High Time To Kill

by Raymond Benson

  Bedi unlocked the door and ushered Bond and Chandra inside. The place was musty and filled with bric-a-brac, some of which might have been worth something in the tourist trade. Most of it, however, was junk that was in place to create the illusion that the shop was legitimate.

  “Please excuse the dust,” Bedi said. “I had not been here for months until we tried to arrest Lee Ming. Come over here, I have something to show you.”

  They went through hanging drapes and into a passage leading to a door with a padlock on it. Bedi unlocked it, saying, “We’re not so sophisticated in Nepal, Mr. Bond. No keycards, no electronic steel doors, nothing like that. Just an ordinary key gets you into the Nepalese branch of the British secret service!” He laughed heartily.

  The “office” was a very small room containing a computer and monitor, file cabinets, a small refrigerator, a desk, and four chairs.

  They had worked up a sweat simply walking across town, so Bedi opened the refrigerator and took out three bottles of Iceberg beer. The beer was refreshing, but Bond didn’t care much for it. It had a curiously sweet taste, unlike some Indian beers that he enjoyed, such as Cobra.

  “I’ve learned something about the three hijackers,” Bedi said. He removed some eight-by-ten glossy photographs from an envelope on the desk. “They were Nepalese nationals who escaped from prison five years ago and were believed to be dead. They were identified by two workers at the hangar where the tourist plane was kept.”

  “Do we know if they’re Union?” Bond asked.

  “We’ve been unable to determine that. It’s possible, I suppose, but they’ve been living in Nepal for the last five years. If they were Union, it seems that we would have had more evidence of their activities. We think they were living in the hills somewhere. What we did learn is that they were part of the old Thuggee cult that originated in India in the 1800s.”

  The “Thugs” were a religious organization that murdered and robbed in the service of a goddess.

  “If I remember correctly, the British government supposedly hanged the last Thug in 1882,” Bond said.

  “Mostly true,” replied Bedi. “But remnants of their group exist. I would think present-day Thugs would be prime recruitment candidates for the Union. You want to know the most interesting thing?”

  “What?”

  “They were in England briefly, shortly before the Skin 17 formula was stolen. Flew in one day, flew out the next.”

  “How did they get in?”

  “The visas were issued for ‘family reasons.’ We have since discovered that their so-called families in England never existed.”

  Bond studied the photographs, then turned his attention to three more pictures that Bedi laid on the table. They were aerial views of the crash site on Kangchenjunga. The fuselage was plainly visible, surprisingly intact.

  “Reconnaissance photos reveal that the plane is quite accessible once you get up to the Great Scree Terrace,” Bedi said. “But look at this detail.” He showed them another photo that magnified one of the aerial shots.

  Footprints were evident around the open door of the aircraft.

  “Someone survived the crash,” Bond observed.

  “They couldn’t have survived the altitude,” Chandra remarked.

  “They may have gotten out of the wreckage, but they wouldn’t have lived long at that height. None of those people was prepared for those conditions.”

  “Do you have any other pictures? Where do the footprints lead?”

  Bedi shrugged. “We tried to take more shots, but the winds and snow had covered the tracks by the time we went back. You can see that they went off in this direction, toward the south, but beyond that we don’t know. He’s right, they couldn’t have survived at that altitude for very long. They hadn’t acclimatized themselves at all. Whoever it was, you’ll probably find their frozen body in a crevasse somewhere.”

  The men went through various other documents and reports. Zakir Bedi had no solid evidence that the Union were involved in the plane hijacking. To his knowledge, the Union had not operated on the Indian subcontinent at all.

  By late afternoon they were finished. Bedi offered to walk them back to the hotel and led them out of the makeshift intelligence office.

  The streets were still crowded, but the heat was beginning to subside as dusk approached and they walked into Durbar Square.

