North Face

by Matt Dickinson

I just had to go for it and trust to my luck.

  The truck arrived first thing the next morning and negotiations began. The driver was initially reluctant but he soon changed his mind when a fifty-dollar note came out of my wallet and got waved around.

  ‘You will go via the mountain route,’ Tsering said. ‘There are no police checks that way.’

  I jammed myself into the vehicle cab along with some jovial Tibetan traders who were along for the ride. Then came the mountain ascent and my palms began to sweat. The driver was slinging the truck around like a rally car, one hand on the steering wheel and the other occupied with a meat pie from which he took the occasional bite.

  The vehicle raced upwards, cruising on the edge of spectacular drops, bumping through potholes that could have swallowed a yak. The Tibetans started to sing a jolly song.

  For every second the driver spent looking where he was going, he spent ten seconds staring at his nails, twiddling the radio knob, or simply enjoying the view.

  ‘Lhasa, monastery, Lhasa, monastery, no sleep,’ he suddenly blurted out.

  His words made me even more nervous. Lhasa to the monastery had to be a good five hundred miles, I reckoned. Was it really possible that this driver had done the trip twice without sleep? Certainly the man’s eyes were bloodshot. He did look utterly exhausted.

  A massive truck came thundering past, heading downhill at crazy speed. The driver swung the wheel at the final second, the truck whistling past, horn blaring, with just inches to spare. I muttered a prayer. The sooner this ride was over, the happier I would be.

  Suddenly he stopped.

  ‘Checkpoint coming!’ he said. ‘You out!’

  I took my place in the back, covered up by some old sacking. We passed through two checkpoints without incident, except for my hip being smashed around on the metal floor.

  Sometime mid-afternoon, just as my bones felt they were about to be shaken clear out of my body, we entered a small town. The air smelled of wood smoke and exhaust fumes. I heard voices calling, then the driver pulled to a halt and whistled me an all clear.

  I threw off the sacking and jumped into the quiet backstreet he had chosen.

  It was perfect. There was no one around. The driver pointed the way to the tea shop which was my destination and then leapt into the cab and raced away.

  I walked through the streets, checking out this town which seemed to be mostly a truckers’ pit stop. The place felt dodgy, a shabby collection of cheap boarding houses and roadside mechanics’ shacks arranged along a meandering main street.

  Small groups of dark-clad men were huddled together smoking in the alleyways that flanked the muddy road. Chinese police were everywhere, cruising up and down in squad cars every few minutes.

  The tea room was right on the main Lhasa road, a stopping off place for tourist groups and long-distance buses. The restaurant was busy serving steaming bowls of vegetables and rice. I ordered some food and watched the scene for a while, trying to work out who was in charge.

  After a bit it became clear that the boss was the elderly woman sitting behind the till. She spent most of her time moaning at the waiters, but beneath her strict exterior I detected a kindly side to her character.

  I walked up to her, my heart hammering in my chest.

  ‘I’m looking for a man called Zhong,’ I told her.

  ‘Zhong? Not here.’

  Phew. So they knew about him at least.

  ‘Could I get a message to him? I would like to meet.’

  The old lady looked at me with a keen expression, obviously sussing me out.

  ‘It’s important,’ I added. ‘I think he will want to meet me.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said cautiously. ‘I will send a boy to try and find him.’

  I sat in the tea shop through most of that day, writing up my diary and trying to keep my nerves under control. I felt like a character in a spy thriller, waiting for this rendezvous with my mysterious contact.

  Finally, Zhong arrived.

  To my amazement he didn’t look Tibetan at all. He looked Chinese.

  He was surprisingly young, in his late twenties I reckoned, with keenly intelligent eyes and neatly combed hair. His clothes were those of a Western youth, jeans, sweatshirt and jacket. He shook my hand then looked around the room at the other customers.

  ‘Better we go to the kitchen,’ he said.

  He led me through a swing door into the steamy interior of the shack where we found some space at a table.

