by Joe Poyer
filled with so many colors and nationalities that it could sometimes be mistaken for a United Nations Army.
The caravan was close enough now that he could make out details through the binoculars even in the fading light. He counted nearly thirty men walking beside a motley collection of camels and horses in just the first section of the caravan before it faded out of sight in the trees. Everyone appeared to be on foot and Gillon was surprised to see that they were on skis or snowshoes. It had never occurred to him that these Norwegian and American Indian inventions would be used by Central Asian nomads. The ungainly camels, low-slung, swaying beasts, were much smaller than he had expected until he realized that they were the twin-humped Bactrian variety common to Asia.
`Come on.' Liu climbed out of the well and fastened on his skis. Gillon followed and, in the deepening dusk, they skied quickly down to the lowest part of the valley, a frozen watercourse now covered with snow, and swung to a stop to face the oncoming caravan.
Gillon knew that they had been seen as the last vestiges of twilight were behind them.
But even so, the caravan gave no sign and came steadily on. When less than fifty yards separated them, Liu muttered for him to follow and skied slowly toward the man walking in front, well out of the. path of the plodding animals, which strode along under their heavy loads, wide-toed feet sinking no more than a few inches into the thigh- deep snow.
.
As they approached the man to the side of the caravan, Gillon saw that he also was on skis. He coasted to a stop, unslinging a rifle as he did so and letting it rest casually in the crook of his left arm while he waited for them to come up.
The light was almost gone now and as the rank-smelling beasts plodded by, Gillon felt, rather than saw, every eye turn to them. There were, he realized, a good number of rifles watching for the slightest false move on their part.
Lui stopped and bowed in the Chinese manner to the man who stood waiting for them.
After a moment, the nomad bowed just as deeply and the two men clasped hands and began to talk in a high-pitched yet guttural language, one of the many Mongolian-based dialects that abounded in Sinkiang. The man spoke to Liu but never once removed his eyes from Gillon. His face, what little Gillon could see of it under his cap, was darkcomplected with a wide brow and heavy eyebrows over slanting eyes. A thin moustache straggled down either side of his mouth to meet a surprisingly heavy beard. He looked more Japanese than Mongolian, Gillon thought. The light, which in the open, away from the trees, had lasted a few minutes longer, was now almost gone. The darkness was too complete to make out any other details and Gillon waited, stamping his feet while the two men spoke, and watched the dim shapes of the pack animals and men file past.
After a moment, the nomad pushed up to him on his skis and peered into his face. Gillon met his gaze steadily and the man grunted, then was gone. Liu came back to where Gillon was staring after the man.
'I guess you've passed inspection. He's not happy about it, but he'll take you along. He expects you to stay out of the way, but if there is any fighting to be done, he wants you to pitch in. I told him that you are all very good fighters, that you personally were in Vietnam and then in Africa. That seemed to satisfy him.'
'Vietnam and Africa . . .' Gillon said in surprise . 'What do they know about Indochina or Africa?'
'Look,' Jack Liu said, his voice quietly serious. 'Don't ever underestimate these people.
For over two thousand years they've managed to stay alive by using their wits. They know what's going on in the outside world. Right now he knows that the Reds will be looking for you as hard as they can because of the negotiations between the U.S. and China. He knows this will cause problems but because he owes me a favour, he will take you.
'Come on, it's too damned cold to stand around. The caravan is camping for the night in those trees. We are to follow behind into the camp. They'll give us a place to sleep and some food.'
Gillon nodded agreement and Liu led the way back up to the clearing, where he and Gillon explained the situation to the others.
`Damn,' Stowe said through chattering teeth. 'That's the most cutthroat crew I've ever seen. I hope to hell you two know what you're doing.'
'At least we will have hot food, and for a day or so a warm place to sleep,' Dmietriev murmured. 'In this cold, that's worth almost any risk . . . maybe you were right after all,'
he finished, turning toward. Gillon. A moment later, he was gone into the dusk, leaving Gillon staring after him, bemused.