  High above them, inside the Maju Deval temple, a Nepalese man held a Galil Sniping Rifle, a 7.62mm semiautomatic weapon that is manufactured in Israel. Designed with battlefield reliability in mind, the Galil could score head shots at 300 meters, half-body hits at 600 meters, and full-figure hits at 800 to 900 meters. The man was a good shot, but he wasn’t an expert. A sniper must have special training and technique, for bullets don’t fly in a completely straight line. Gravity and friction pull on a flight path; snipers must allow for “rise and drop” conditions. Some telescopic sights incorporate range finders to help the marksman in calculations, but intense practice is necessary to get it right.

  It was this factor that saved James Bond’s life.

  The first bullet hit the dirt at Bond’s feet. All three men dropped to the ground, then attempted to determine where the sniper was located. Bond squinted into the sun, almost certain that the shot had been fired from the large triple-roofed temple in front of him.

  “He’s up there!” Bond pointed. He got to his feet and started to run toward the building. The other two followed him, but a passing rickshaw momentarily blocked their passage. When the man pulled the contraption away, Bedi was in front of Bond, peering at the temple.

  “Is he still there?” he asked.

  Up above, the sniper took a bead on Bond’s head. He didn’t know who the other two were. His orders were to kill the Englishman. The crosshairs centered neatly on Bond’s nose, then the man squeezed the trigger. Somehow, though, the Indian man got in the way.

  The bullet struck Zakir Bedi on the side of the face, knocking him back into Bond.

  “I see him!” Chandra shouted, running toward the temple. Bond dropped Bedi’s corpse on the ground, drew his Walther, and ran after Chandra.

  The Gurkha stopped Bond at the door. “You can’t come in,” he said. “It’s forbidden to non-Hindus.”

  “To hell with that!” Bond spat out.

  “I’m sorry, James,” Chandra insisted. “Let me go. You wait here.”

  “No, I’m coming with you.”

  Chandra made a face, then went into the temple. In Nepal, there was a fine line between Hinduism and Buddhism. A well-known Shiva lingam was inside, but the roof was topped by a pinnacle shaped like a Buddhist stupa. It was dark, and Bond almost choked from the thick incense smoke. Worshippers looked up in horror at the westerner who had run inside the sacred place with a gun.

  Bond followed Chandra to a set of stairs in the back that led to the layered roof. Another shot rang out, this time inside the building. Women screamed, got up, and ran out of the temple. The men who were there didn’t move, but instead watched with interest. They hadn’t seen this much excitement in a long time.

  Chandra and Bond saw the sniper attempting to climb onto the sloping roof so that he could jump down to the ground below. Chandra was remarkably fast, scuttling out on the roof just in time to catch the man’s leg. The rifle fell as the two men struggled. Bond rolled out on the roof, halting his descent by lodging the heels of his boots in the shingles. Before he could lend the Gurkha a hand, the sniper twisted away and slipped off the edge of the roof. The man screamed as he fell, but the sound was abruptly cut short as he hit the hard ground.

  Bond and Chandra climbed back into the temple and ran down the stairs. Chandra spoke Nepali to the spectators, explaining that they were policemen. Outside, they found the sniper had fallen on his head. His neck was broken.

  Chandra examined him and said, “He’s a local man. I can’t believe that he would have had much experience in shooting people.”

  “That fits with Union recruiting practice
s, doesn’t it?” Bond asked.

  “In Nepal, I would say, yes. Those bullets were meant for you.”

  “Obviously,” said Bond. “That bloody leak at SIS is getting worse. There is no way that anyone in Nepal could have known of my presence. Bedi was the only one.”

  They heard police sirens approaching. “Come on,” Chandra said. “We don’t want to get involved in this.”

  They ran through the crowd and lost themselves before the police arrived.

  FIFTEEN

  TEAMWORK

  THE TEAM MET IN ONE OF THE YAK AND YETI’S IMPRESSIVE MEETING ROOMS normally used for business functions. It was seven-thirty, and dinner was scheduled for eight o’clock in the fabulous Chimney Restaurant. Everyone was tired and hungry, but there was still excitement and anticipation in the air.

