High Time To Kill

by Raymond Benson

  Marquis, doing his best to move in rhythm, felt like hell. He was totally exhausted from the climbing he had already done that day. He was hungry and thirsty, and his headache had increased by the minute. It was so excruciating that he wanted to scream. He was certain that he had developed High Altitude Cerebral Edema. The symptoms were quite evident. If he didn’t descend soon, hemight have a stroke.

  He had to get over the top, he thought. His only hope was to go up and over the summit and descend Kangchenjunga into Sikkim. He could easily lose himself there if he could get away from Bond. That’s what he would do, then!

  Roland Marquis might have recognized the symptoms of HACE, but he didn’t realize how delusional he was. He had completely forgotten that he was without supplies, a tent, a sleeping bag, or any other necessities for spending a night on the mountain, much less surviving a monsoon and attempting to descend to the bottom. He didn’t think about the fact that it would take three or four days, or more, to get to the Sikkim-side Base Camp. He was convinced that he was going to reach the top of Kangch and escape.

  He made it to the West Ridge. All he had to do now was scramble a hundred meters to the summit, then he would be across the border and over. Marquis thought he was running, but in reality he was taking two steps every ten seconds. To him, everything around him was a blur. He had to concentrate on the goal … the top of the third highest mountain in the world.

  Why did it seem like he was on a treadmill? It felt as if he were not moving any nearer to the summit. He had to push harder. Run, dammit! he told himself.

  I will conquer this mountain! he screamed in his head.

  “To hell with you, Kangchenjunga!” he yelled, but he was so breathless that it came out as a whisper.

  The Nepalese believe that the gods see and hear everything, and what happened next might have been attributed to this faith. Through the heavy snow Marquis thought he could see the markers, prayer flags, and spikes that other climbers had left on the summit. It was within reach! He crawled forward on hands and knees, and then suddenly went blind. It was an unexpected, horrible sensation. This was followed by a searing pain moving through his skull. He thought his head was going to explode.

  Marquis screamed and fell to his knees.

  Hope had warned them about retinal hemorrhage. It had struck him hard in both eyes. Simultaneously, he experienced severe symptoms of HACE. He writhed on the ground and beat his head, trying to knock the pain away. It was no use.

  He continued to crawl forward, feeling his way to the summit.

  Breathe … breathe … !

  His lungs couldn’t take it. His heart was pounding in his chest.

  Just a little farther …

  He reached out his hand and felt a flagpole. He had made it—8,598 meters! Marquis collapsed and lay still, trying to breathe the thin, precious air.

  He could rest here, he told himself. He deserved a reward for making it to the summit. He could afford the rest he needed. Whoever was following him would surely never make it. It was he who was king of the world now. He was Roland Marquis! He was … invincible!

  Then James Bond caught up with him. He, too, fell beside Marquis in exhaustion, fighting for air. He removed the emergency breather from his pocket and inhaled. The Himalayan range spread out before him in all directions. It was as if he were in an airplane but without the plane.

  “Who’s there?” Marquis gasped.

  “It’s your old friend from Eton,” Bond managed to say between breaths. He put away the breather.

  Marquis was confused. Who?

  “Oh … right,” he said. “Bond. I almost forgot who I was running from,” he whispered. “We’re at the top, aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “How … how are you?”

  “I’m alive,” Bond coughed. “You … you don’t look so good, Roland.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I probably don’t. I can’t see a damned thing. Bad … bad luck. You have any air?”

  “Yes.”

  “You wouldn’t want to give me some, would you?” Marquis pleaded, but with dignity. “For old time’s sake?”

  “Where’s the pacemaker?” Bond asked coldly.

  Marquis coughed and choked. The spasm lasted for nearly a minute. Finally, the officer caught his breath and said, “See what happens when I try to laugh?”

  “It’s an honest offer, Roland,” Bond said. “Oxygen for the pacemaker.”

  “You bastard.”

  There was silence. The storm was getting worse. The wind was screaming, and Bond could feel the subzero temperatures penetrating his parka. They had to get out of there.