The long file of men moved off at an easy pace after the caravan. The twilight had disappeared into darkness, in which the faint starlight did not penetrate the heavy pines.
Liu- was using a flashlight to guide their way but the bulb furnished only a dim, yellowish light. The intense cold, which Gillon estimated at close to twenty below, even without the wind, had nearly frozen the batteries.
The caravan stopped for the night well inside the forest, not far from the head of the valley. A half-hour of slow, shuffling travel was required to reach the shielded light cast by the watch fires.
A challenge hissed from the trees in the same high, guttural language and Liu answered softly. A moment later, three men materialized with weapons leveled. Gillon suspected there were more out of sight. One of the guards stepped near and shone his flashlight into each face before he was satisfied.
A single word started them forward again, through a screen of bushes and into a firelit area some forty feet in diameter. After the darkness of the forest, the light was blinding, dim as it was, and it was several moments before they were able to see the huddle of rounded felt tents called yurts which were spaced around the circumference of the open area. Liu came back to Gillon and-motioned for Leycock, Stowe and Dmietriev and him to follow.
To Dmietriev he whispered, 'Say nothing about being a Russian. If they find out, they might hang your head on a pole. These people hate Russians even more than Chinese.'
Liu led them across the open area to the line of tents, where several Mongolians with slung rifles waited. They
exchanged a few words with Liu. Liu started in surprise and began arguing angrily, but the men cut him off and stalked toward a yurt several feet away.
'All right,' Liu said wearily. 'It seems there's been a problem. The caravan master has been overruled. They are going to give us a chance to talk to the full council before a final decision is made.'
'What the hell?' Gillon roared. 'What is this? I thought you said everything was settled.'
Liu spread his hands. 'I thought it was too. But it looks like they feel the risk is too great.
The council wants to talk it over.'
'And if they decide against us, what then? Do they shoot us first, or turn us over to the Chinese?'
A shadow of worry passed across Liu's face. 'Neither, I think. They have offered you hospitality by inviting you into their camp. According to their customs, they must abide by that offer. If they say no, they'll ask you to go . . . probably. But, you will be considered fair game if they meet you again. Also, they might try and contact the government . . . but that's doubtful since it would give them away as well.'
'Great idea you had there,' Stowe sneered. 'Unspoiled nomadic natives helping the white hats. Crap! Let's get, the hell out of here before they decide to shoot us all.'
'You can't leave now,' Liu said. 'Look around. There must be twenty guns watching us right now. I did these people a big favor last winter and they pay their debts . . . so the only thing to do is to find out what's making them so edgy.'
Gillon snapped, 'Let's get at it then. If they turn us down, I want to put as much distance between us as possible before the sun comes up.'
At the very thought of having to travel more that night, his knees began to shake. He knew they were in no shape to do so; their food was almost exhausted and so were they.
The intense cold and Liu's speculation that it was the prelude to the major blizzard to come made him doubt stron
gly that they could survive.
'Okay, let's go then.' Liu nodded. 'All of you, keep your mouths shut. I don't think anyone here speaks
English, but you can never tell. I'll do the talking .. . understand?'
They all nodded and Liu led them to a large yurt that had been erected on the edge of the cleared space. It was fully six feet high in contrast to the low profile of the other yurts scattered about. Gillon was surprised to see that it had a door, rather than a hanging flap of felt; a much scarred wooden door, but a wooden door nevertheless. It was beaten and weathered and tied into place with ropes, but it served its function.
One of the guards shoved it open and motioned them into the smoky interior. A bluish haze filled the dome to trickle lazily out a round hole cut into the top of the tent. A small fire of dried camel dung flickered in a small brazier in the center of the yurt. The floor had been covered with reed mats, which were already becoming saturated with slush and melted water from the snow beneath. The floor squished unpleasantly at every step.
