to the silence at the end of the phone, a million thoughts racing through his mind.
“I don’t know what the future holds, but... be careful.”
“I will.”
The line went dead, then a moment later, a message arrived from the same number.
Rajiv opened it and looked at the screen. It was a photo of a news clipping from the Times of Oman. Rajiv enlarged the screen and read the headline. Man invades desert camp and kidnaps tourist.
Rajiv frowned and read on. Thirty seconds later, he slumped back in his chair and dropped the phone on his desk. Swiveling around, he stared unseeingly out the window.
“Shit.”
16
John removed the back of the phone and popped the Dubai SIM out into his hand, replacing it with the Nepalese SIM. Maybe he was paranoid, but he didn’t trust anyone and wasn’t willing to give clues about his current location. Rajiv was a good man, but he was still a policeman, and John had no way of knowing what side of the fence Rajiv would end up on.
John waited while the phone booted up, then scrolled through to Adriana’s number and pressed dial. He waited a few minutes and broke into a smile at the sound of her voice.
“Hi.”
“Hi, John. Are you okay?”
“Yes, my baby. All good.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “And you?”
He heard a sigh at the other end. “I’m good, but... I miss you, John. And I worry about you.”
John bit his lip and nodded. “I know, but don’t worry, it will all be over soon.” He changed the subject, eager to keep her mind off things, “How are your parents?”
“Good. Happy to see me.”
“That’s good. What does it feel like to be home?”
“I had forgotten how much I miss the food here.”
John chuckled. “You mean it’s better than Thai food?”
“No... not better... different.”
John smiled as he heard the tone of her voice lighten.
“You know what I mean. The food you grew up on still feels special.”
John shook his head,“I grew up on English food. I have no idea what you mean.” He heard a chuckle at the other end.
“That’s a good point. When you come to Portugal, when... this is all over, I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”
“I look forward to it.” John paused, reluctant to get back to the serious business. “Hey, I’m going to be on the move for the next few days. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to call again, but don’t worry. I’m not doing anything dangerous. I’m just crossing over into India and will be in areas with no cell coverage.”
“Okay.” The line went silent for a while. “How are you doing that?”
“Don’t worry, I have someone helping me. A friend. It’s straightforward, but it will take some time.”
“Okay.”
Adriana didn’t sound convinced, so John elaborated. “I’m walking across the border in a well-known hiking area. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just, there will be no signal, so I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Okay, but John, be careful, and call me as soon as you can.”
“I promise. And good luck with the interview tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“I love you, don’t forget that.”
“I love you too, John.”
“I’ll call you soon. Take care.”
>
“Goodnight, John.”
John ended the call and dropped the phone on the bed. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his eyes moist, then took a deep breath. Everything would be fine. The sooner he dealt with Patil, the sooner he would be sitting in one of Lisbon’s cafes with the woman he loved. No sense in getting sentimental. He had to focus on the task at hand. Tomorrow would be an early start, and he needed to rest. Kicking off his shoes, he laid back on the bed, still fully clothed, and closed his eyes. Despite the underlying stress, he was asleep in minutes.
17
John stood at the curb, his newly purchased backpack on the footpath beside his feet, and held out his hand,
“Thank you, Tamang. I’m grateful for all your help.”
“John, it was our pleasure.” Tamang grasped John’s hand in both of his and grinned. “Thapa told me you have been good to him, and that’s enough for me.”
“I’m not sure when I’ll see you again, Tamang, but I’ll never forget you.” He pulled Tamang closer and embraced him, then let go and hoisted the backpack onto his shoulder.
“John, you have my number. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“I will.”
“Look…” Tamang looked down at his feet, searching for the words before continuing, “I don’t know what you are doing, John. I don’t want to know, but... be careful.”
John clasped Tamang’s shoulder with his right hand and grinned. “Don’t worry.” He winked. “I’ll send you a postcard.”
He squeezed Tamang’s shoulder, then turned and headed for the terminal entrance. Once inside, he looked back to see Tamang still standing at the curb beside his illegally parked van and raised his hand in a final goodbye before heading toward the check-in counter.
Check-in and boarding were fast, the flight only half full, the plane a small, twin-engine ATR with seating for about fifty passengers. The window seat beside John was empty, so he slid over to get a view of the Himalayas as the plane made its short forty-minute hop down to the town of Bhadrapur. As the plane made its final descent, John closed his eyes and rested his head back against the headrest, mentally running over the next steps in his plan.
Experience had taught him not to think too far ahead—the task would be daunting—so he just ran through the next few steps. He needed to find transport to take him into the mountains to the small trekking village of Jaubari. It was three and a half hours in the wrong direction, but hopefully, John could slip across the border near there undetected.
Jaubari lay on a major trekking route, straddling the border between India and Nepal and terminating at the Sandakphu Peak. It was popular among both Indian and Nepali trekkers and frequented by many foreign tourists as well. John was comfortable he would blend in, and Tamang had assured him the border was ill defined and very open. John had studied the route with Tamang and was confident of success. But one step at a time; no point in stressing about what might happen or about things not in his control.
His thoughts wandered to Adriana, and he smiled, the vision of her face filling him with warmth. He couldn’t wait to see her again, but until the threat of Surya Patil was dealt with, he knew he would always be looking over his shoulder.
The seatbelt light chimed off, and he opened his eyes as the plane reached the terminal. He took a deep breath and stood, joining the other passengers in the aisle. Time to find that transport.