  “Come on, Roland, I haven’t got all day.”

  Roland reached into a pocket. Bond caught his hand. “It’s all right, Bond,” Marquis said. “There’s no gun there.”

  Marquis brought out the gold object and held it in his palm. Bond took it, verified that it was indeed Lee’s pacemaker, and put it in a pouch. He then removed the emergency breather and placed the mouthpiece to Marquis’s lips. Marquis choked on the air but was soon breathing steadily.

  “How much was the Union paying you?” Bond asked.

  Marquis tried to laugh but coughed again. He said, “I’m not Union, Bond. I never was. It was Steven Harding, not me.” He began to tell the story slowly, between breaths. “The Union got to him and paid him something to steal Skin 17.… He came to me and offered me an insulting fifteen thousand pounds to help him.… I, of course, would remain a silent partner because of my high profile in the RAF, but I was the ideal person to bring in on the job because of my proximity to the Skin 17 project.… Even though the money was ridiculous, I thought about the scheme’s potential. I talked him into double-crossing the Union and helping me sell it to the Russian Mafia.… You see, I’ve done business with them before.… I convinced Harding that he would make a lot more money.… Besides, better the Russian Mafia get it than the Chinese, which is whom the Union wanted to sell it to.… We were just eliminating the middlemen and their commission!”

  “Then the business with the pacemaker, and Lee Ming … ?”

  “That was the Union’s plan all along.… When you interfered in

  Belgium, the Union changed the scheme.… They decided to reroute Lee’s journey to China through Nepal and Tibet.… Since I had connections in Nepal, I came up with the plot to hire hijackers, kidnap Lee from his hotel, and whisk him away to an airfield in Sikkim.… There he would have been picked up by my people and hidden.… Harding made most of the arrangements.… After selling the formula, Harding and I were going to split the money, but he was careless.… I knew the Union would eliminate him and then the fortune would be all mine.… Unfortunately, the damned tourist plane crashed on this … fucking mountain … it was carrying a goddamned MP and an American senator.… I knew that the Skin 17 microdot was somewhere on Lee Ming’s body, but exactly where was one piece of information that was withheld from me. You knew where it was.… I needed you to find it for me. And now … here we are.”

  He returned the emergency breather to Bond.

  “You had better get going,” Marquis said. “That storm is getting worse.”

  “You’re coming with me,” Bond said.

  Marquis shook his head. “I don’t want to be court-martialed. I couldn’t face it. I don’t want to die in prison. No, this is a much better way to die. Leave me here. Let me die at the top of the world.”

  “What happened to Chandra?” Bond asked.

  “He did his best to stop me. He fell. He didn’t die a coward, that’s certain. Unlike me. I’m sorry, Bond.”

  Bond became aware of another person climbing toward them. At first he thought it might be a supernatural being—a yeti or a ghost. But it was only Hope Kendall. She was carrying a backpack and had oxygen. She dropped the respirator from her mouth and yelled, “Christ, what the hell are you two doing here? We have to get down!”

  “Hope …” Marquis said. “Congratulations …”

&nbs
p; “What?”

  “Congratulations,” he gasped. “You can count on one hand the number of women who have summited Kangchenjunga.”

  That news surprised her. She involuntarily laughed, then dropped to her knees beside Bond.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said. “I was in, boots and all, and didn’t even think about that. I just wanted to catch up with you two.”

  “Both of you,” Marquis said. “Go. Leave me. I’m staying here.”

  Bond pulled on Hopes arm. “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “We’re leaving him.”

  “We can’t leave him!” She struggled against Bond. “Let’s give him oxygen. We can get him down the—”

  But Marquis gasped, choked a moment, and went limp. Hope examined him, reached for his wrist, and felt for a pulse. She put her head to his chest.

  Bond gently tugged on her arm again. “The storm is getting bad,” he said.

  She finally raised herself, nodded, and got to her feet. She helped Bond stand, but his legs were very weak. She reached into her pack and brought out an extra oxygen canister. “Here, put this on,” she said.