An old man was spreading what looked to be plastic tarpaulins and as he shuffled about he waved them impatiently out of the way while he completed the task. Over the tarps he dragged some none-too-clean sheepskins and, satisfied with his job, rubbed his hands briskly together, stared at them with a sneer and disappeared through the door.
The five men gazed around them for a moment and then Liu began to walk slowly around the walls, studying them closely.
'Looking for microphones?' Stowe asked sarcastically. 'Shut up,' Gillon snapped.
'Crap . . . these gooks ..
Liu stepped quickly across the tent and shoved Stowe back with a stiffened hand. 'Shut your mouth, you fool!'
Stowe started to reply but an angry hiss from Gillon stopped him and he subsided into sullen silence.
Before anything further could happen, the door whipped open and five Kalmucks followed by the caravan master crowded in and silently took up positions facing Gillon, Liu, Stowe, Dmietriev and Leycock across the fire. Their faces, barely seen in the narrow gap left by close-fitting hats and jackets, showed nothing.
Twelve dark eyes stared unwinkingly, more than half shrouded in shadow.
`These people are Kalmucks . . . the fiercest and smartest of all the Mongolian peoples,'
Liu whispered.* 'The great khans were Kalmucks and they have never forgotten they once ruled the greatest empire in the world. So mind your manners.'
Gillon nodded. He was surprised to see that the jackets and leggings these men wore could have come from the military surplus shelves of any Western nation. All but one old man wore various shades of drab-colored, cold-weather gear. The old man, however, wore the padded or quilted clothing that Gillon had always associated with Mongolians.
In addition to the padded jacket and leggings, his hat was the typical lined helmet with earflaps worn throughout Siberia and China. Gillon shook his head; the old ways were disappearing all over the world and even in the remotest backwoods of Asia, modern technology had arrived with a vengeance.
A, moment later, the same old man who had laid the tarps and furs entered with a hissing Coleman lantern, which he hung from a peg hammered into the centre pole; he bowed to the six men seated on the far side of the fire and left.
`Now the serious talk begins,' Liu whispered. 'That old man with the padded jacket is the overall leader. Caravans like these are sent out from a winter village under a caravan master. But the elders still make all final decisions and even though the carayan master is the supreme authority on the trail, he can still be overruled in matters of policy not directly relating to the running of the caravan by this council.'
Gillon nodded, understanding now why the caravan master's decision had been overturned.
The old man spoke quickly to the others seated beside him, then turned to study the five outsiders searchingly. He asked one question and Liu squirmed uncomfortably before launching into a long speech that caused the elders to look at one another in surprise several times. Liu spoke forcefully and at length, and when he finished, it was on a challenging note. The old man
answered in a brief speech, during which the caravan master squirmed angrily, then he sat back and waited.
Liu turned to Gillon and spoke past him to the rest, his voice pitched low, his face carefully concealing the trouble that Gillon saw in his eyes. 'Listen to me, carefully.
Don't let anything show when I tell you what they said, do you understand? If they see the least bit of emotion, they'll throw us all out. Do you understand?' he repeated.
They all nodded and Liu stared hard at Stowe. `Do you understand? We aren't playing around here. This isn't Washington behind some nice safe desk with a big map stuck full of pins.'
Surprisingly enough, Stowe nodded, his demeanor as serious as the situation warranted.
'Okay,' Liu said, relief evident in his voice. 'They say that they will not grant us a place in the caravan. They say it was foolish of the caravan master to do so in the first place.
They say that they are at peace with the Communist government in Peking and they want to keep it that way. The elders overruled him and that's quite a rebuke and he doesn't like it. But he has no choice. He must do what they decide.'
`So that leaves us out in the cold, no pun intended.'
Liu shook his head. 'No, at least not for tonight. They'll let you stay until dawn, then will allow you one day's travel.'
'What the devil does that mean?' Leycock demanded.
'That means that they will not try and turn you in for at least twenty-four hours after you leave the camp. It seems that the Chinese have placed a pretty big price on your head . . .
enough to keep this caravan and the village it comes from in luxury for twenty years. The Chinese are offering the equivalent of fifty thousand American dollars for your capture.
