Shaw jumped down, scrambled over to the next carriage and hurriedly climbed up the ladder. A second later, Shaw popped his head up and saw the steward sitting on the roof of the carriage tying a handkerchief around his left ankle. He must have landed badly, thought Shaw.
The man seemed unaware that Shaw was there. Slowly and deliberately, Shaw drew his pistol and then raised himself up onto the top of the train car.
“Don’t move!” warned Shaw.
The steward looked up at Shaw just as a jagged streak of silver lightning tore through the night sky, instantly followed by a booming roar of thunder that Shaw felt deep down inside his chest. If the steward was surprised to see Shaw standing there, he didn’t show it; his face was blank, emotionless.
“I’ve just about had enough of you tonight. Lose the knife,” ordered Shaw.
The steward looked over at Shaw. With an expressionless look on his face, he let go of the kukri. It dropped at his feet. A second later, he smiled at Shaw and then with his right foot, he pushed the knife away from him. It slid off the side of the roof and vanished from sight.
“You cannot escape. There are men all up and down the train waiting for you,” said Shaw. “Do yourself a favor and place your hands on your head.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to kill me first, Mister Shaw,” said the steward in perfect English as he rose to his feet.
“I would rather not do that. And how the hell do you know my name?”
“How I know your name is unimportant. You should realize that I have no intention of allowing you or anyone else to take me alive.”
Shaw bit his lip. He didn’t doubt the man would rather die than be taken alive. He decided to play for time. “You can at least tell me who sent you to kill me.”
“Mister Shaw, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
From behind the steward, men called out. Shaw glanced over his pistol sights and saw three Gurkhas climb up and then begin to make their way along the slick roof of the carriage towards the trapped steward.
“You cannot escape. Do the right thing and give yourself up,” said Shaw.
“I cannot,” replied the steward. In the blink of an eye, he charged straight at Shaw.
Shaw fired his pistol just as the steward smashed into Shaw’s chest, sending both men tumbling down in-between the two carriages. They landed hard on the metal platform. Shaw moaned in pain. He was sure he had bruised a rib or two in the fall. He turned his aching head and saw the steward lying beside him with a bloody hole blasted through his left shoulder.
Both men, stunned from the fall, crawled back away from the other, trying to put a little breathing room between them before renewing the fight.
Shaw couldn’t believe that he still had his pistol in his hand. However, before he could raise it, the steward, his face ashen and his breathing labored, crawled between the two moving carriages. He took one last look at Shaw and then threw himself down onto the track. The heavy steel wheels of the racing locomotive instantly pulverized his body.
Shaw shook his head. He struggled to understand why the man had so willingly sacrificed his life to keep the identity of the people trying to kill him a secret.
“Are you all right, sir?” said a voice from behind Shaw.
Shaw turned his neck and saw a British captain standing there. “I’ve had better days,” answered Shaw as he got back up onto his wobbly feet.
“My God, what happened?”
“I wish I knew…I wish I knew,” replied Shaw.
A couple of minutes later, back in his cabin, Shaw collapsed onto a wooden bench seat. In his hand was a flask filled with Scotch. In the carriage hallway, two stone-faced soldiers with bayonets affixed to their rifles stood guard. Shaw took a long, deep swig to calm his nerves. He could see that his hands were shaking. He knew it was the combination of fear and adrenaline slowly leaving his system. His body ached everywhere. He knew the pain would be far worse in the morning.
“I hate to say it, but you look like crap, sir,” said Bruce as he entered the cabin and sat down opposite Shaw.
“Thanks,” said Shaw, taking another drink from his flask.
“You should really change out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold.”
“Least of my worries tonight, Duncan,” replied Shaw, before draining his flask in one long swig.
“Sir, I spoke with the train conductor, and he said that the chap who killed himself was a new employee,” explained Bruce. “He was hired on just last week. He came down from Tibet looking for work. The conductor hired him as it is getting hard for him to find young men to work on the train with so many enlisting to fight in the war.”
“That explains a lot,” said Shaw, rubbing his sore and aching neck.
“As for the Indian businessman,” said Bruce, “he’s a bit of a mystery. His room was searched from top to bottom, and aside from his ticket, they found no other piece of identification in there. He should have had his government pass on him, at least. They found nothing. The conductor told me that he remembered the businessman boarding the train when we did, but after that, he never saw him again. He’d been in his room the whole time until the attack upon you.”
“What did you tell them about us?”
“I told them that we were surveyors hired by the British and American governments to study the railroads between New Delhi and the border with Burma to see if they can be quickly improved in the event of a Japanese invasion.”
“Wasn’t anyone the slightest bit curious as to why someone had tried to kill me?”
“Oh, there were questions,” said Bruce, “but I told them that you have a bad habit of taking one too many drinks after meals and then shooting your mouth off. I made sure that people understood your attackers might have thought we were carrying bribe money to ensure that we obtain the various government contracts to improve the tracks, which I might add are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Good thinking.”
“I thought so,” said Bruce smiling.