  Marquis sat beside Bond and Chandra while waiting for two late arrivals. He leaned over and whispered, “I hear there was an Indian found shot to death today in Durbar Square. ANepalese, it appears, was the killer. He’s dead, too. I was questioned this afternoon by police. Apparently, a Caucasian man and another Nepalese were observed fleeing the scene of the crime. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Lord, no,” Bond lied. “Who was it that was killed?”

  “Some Indian businessman. Sorry, Bond, I had to ask. You two are the only Caucasian/Nepalese combination I know at the moment. Never mind, it’s time to start.”

  Marquis got up as the two missing stragglers came into the room, and from the podium said, “May I have your attention, please?”

  Many of the eighteen people who had assembled in the room were old acquaintances from previous expeditions and were therefore embroiled in lively conversation. There was one Nepalese Liaison Officer, sixteen male team members, and one female.

  “Please, lets get on with this, so we can eat!” Marquis said even louder.

  Finally everyone stopped talking and focused their attention on the leader.

  “I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not addressing members of the air force,” Marquis muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear. They laughed. “Well. Its good to see old friends and nice to meet new ones. Welcome. I’m glad you all could make it. You’re probably wondering why I asked you here.…”

  There were more chuckles in the room, but less enthusiastic. Bond was put off by Marquis’s manner. He projected unquestionable authority over the team, but he also tried too hard to entertain them.

  “Seriously, we’re on a very importantmission for the governments of Great Britain and the United States,” Marquis said with thin sincerity. “I’m sure we all want to get to know each other well over the next few days, but tonight we want to eat and go to bed! This is a very nice hotel, and I for one want to take advantage of it while I’m here! So, let’s get on with the introductions. I’m Group Captain Roland Marquis, RAF, and something of a mountain climber in my spare time.…”

  There was some applause from two or three members of the audience, including the girl.

  “Thank you.” Marquis beamed. He indicated two Nepalese men standing near the wall, apart from the others. “You all met Mr. Chitrakar at the airport this afternoon. He’s our Liaison Officer. He is our contact here in Kathmandu.” The man on the right smiled and gave a little bow. “Mr. Chitrakar needs to say a few words. Mr. Chitrakar?”

  “Thank you,” he said. His accent was thick. He proceeded to rattle off the various governmental rules and regulations the team should abide by when trekking across the countryside and when ascending the mountain.

  “Of most importance,” he said, “is that you do not summit Kangchenjunga. This is a very sacred mountain to our people. You may go as high as you need in order to perform salvage operations, but no higher.” He smiled, and said, “You might anger the goddess who lives there.”

  Indeed, Kangchenjunga means “Five Treasures of the Great Snows,” and is thought to be the home of Nepalese gods, as are other Himalayan peaks.

  “Thank you, Mr. Chitrakar. I can assure you that none of us has any intention of summiting the mountain. Now, next to Mr. Chitrakar is Ang Tshering, a splendid sirdar, with whom I’ve worked before,” Marquis said.

  The man on the left smiled and waved. The same two or three people who applauded before did so again. Bond thought that Tshering looked competent. The role of a sirdar, or Sherpa trekking leader, was important. He would run the Base Camp while everyone else climbed.

  “Now I’d like to introduce the most beautiful person in the room! She comes from New Zealand, so those of us who know her sometimes call her Kiwi Kendall. Meet our team doctor, Hope Kendall.”

  Red-faced, Dr. Kendall stood to the loudest applause anyone had received thus far. Bond thought that Marquis was right in one respect—she was stunningly beautiful. Hope Kendall had blond hair, green eyes, and a wide smile. She was in her early thirties and was obviously fit and healthy. She was over six feet tall, with long legs that were hidden by khaki trousers. Due to social customs in Nepal, Bond knew that he might never get a glimpse of those legs, since women revealing bare legs in shorts or miniskirts were frowned upon.

  “Hello, everybody,” she said. “I just have a few words to say because I’m your doctor for the next few weeks. I know you are all fit as buck rats, and you know everything I’m going to tell you now, but I’m actually required by law to give you the ‘talk.’ ”

  She managed to exert a great deal of authority over the men, and not just because of her physical beauty. Even Marquis sat down and gave her his undivided attention.