So you can see, it's a mighty big temptation to them.'
Gillon rubbed the back of his neck. 'So, after we leave, we have twenty-four hours in which to get the hell out of this area. Do these people have a radio?'
`No, but they can build a pretty sizable fire and it won't take long for one of the search planes to find them. I'd say within thirty-six hours of the time you leave the caravan, the Chinese will know you've been here. Look, I've an idea. We aren't dead yet . . . I don't think they really want to risk giving themselves away if they can help it.'
Liu stared across the fire at the old man for a long moment and he in turn watched Liu without a trace of emotion. The inside of the yurt was growing steadily warmer as the fire in the brazier caught hold and burned more fiercely. Gillon was sweating copiously inside his cold-weather gear. He wondered how the Kalmucks endured the heat, but they gave no sign of being uncomfortable. In addition to the heat, the acrid smoke bit into his lungs and stung his eyes. At first the yurt had been a grateful change from the angry wind and cold outside, but now Gillon was no longer so certain which he preferred.
Liu talked for what seemed like hours and the five elders stared at him across the campfire, seemingly never blinking and never moving. Gillon found his head nodding once and he forced himself stiffly upright in an effort to stay awake. He risked a quick glance at the others and saw that they were all fighting the same battle. Dmietriev, seated next to him, was running with sweat and as he turned back, he caught the gaze of one of the old men sitting on the far right of the fire. He thought he saw a _hint of amusement at their sweating faces, but the man's eye went quickly back to Liu. Laugh, you bastard, he thought.
Finally, Liu stopped talking. 'We may be getting somewhere at last,' he muttered to Gillon. 'I've found a bargaining point, one besides money. The Peking government, no matter how grateful they should ever be for their help, will never let them have more than small-caliber, single-shot rifles for hunting. These people think that guns are an invention of the gods. So, if we offer them rifles in addition to matching the fifty-thousand-dollar reward, they may change their minds.'
Gillon thought for
a moment. 'Why not offer them AR-18s? That should impress the hell out of them.'
Liu nodded and spoke to the elder, who sat up quickly, his stiff face cracking with interest for the first time. Gillon unslung his carbine and tossed it over the fire to the old man, who snatched it gracefully from the air. He called out in Mongolian and a moment later, a young man entered the tent. The old man handed him the carbine with a series of quick instructions and he went out. A moment later, Gillon heard the sharp, fast-paced snapping of the carbine being fired and the young man came back into the tent holding the AR-18 in one hand and his own ancient shotgun in the other. He handed the AR-18 to the old man and nodded. Gillon could see the excitement in his eyes.
The elder pointed to Gillon and the man stepped around the fire and handed it back to him. Gillon ejected the clip, stuck it in his pocket and inserted a new one, slid a cartridge into the chamber and reslung the rifle, staring at the elder all the time.
'Ask him,' Gillon said to Liu, 'if two hundred of these rifles and .a thousand rounds of ammunition each, de livered to him across the border in Afghanistan plus fifty thousand dollars is satisfactory payment for passage with the caravan until we reach the crossing point?'
Liu nodded and spoke to the elders once more. They argued in whispers among themselves until the old man waved a hand sharply and looked up. He appeared to be searching Gillon's face for any sign of deceit, then dismissed him abruptly, nodded to Liu and spoke at some length. When he finished, Liu translated briefly.
'He says, all right. They will be waiting for the delivery at a pass known as Dahnash-kol in mid-July. They will take my guarantee of payment . . . and you realize that if payment isn't made, I'm as good as dead?'
Gillon nodded. 'I'll see that the carbines are delivered. Don't worry about that. The only thing that would stop me is if we don't make it out of here.'
'Yeah, they recognized that fact right away. They figure it's their tough luck if you don't, but once you leave the caravan, they won't do a thing to help you: This isn't their problem and the rifles and the favor they owe me are the only things that persuaded them to help you.'