“Did they buy it?”
“They’ve stopped asking questions, so I’d have to say yes.”
Shaw went to place his flask back in his suitcase and saw that his hands had stopped trembling. Looking over at Bruce, he said, “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Someone is on to us.”
“Precisely.”
“Captain, we’ve been traveling for weeks now and have been helped by dozens of different people, any one of whom could be working for the Nazis,” said Bruce, shaking his head. “We’ve got Germans working for our side, and I’m sure they have people here in India working for them.”
“I’m not sure it was the Nazis.”
“Now, why on earth would you say that?”
“Because the young Tibetan man who killed himself said that I wouldn’t believe who was behind the attempt on my life.”
“That doesn’t prove anything. He may have said that to throw you off.”
Shaw shook his head. “My gut tells me otherwise. Regardless, from here on out, our pre-arranged travel arrangements have to be thrown out the window. There could be other assassins lying in wait for us along our route.”
“Ok then, Captain, what do you propose we do?”
“We’ll get off before our next scheduled stop and hire someone to sneak us to Gangtok.”
“Without sounding too negative, Captain, do you happen to know anyone in this part of the world that I don’t?”
Shaw reached over and opened his briefcase, revealing a hidden compartment in the side of the case, and pulled out a row of gold English Sovereigns. “I may not, but I’m sure these will help us meet all kinds of interesting people willing to help.”
“Then why do I have this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach?”
Shaw smiled. “Come on, Duncan. We can’t stay on this train forever. We have to get off somewhere. Besides, we still have a job to do.”
“Aye, I know but I’d hoped that
things would run a bit more smoothly than our trip to Norway.”
“Don’t worry. What else could go wrong?”
“A million things,” replied Bruce, wondering if they were about to jump from the proverbial frying pan and into the fire.
Chapter 10
Train Station,
Gangtok, India
Amrit York struggled to suppress the awful feeling of desperation growing inside her chest. Out of frustration, Amrit tossed her cigarette out the open driver’s side window of her battered, dust-covered Ford pickup truck as it bounced up and down on the rocky path that passed as the road out of Gangtok to her home located just on the outskirts of the city.
She had driven to the train station an hour ahead of time and waited patiently for her contacts to arrive. When the scheduled rendezvous timing came and went, she began to grow nervous. Her anxiety rose as she watched a small group of men get off the train. None of the men matched the description given to her of Shaw and Bruce. Extinguishing her cigarette with the heel of her shoe, Amrit walked over to the first man off the train and stopped him.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Amrit to a short Indian man in an ill-fitting white suit with a battered, gray fedora hat, “did you happen to notice a couple of western gentlemen on the train? They wouldn’t have been soldiers, but civilian surveyors. I was supposed to meet them here today.”
Seeing a beautiful woman in her early thirties with long black hair, sparkling black eyes and the figure of a film star standing in front to him, the man smiled and tipped his hat at Amrit. “Sorry, my dear, but I didn’t notice any. Is there anything I can for you?”
“No, thank you,” replied Amrit as she turned about, strode back to her truck and slid in behind the wheel. Amrit bit her lip, looked into her rearview mirror at the train station and then swore. Her mind was awhirl with questions and possible scenarios in which Shaw and Bruce could have met their demise. Starting the truck, Amrit drove slowly towards her home, wondering how she was going to inform her superiors that the men they had sent thousands of miles had failed to show up.
By the time she arrived at the tall wooden gates barring the entrance to her secluded white plastered two-story home, Amrit was convinced that the men she had been assigned to help were dead, their bodies stashed in some out-of-the-way crevasse, never to be found. Amrit beeped the car’s horn twice and waited while an elderly man with deep lines on his weathered face opened the gates slightly, and popped his head out to see who was outside. With a wide smile on his toothless face, the old man waved at Amrit and pushed opened the gates for her to drive in. After she parked her truck, Amrit thanked the man at the gate and told him that she wouldn’t be going anywhere else today. He was happy to hear that he could take the rest of the day off.
Amrit felt like the weight of the world was bearing down on her slender shoulders. The drive home, combined with her fear for the two missing men, had given her the worst tension headache she had ever had in her life. All she wanted to do was have a stiff drink, a long hot bath and then a couple of hours’ sleep before facing the world again. It wasn’t to be though as she had to report to her superiors in New Delhi that Shaw and Bruce were missing. With a heavy sigh, Amrit headed upstairs to her study. Stopping by the door, she looked both ways to make sure that none of her household staff was around before placing her key into the lock and opening the door. Stepping inside, Amrit gagged as her nostrils were instantly assaulted by the pungent aroma of sheep dung.
“Afternoon, Miss York,” said a voice with an American accent from behind her.
Amrit turned her head and was stunned to see two men standing there with pistols in their hands. Both were absolutely filthy; at their feet were two battered and filth-covered suitcases. Their clothes looked as if they had been worn non-stop for days.
“Please take a seat at your desk,” said the American. “Don’t do anything foolish and keep your hands where we can see them.”