  ‘How did you hear about me?’ he asked. His English was excellent.

  I told him about Tsering, about the map that had alerted me to where Tashi was being held.

  ‘Can I see the map? he asked.

  He scrutinised it closely, turning it in his hands.

  ‘It is correct,’ Zhong said. ‘This camp does exist, even though the authorities try to keep it secret.’

  ‘How do you know so much about it?’ I asked him.

  Zhong made eye contact with me for long seconds. I got the sense he was making a momentous decision. Then he sipped his tea and spoke quietly.

  ‘I’m a military guard at the camp.’

  The kitchen door swung open with a crash as a Tibetan man entered. Zhong stiffened, then relaxed as the man nodded at him.

  ‘A guard?’

  I stared at Zhong with my mouth open. I had never imagined my secret contact would be Chinese, let alone a member of the Chinese military. He was taking crazy risks. Or was this a trap?

  I sipped my tea, trying to stop my hand from trembling, suddenly very unsure of the situation. I might be talking to a Chinese spy.

  ‘I can guess what you’re thinking,’ Zhong said earnestly. ‘But don’t worry. You can trust me.’

  He nodded at me encouragingly and I felt he was sincere.

  ‘Is it possible to go there?’ I asked him. ‘If I can get a photo of the place Tashi’s being held, maybe I can make some publicity about what’s happened.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I can take you. It won’t be the first time I’ve guided people there.’

  ‘What if we get caught?’ I asked. ‘What will happen to you if your bosses know you’ve done this?’

  Zhong looked grave.

  ‘Better we don’t talk about that,’ he said.

  I felt a strong urge to ask him why he was doing this, about his decision to help the Tibetans. But I guessed it would be difficult or even dangerous for him to tell me more.

  ‘We can go to the camp tonight,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to borrow a motorbike.’

  We walked out of the village to a tented herders’ encampment where Zhong was greeted like a long-lost son. An elderly shepherd offered us salted tea and biscuits and agreed to lend his motorbike without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘We leave at ten tonight,’ Zhong said.

  We entered the shepherd’s tent and spent some hours resting on piles of blankets as the afternoon wore on. Three shy children came to visit, poking their heads round the embroidered doorway, their eyes wide with curiosity.

  Zhong and I talked. I told him more about Tashi, about the problems her family had had with Captain Chen.

  At the mention of Chen’s name, Zhong went pale. I saw his fingers curl into a fist. I waited for him to open up but he kept silent. I got the strong impression that Zhong knew about Chen.

  ‘Why did you decide to help the Tibetans?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve seen the truth about how they are treated,’ Zhong said. ‘I just want to do my bit to help. Show that not all Chinese people are the same.’

  The sun dropped beneath the flank of a neighbouring hill. The temperature plummeted.

  ‘Time to go,’ he told me. Zhong had borrowed some Tibetan clothes from the shepherd by way of a disguise.

  ‘OK.’

  I clambered
on to the rear of the bike and we zoomed up a switchback trail, rising quickly in a series of steep zigzags above the plateau and then crossing a bleak col where a gale-force blast almost blew us off the road.

  ‘Windy as usual!’ Zhong shouted.

  He didn’t use the headlights. And neither of us was wearing a crash helmet. I tried to put that out of my mind.

  The cold ripped through me as the motorbike accelerated. The night air was already below zero and the wind chill drove icy daggers into every inch of my body.

  ‘Lights!’ Zhong cried out. He veered off the track and killed the engine.

  An army truck thundered past.

  Zhong waited until the lorry was gone then kicked the motorbike into life. We rode back to the track and a further hour of the white-knuckle ride followed. From time to time we passed the dark rectangular shapes of shepherds’ tents, the night air filling briefly with the sharp scent of goats and sheep. Once or twice we were chased by ferocious dogs, snapping at the rear wheel for sport.

  Then came a distant luminous glow.

  ‘That’s the lights of the prison,’ Zhong called. ‘We’ll go on foot from here.’