  The new air helped tremendously, and they began the torturous descent back to Camp Five. Bond paused to look at the figure of Roland Marquis, lying amid the prayer flags and country markers. He might have been a great man, Bond thought, but his pride got him in trouble. The gods disapproved of it. He had not shown the mountain the proper respect. As he had betrayed his country, he had betrayed his pact with the deities who controlled the elements in this cold hell, high above the living earth.

  “Come on,” Hope urged.

  She helped him as he stumbled along, trying to keep his balance on the West Ridge. He hadn’t realized how wrecked he was until he started moving. The wind was intense and was getting worse by the minute. If they stopped at all, they would perish.

  The storm hit full force when they were a hundred and fifty meters from camp. Hope could see the Great Scree Terrace below them. All they had to do was climb down the rock wall.

  Bond took one look and knew that he couldn’t do it. Like Marquis, he was ready to give up and die.

  “Get up, damn you!” Hope cried. “You’re not wimping out on me now! You’re coming down with me.”

  Bond attempted to wave her away.

  “Breathe, dammit! Breathe the oxygen!” she yelled.

  Bond took some breaths, but he could barely find the strength to inhale.

  “Fine, I’ll have to do it the hard way,” she said.

  Working as quickly as she could, Hope removed anchors, rope, a harness, and a pulley from her bag. She got the harness around Bond, who was barely conscious. She drove the anchors into the rock with her ice ax, fixed the pulley and threaded the rope through it. She then attached the rope to the harness and pushed Bond over the wall.

  She slowly lowered him, belaying his body as he bounced like a marionette against the side of the rock. When he reached the bottom, he crumpled as if he had no skeleton.

  Hope then began her descent, holding on to the bits of rock and ice, praying that the wind wouldn’t blow her off. It was more difficult than she had thought it would be, but she kept going without looking down.

  After what seemed like an eternity, her boots touched the plateau. She fell against a snowdrift and rested for a minute, then pulled Bond to his knees.

  “Get up, you bastard,” she yelled at him. “We’re almost there!”

  Bond mumbled something. He was completely out of it. He could barely stand and lean in to her. She helped him along, acting as a crutch.

  “Right foot … left foot …” she called, telling his brain what to do, for it had ceased to function. Nevertheless, he understood her commands, moved his feet forward, and marched with her.

  “That’s right,” she said. “You’re doing great! Right foot … left foot … !”

  They continued in this manner until they reached the tents. She opened the flap, pushed Bond inside, then crawled in after him.

  This time, the Q Branch bivouac sack saved their lives.

  TWENTY - FIVE

  HUMAN MACHINES

  “ARE YOU AWAKE?” SHE ASKED HIM.

  They were both inside the bivouac sack. Bond moved slowly and groaned. He had slept the sleep of the dead.

  Sunlight oozed through the top of the tent. Hope didn’t know how long they had been asleep, but it was obviously the next day. She put on her boots and opened the tent to inspect the damage. The entrance was completely blocked by snow and ice. She took a snow shovel and began to dig her way out.

  Bond heard the scraping and sat up. “What year is it?” he asked. His voice was hoarse.

  “It’s the year they’ll put on our tombstones if we don’t dig ourselves out of here and get moving, what do you say?” She continued to scrape. “How do you feel?”

  “Terrible. How did I get here? The last thing I remember was leaving the summit.” He then noticed a large bandage wrapped around the wound that Marquis had made with the ice ax.

  “Your fairy godmother took care of you,” she said. She stopped and put down the shovel. “I suppose I should boil some water before exhausting myself.”

  The few hours of sleep had worked miracles. Bond recovered quickly. His shoulder was extremely sore, but he could manage. He pulled his down jacket over him and together they cleared the entrance to the tent. While Hope continued to drag bodies out of the fuselage, Bond dug his way into Paul Baack’s tent to use the satellite phone. He wanted to make another call to London before they made the descent to Camp Four. He also wanted to alert Ang Tshering at the Base Camp that they were on the way.

  As soon as he entered, Bond felt a burst of adrenaline.