18
His pack secured on his back, John walked out of the terminal and immediately regretted wearing a fleece. Bhadrapur was at a lower elevation than Kathmandu and much warmer. He stopped, shrugged off the backpack, and removed his fleece, tucking it into the flap of the pack where he could retrieve it easily. He glanced around for the taxi queue and joined the line. The first two drivers turned him down, only wanting trips into town. Just before he asked the third driver, a man standing nearby asked him where he wanted to go.
John explained, and the man thought for a bit before naming a price. After two minutes of haggling, they agreed, and the man reached for John’s backpack. John shook his head and smiled. He had no idea if the man was genuine or not, so he wasn’t about to hand over the bag. Holding his money, phone, and passport, it would stay with him. The man shrugged, gestured for him to follow, and led him across the road into the carpark. He walked back a few rows before stopping beside a battered Maruti 800, a tiny Indian made hatchback that looked about twenty years old.
Climbing into the driver’s side, he leaned across to open the passenger door for John. Reaching through, John unlocked the rear door and dropped his pack on the rear seat before climbing in beside the driver. The driver directed a quick prayer to the brass statue of Buddha glued to the dashboard before starting the engine. He grinned at John and asked, “Okay?”
John nodded and grinned back. His knees were up in his chest, the seat belt wasn’t functioning, and he was pretty sure the tires on his side had no tread. Hopefully, the driver’s side was better. If he made it through this journey, tackling Surya Patil in Bangalore would be a piece of cake.
19
Approximately four hours later, the car pulled into a village and stopped. John opened his eyes and glanced over at the driver. He had kept conversation to a minimum, wanting to remain as anonymous as possible, and despite the cramped interior and the lack of air conditioning, he had dropped off to sleep.
The driver smiled at him and said, “Jaubari.”
John blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked around. They were on a single street, lined with concrete and stone houses under rusted corrugated tin roofs. Some were shabby and decrepit, others freshly painted with window boxes filled with flowering begonias. A Yak stood to one side, its tail flicking lazily side to side while on the doorstep of the closest house a long-haired dog, its white fur discolored with grime, dozed in the last patch of sun before nightfall.
John reached into his pocket, counted out the fare they had agreed on, and handed it over, adding a bit more, much to the driver’s delight.
“Thank you, Sir, thank you.” He jumped out of the car and ran around to John’s side, removing the backpack as John climbed out. Stretching his legs and his back, John shivered in the crisp air, the temperature much cooler than on the plains. Reaching for his backpack, he removed his fleece, quickly donning it before shaking the driver’s hand.
“Thank you.”
The taxi driver grinned, then climbed back into his car. John waited until the car had completed a three-point turn and headed back the way it had come before shouldering his backpack and setting off along the street. It was too late in the day to cross the border, so he needed a place to stay.
Three buildings along, he spotted a sign which simply said, “Trekkers Lodge.” It looked as good as any, so he pushed open the door, bent down to enter the low doorway, and stepped inside. The interior was dark and smokey, the only light from some dirty skylights set in the roof and the warm glow of a cooking fire in the kitchen at one end. A couple of empty bench tables filled the rest of the room, and the walls were lined with shelves, piled high with an unusual mixture of trekking gear and pots and pans. A group of men sat near the fire, and as John entered, a young man stood and smiled.
“Welcome. Do you need a room?”
“Yes, please.” John smiled back as he slipped his backpack off his shoulder. “Just for the night.”
“Shared or single?”
“Single, please. It has a bathroom?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Hot water?”
“We will bring you a bucket, Sir.”
“Fine, thank you.” John looked over at the other men who were watching with interest. They all appeared to be locals, with the tanned and weather-beaten faces of men who spent their life outdoors. He turned back to the young man. “How much is the room?”
“Six hundred rupees, Sir.”
“Good, I’ll take it.”
The young man beamed. He grabbed a dog-eared notebook from where it rested on a pile
of woolen socks and hats, which were presumably for sale, although it wasn’t immediately obvious. Opening the book, he asked John to fill in his details. John took the pen and hesitated. He didn’t want any written record of his movements, although judging by the state of the register, it looked unlikely to see the light of day. Paranoid? Maybe. He looked over at the young man, who had turned away and was rummaging through a drawer, and took a gamble, filling in a fake name, address, and passport number. Closing the book, he removed a wad of rupees from his pocket, counting out six notes and handing them to the man in exchange for the key he had found in the drawer.
The man opened the book and glanced at what John had written.
John tensed.
“Hello, William. I’m Tej.” He waved toward the front door. “Go outside, turn right, and the rooms are at the bottom of the steps to the right.”
“Thank you, Tej.” John pocketed the key and picked up his pack. He turned for the door, hoping to leave before Tej asked for his passport, but he needn’t have worried. Tej had already turned away to sit by the fire again. John exhaled the tension and walked outside to find his room.
The accommodation comprised several single rooms, running off a long corridor on the level below the kitchen. The walls were plywood, the floor bare concrete, and the door was secured by a flimsy hasp and padlock. John unlocked his room and stepped inside, bolting the door behind him. He dropped his pack on the double bed, which filled most of the tiny room, a window in the far wall providing views down the valley. At one end, a door opened into the bathroom. John pushed it open to see the toilet, the slatted wooden platform, and a plastic bucket that made up the bathing area. It was basic but clean. He unfolded the thick woolen comforter on the end of the bed, and spread it out, kicking off his boots, and sitting down before checking his watch. His stomach growled with hunger, but it was still too early to eat.
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