  We hid the bike behind a boulder and began to trek along the side of the road. I was grateful for the activity after sitting still on the ride, the chill in my bones easing as we walked.

  ‘There’s a military post up ahead,’ Zhong told me quietly, pointing to a small wooden shack. ‘We have to keep absolutely silent now.’

  We passed just twenty metres from the hut. Close enough that we could hear the murmur of male voices inside, smell the distinctive aroma of burning dung and cheap tobacco in the smoke that trickled from the chimney.

  Then came the sound of a door opening. A sudden spill of light. A burst of tinny Chinese pop music. Footsteps crunched across the ice. We crouched down as low as we could, using a frozen bank of snow for cover. I felt my heart racing with the fear of discovery.

  The soldier walked ten or fifteen paces across the field and began to pee. A cigarette butt arced through the air and hit the ground in a flurry of orange sparks. I held my breath.

  There was a long pause. Had the soldier seen something suspicious? The moment stretched out horribly.

  Then came the sound of footsteps again. The door slamming shut. A minute later we were past the shack and climbing up the slope behind it.

  For almost an hour we ascended the hillside. Zhong set a steady pace and I concentrated on matching him step for step.

  ‘Now we go slowly,’ Zhong whispered. ‘Keep low.’

  We crawled up to the ridgeline and cautiously peeped over the top.

  ‘There you are,’ Zhong said. ‘Detention Camp 43.’

  Down in the bottom of the valley, lit by arc lights, was this nightmare of a place, a collection of scruffy grey concrete buildings surrounded by barbed wire barriers. The structures looked agricultural, each one about the size of a farmyard barn.

  ‘The men are held in the one on the left.’ Zhong said. ‘Your friend is in the building on the right.’

  ‘How many prisoners are there?’ I asked.

  ‘About sixty or seventy. It’s hard to say because it’s all run on the whim of the camp commander. There’s hardly any paperwork, a lot of them haven’t had any proper trial.’

  I felt a wave of anger rising inside me.

  ‘The world should know about this.’

  ‘Yes,’ Zhong nodded. ‘It’s a dumping ground for human beings. Many of them are here because of their religious convictions. I talk to them, that’s why I decided to help.’

  A few guards were visible, sitting around a table in the yard. It was hard to see properly at such a long distance, but it looked like they were playing cards.

  ‘How can I get a photo of my friend?’ I asked.

  ‘Only one way,’ Zhong said. I could see his eyes glittering in the moonlight. ‘We go in and find her.’

  ‘Go in?’ my whole body shivered at the thought of the risk.

  ‘Yes. I know the ways to dodge the security.’

  Zhong looked at me keenly.

  ‘Are you up for it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  And that was when things started getting really interesting.

  Chapter 12

  ‘The guards will start going to sleep soon,’ Zhong whispered. ‘We’ll have to wait a bit.’

  The cold began to bite. Within ten minutes I was shivering and I could tell that even my guide was feeling it. To distract myself I thought about how close I was to seeing Tashi again.

  ‘There’s the main guard, in the watchtower,’ Zhong said.

  A solitary figure paced to and fro, evidently trying to keep warm. We saw the flare of a match and the bitter smell of rough tobacco reached us on the night breeze. A couple of men emerged with towels in their hands. They crossed to the wash block, talking animatedly.

  ‘There’s your friend Chen,’ Zhong whispered.

  My hackles rose. I hadn’t expected to see him at the camp.

  ‘You know him, don’t you?’

  Zhong made a strange noise in his throat.

  ‘He’s got family working here, comes here quite a bit. And the camp boss is his oldest friend.’

  Later a man came out with some sort of wheeled dustbin. He tipped the contents into a rubbish skip and went back inside. A couple of feral dogs emerged from the shadows and began scavenging for the scraps that hadn’t made it into the skip. The watchtower guard wrapped a couple of heavy blankets around his shoulders.

  The cold continued to assault us but gradually the lights went off. The camp was shutting down for the night and by 2 a.m. all was quiet. The guard in the tower was nowhere to be seen. He had ducked down for some kip by the looks of it.