  “We’re going to be climbing much more quickly than any of us have ever done before. The schedule is extremely tight, and I know we all want to be off the mountain before the monsoons hit. Nevertheless, we must be conscious of any symptoms of acute mountain sickness. It can strike anyone at any time. It is each and everyone’s job to recognize the symptoms in your teammates, because many times an individual cannot recognize them in himself. You must understand that the atmospheric condition at high altitude is the same as at sea level, with twenty percent oxygen, but a reduction in atmospheric pressure reduces the amount of oxygen you can take in with each breath. You’re really breathing roughly half the oxygen you’re accustomed to when you’re above five thousand meters. The first signs are a general malaise, loss of appetite, then headache. This is followed by increasing weakness and a loss of interest in the climb. If you start to experience apathy, nausea, dizziness, or sleepiness, there’s a good chance you’ve got AMS.”

  Bond knew all of this, but Dr. Kendall had such powerful charisma that he hung on every word.

  “Note that these symptoms can occur at relatively low altitudes. So make sure you use what we call ‘rest steps’ to give your leg muscles little rests all the way up and help you maintain measured, methodical breathing. Take occasional full rest stops with forced deep breathing. Drink lots of water, and I mean it. Eat frequently to keep your nourishment up. Now, you should be aware of the two severe types of AMS, and these are High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, or HAPE, and High Altitude Cerebral Edema, or HACE. HAPE is when there is leakage of blood and other fluids into the lungs, restricting the air sacs in exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide in the blood. The symptoms are similar to pneumonia. HAPE can kill you and kill you fast. Fortunately, it rarely occurs in healthy people below nine thousand feet or so. HACE, the other one, is worse. That’s when there is accumulation of fluid in the brain, and symptoms begin with a severe, relentless headache that is a result of pressure due to the swelling of brain tissue. You’ll soon have difficulties with physical coordination, slurred speech, irrational behavior, collapse, and eventually you die. Descent is the only treatment for these things. Forget drugs like Diamox and dexamethasone. Although they might treat the symptoms of AMS, they don’t make the damaging effects go away. As your doctor, here and now I forbid the use of these drugs, got it?”

  Several people in the room, mumbled, “Uh-huh.”

  “Finally, be aware of what we call
retinal hemorrhaging. This is very serious, and it’s caused by damage to the retina due to pressure changes and the tiny bundles of arteries in your eyes rupturing. If you contract it up on that mountain, you’re in deep trouble. You may not regain your eyesight until weeks after descending, if you’re able to descend safely at all! I’m not trying to scare you, I just want you to be aware of all this. I’ll be performing routine examinations on every member of the team, so get used to it.”

  “I’m looking forward to that!” Marquis said with a laugh. Some of the others chuckled.

  She glared at him but smiled. “Roland has told me that I have the authority to send anyone down the mountain who I think is unfit to continue the climb. That goes for you, too, Mr. Marquis!”

  Bond wondered if there was something romantic between the two of them.

  “Finally, I just want to say that although we’re about to embark on a seemingly insurmountable task, there’s an old Maori proverb that says He nui maunga e kore e taea te whakaneke, he nui ngaru moana mā te ihu o te waka e wāhi. ‘A great mountain cannot be moved, but a giant wave can be broken by the prow of a canoe.’ In plain English, that means ‘Do not give up too easily—some things are possible.’ That’s all I’ve got,” she said, and sat down.

  Marquis took the floor again and said, “Thank you, Dr. Kendall. I’m sure we’ll all put ourselves in your capable hands.”

  She smirked and turned red again as the others laughed.

  “Right,” Marquis said. He then introduced the man who was in charge of Nepalese relations. He would be working with the sirdar to hire the Sherpa porters once they reached Taplejung. Other climbers would be hired there to assist in the hauling once the team reached Camp Five and the aircraft.

  The equipment manager was a renowned French mountaineer. Bond was aware of his talents. He was probably the only mountaineer on the team who was as experienced as Roland Marquis. He was a small man but had extremely broad shoulders and a big, bald head.