Obediently, Amrit slowly sat down behind her desk with her hands resting on the top of the desk. She had a pistol hidden in the top drawer; however, she doubted that she could reach it before being shot dead.
“You are to be complimented,” said the American. “It took quite some time to find your hidden radio behind the false wall beside your desk.”
Amrit’s heart skipped a beat; her secret had been discovered. “Who are you?” she asked.
Bruce said, “I’m hurt, don’t you recognize us?”
Looking closer at the dirt-encrusted men, Amrit smiled. “My God, if it isn’t the men I’m looking for. James Shaw and Duncan Bruce, you’re not as I imagined you’d look.”
“I guess we do look a wee bit dirty,” replied Bruce.
Amrit’s face turned serious. “You two were supposed to meet me at the train station first thing this morning. What happened?”
“Let’s just say that we decided to take alternate transport arrangements after someone tried to kill me,” said Shaw.
“Certainly not!” blurted out Amrit. “No one knew you were coming.”
Shaw said, “Someone knew exactly who we were and how to get to us. You had best inform your superiors that you’ve most likely been compromised and ask for directions.”
Amrit swore.
Bruce said, “Missy, the captain’s right, your life is probably in danger as well. Trust me, I’d rather not be here at all. I’m not sure who we can trust anymore.”
“Well, you can trust me, Mister Bruce,” said Amrit. “Now, gents, please lower your guns; you’re both making me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”
Shaw nodded his head. A moment later, both men lowered their pistols.
“Now, would you mind telling me how got in here?” asked Amrit.
“It wasn’t that hard,” replied Shaw. “We actually arrived here just before dawn. When your man nipped inside make himself some tea, we scaled the wall at the back of your house and snuck inside. Duncan, bless his heart, quickly figured out which room you kept your radio in and with the help of a skeleton key we got into your study and waited for you to return.”
Shaking her head, Amrit said, “I thought I had better security than this.”
“Missy, don’t blame your man,” said Bruce. “It’s not his fault; the captain is a bit of a sneaky bastard. You could have had a platoon on guard outside, and he would have figured a way in. It’s kinda what he does.”
Amrit pursed her lips and then said, “I guess you’re right…and Mister Bruce, please quit calling me missy. You can call me Amrit when we are alone and Miss York when we are in public. I have a carefully cultivated image to maintain in this city.”
“Sorry,” said Bruce, not realizing that he had crossed a line with Amrit.
“It’s all right; I’ve worked with Scotsmen before,” said Amrit with a smile.
Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but decided to let it go.
“Now that we’re here, how are you going to explain our sudden appearance in your home?” asked Shaw.
“My household staff is incredibly loyal to me and won’t say a thing to anyone about you. Since your cover is blown, I’ll have to come up a new story for you,” said Amrit. “Until then, I want you both to take a long hot bath while I have your clothes burned out back.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Bruce. A moment later, his stomach rumbled loudly.
“When was the last time either of you ate?” asked Amrit.
“A couple of days ago,” replied Shaw.
“I’ll have some food brought to you right away,” said Amrit.
Both men thanked her.
Shaw said, “Amrit, before we get cleaned up, can you tell me the significance of the date, the eleventh of June?”
Amrit smiled. “Of course I can. It’s the birthday of Mohammed Kalakani, the exiled heir to the Afghan throne. He’s throwing a huge shindig at his palace on a hill overlooking the city tomorrow night, and we have been invited to attend as his honored guests.”
“We’ve been in
vited?” said Shaw.
“Don’t worry, Mister Shaw,” said Amrit. “He’s invited hundreds of people from in and around the city to attend his party. If your German officer is here, we may be able to learn something about him during the party. The invite is for me only; however, you two fine gentlemen will be coming as my guests. Mohammed Kalakani will never turn me away. Trust me; we’ll have no trouble getting in.”
“And just what do you do here, Amrit?” asked Shaw.
“I’m a doctor, Mister Shaw,” replied Amrit proudly. “I studied at the University of New Delhi and have lived here for the past four years. I have been able to build up a good rapport with the locals.”
“You’re really a doctor?” said Bruce.
A sour look crossed Amrit’s face. “Mister Bruce, is there something wrong with a woman being a doctor?”
Shaw shook his head at his friend.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that at all,” said Bruce. “It’s just that I’ve never met a lady doctor before.”
“Take my word for it, I am a real doctor, and if you happen to get hurt or sick while you’re here, you’ll want me, not a shaman, looking after you.”
“I’ve really got to work on how I talk to women,” said Bruce, shaking his head.
Across the city, Carlos Adler followed Musa Khan as he led him through an open courtyard, their shoes echoing off the stone floor. A cat curled up on a wicker seat in the sun barely lifted its head and then watched with disinterest as Adler walked by before going back to sleep. They had arrived in the city earlier in the day; however, it had taken until now for Khan to take Adler to meet the rest of his team. After opening an old wooden door, Khan stepped aside and ushered Adler inside a spacious storage room located at the back of the mansion.
The Mountain Page 7