  ‘OK,’ Zhong said. ‘Let’s begin.’

  We descended the slope and reached the perimeter wall of the camp. All my senses were on high alert, expecting a cry of alarm from the watchtower at any second … But all was silent.

  We began to creep along the wall, making our way as quietly as we could. The moon was up high now, casting a silvery light over the valley in a way that was both helpful and a pain in the neck.

  A whole range of terrible fears attacked me as we got closer to the compound. What if we were walking into a trap? And a new terror. What if the troops started shooting? We would be two shadows invading the camp. Nobody would have any idea who we were. We could be thieves. Terrorists. A trigger-happy guard might be within his rights to shoot first and ask questions later.

  Thoughts like this crowded in, swirling round my head and ramping up the fear. I faltered and stopped. I was on the point of turning to Zhong and telling him I couldn’t go through with it.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Zhong whispered. ‘You OK?’

  Then I thought about Tashi; how courageous she had been on Everest. The way she had been so focussed on saving her brother. And it helped me. I got through the moment of doubt.

  ‘It’s alright,’ I told Zhong. ‘Let’s keep going.’

  We resumed the progress along the wall and after a short time we reached a spot where it had partially collapsed. It wasn’t a big hole but it would be enough for us to squeeze through.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ Zhong said.

  Zhong darted across the yard and took cover behind one of the trucks. He became invisible in the shadows. Nothing stirred, there was no cry of alarm. No one had seen him. I waited a minute or so and then ran across to join him, my heart vibrating inside my chest at a frequency I had never known before.

  So far so good. We were within a stone’s throw of the building that was marked on the map.

  ‘Go!’ Zhong hissed.

  This time we moved together, sprinting side by side across a basketball court and making it to the block. Seconds later we were standing at the doorway and listening for sou
nds from the interior. Nothing. Our luck was holding.

  Zhong gently pulled down the handle. I was expecting it to be locked but it swung open as he pushed it. He smiled at me in the darkness.

  We entered the building, finding ourselves in a long corridor with a number of doors set off it. I was aware that one could open at any minute, wrecking everything. We just stood there in silence, letting our eyes adjust to the low light.

  ‘The cells are at the far end of the corridor,’ Zhong whispered. ‘Go and find your friend. I’ll keep guard. If I see someone coming I’ll give you a sign.’

  I made my way down the corridor, treading as quietly as I could. The most terrifying thing was not knowing what was behind those anonymous doors. Each one I passed felt like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

  The final door had been replaced with bars so that the room was converted into a cell. In the corner I could just make out a bed. A figure was huddled up inside, breathing steadily and deeply. I waited for a few moments to assess the situation, wondering if it was really her or not.

  ‘Hey!’ I hissed. ‘Tashi?’

  Nothing happened. I tried the same call again, a tiny bit louder. The figure stirred, a head of jet-black hair emerging from the blankets.

  ‘Ryan?’

  Tashi jumped out of the bed and rushed towards me, blinking sleep out of her eyes and smiling like crazy.

  ‘You came!’ she whispered. Our fingers interlocked through the bars. We held each other as best we could, both trying to keep tears away.

  ‘You crazy idiot,’ she laughed. ‘If they catch you in here … ?’

  An engine suddenly started up in the yard outside. Tashi pulled back and for a moment she was illuminated by the sweeping beam of the searchlight. The engine died. I brought out my camera.

  ‘Let me take a photo,’ I whispered. ‘I can get it distributed by news agencies, raise publicity and get you freed.’

  ‘Are you nuts?’ she said. ‘I’m not interested in a photo. I need you to help me escape. Right here and right now.’

  And I knew from her eyes that she really wasn’t kidding.

  I don’t mind admitting I had a slight panic attack at that point. Breaking into the camp had already been by a factor of ten the most outrageous thing I’d ever done. But helping Tashi to escape? That was never in the game plan. Not in my wildest dreams.