  The satellite phone was not sitting on Baack’s portable table. Someone had been in the tent before the storm had hit.

  The body was still there, covered by the brightly colored parka. If he remembered the tents contents correctly, there was a pack missing, but the rest of the Dutchman’s belongings seemed to be intact.

  On an impulse Bond stooped over Baack’s pack, which had been stored in the corner of the tent with other things. He dug in the clothing and found pieces of a rifle: a stock, barrel, telescopic sight—and 7.62mm cartridges. It was a gas-operated sniper rifle much like a Belgian FN FAL.

  A chill slithered down Bond’s back. It couldn’t be! This was the weapon used to shoot at Bond and Chandra during the trek. The gun that killed young David Black. The sniper had been Paul Baack!

  He turned to the body on the tent floor. Bond took hold of the parka and yanked it off the corpse.

  It wasn’t Baack at all. It was a Sherpa, one of the new men who had come up from the Base Camp to help haul. His throat had been cut, like all the others.

  Bond leaped to his feet and ran outside.

  “Hope?” he called. She wasn’t out by the plane. Bond tromped as fast as he could through the deep snow. He could now clearly see another set of footprints other than Hope’s around the fuselage.

  Paul Baack was standing in the open hatch, holding a Hechler and Koch VP70 to Hope’s head.

  “Hello, James,” he said. “Raise your hands. Now. Where I can see them.”

  Bond did so. Carefully, his gun still trained on Hope, Baack ordered, “Dr. Kendall, please take Mr. Bond’s pistol out of that little pouch on the side of his parka. Pick it up with your thumb and index finger, please.”

  She did as she was told and held it gingerly.

  “Throw it over there,” Baack commanded. Bond watched as his Walther sailed several feet away, landed with a plop, and sank into a soft snowdrift. Baack pulled her next to him again and repositioned his gun to her head.

  “I heard you were still at Camp Five,” Baack continued, “so I thought I’d pay you a visit. It’s a pity that Otto didn’t kill you and our good doctor like he was supposed to.”

  “Let her go, Baack.”

  “No, James, I have to finish the job that Otto botched up. He w
as working for me, you see. I hired him. In the eyes of my superiors, if he fails, then I fail. I have to make sure they don’t see me as a failure. It could damage my reputation. That damned Roland Marquis. I didn’t count on him being a free agent in this mess. He screwed up my plan.”

  “So that’s it,” Bond said. “I didn’t count on two Union operatives infiltrating the team. Schrenk was the muscleman and you were the brains, right?”

  “If you say so,” Baack said. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Bond’s eyes narrowed. “And you had constant contact with London. You knew my every move. You hired the hit man in Kathmandu and had me followed.”

  “He was a disgraceful amateur. I apologize for that,” Baack said.

  “You knew where we were going to be and when. Where were you hiding all this time?”

  “I went down to Camp Four to wait for Otto, but he never showed. As you say, I overheard your conversation with London that you were still alive. That’s the problem with mobile phones. They’re very easy to eavesdrop on. I waited for you and Hope to descend, but you insisted on staying here through those dreadful storms. So I came up here to surprise you this morning.”

  Bond was furious. “Did you recruit my personal assistant? Do you know what’s happened to her?”

  Baack laughed. “Miss Marksbury? I had a part in recruiting her, yes. As for her whereabouts, do you think I’ll tell you? Forget it. If she’s not dead already, she will be soon. Now give me the pacemaker.”

  “It’s gone,” Bond lied. “Roland had it. It went down the mountain with him.”

  Baack studied Bond’s face. Finally he said, “That’s very disappointing. And too bad for you. Now let’s march to the edge of the plateau over there. You two are going on a thrill ride that beats anything they have at Disneyland.”

  “Why don’t you just shoot us?” Bond asked. “Or cut our throats? Isn’t that the Union’s preferred method of disposal?”

  “Oh, this will be much more fun,” Baack said with a smile. “I want to hear that wonderful scream that fades out when someone falls, like you hear in the movies. You know, Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeee!” He laughed at his sound effect, then wiped away the smile. “Now, move.”