Zhu gave a few curt orders in Mandarin and without warning the two soldiers rushed towards René, grabbing him by the front of his woollen jumper. Xie was first, his ruddy cheeks and square neck only inches from his face, but René’s eyes were immediately drawn past him to the shoulder strap of the sergeant’s rucksack. Taped across the webbing, he could see the outline of a large survival knife, its metal handle faded and scratched from use. Each soldier had one and despite only being able to see an impression of the blade through the sheath, he knew enough about the sergeant to bet that it was razor-sharp.
René felt his stomach clench tight.
‘You have until tomorrow morning to find out where they went,’ he heard Zhu say from behind him. ‘After that, you are of no further use to me.’
Xie shunted René forward so that he stumbled, tripping over one of the guy ropes. A moment later he was dragged out of the camp towards the long line of the cliff edge.
Zhu ignored the Westerner’s shouts, his mind already elsewhere. Time was ticking away and he still had no results. One month. That’s what he had said to the Director General of the PSB. One month. Yet that time was already nearly up and he knew that Beijing would be waiting impatiently for his next report.
There was a rustling of fabric and Chen’s massive frame slowly unfolded itself from his tent. Reaching back inside, he grabbed his laptop, disconnecting one of the wires as he pulled it out into the open.
‘Sir, I have found something that might be of interest.’
Zhu’s eyes turned towards him.
‘I’ve just downloaded a new email that concerns a report from Cambridge, England.’
Zhu remained silent, an air of hostility surrounding his entire body. Chen cleared his throat, looking back to the computer screen as if for support.
‘The report was from four weeks ago but I am afraid I hadn’t seen it as my security clearance was temporarily revoked . . . after the incident . . . with the boy.’
Zhu waited, his patience straining.
‘I have been going back through all my files and found that the report concerns one of the men we are looking for – Luca Matthews. He purportedly spoke to an old informant about something called a beyul. The report was filed by a . . .’ he paused, double-checking the screen ‘. . . a Professor Tang.’
Zhu stared at him, his eyes suddenly alive.
‘Read the report again.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He read the brief in full, including dates and times.
‘I’ve checked twice, sir, and couldn’t find any reference to the word beyul in any of our files.’
‘That’s because it’s classified,’ Zhu snapped distractedly. He turned back towards the cliff, feeling a sudden surge of excitement. He’d been right all along. There was something up there – but could it really be one of the fabled beyuls? Surely the last of them had been destroyed over thirty years ago? The Cultural Revolution had put paid to all that. They’d combed every river gorge, every mountain summit.
Could there really be one left?
‘Get Beijing on the line immediately. I want full satellite imagery for everything above this cliff-face. Get them to divert a satellite if necessary. And I want full-spectrum coverage to cut straight through this cloud.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And Lieutenant, ensure that no one in the bureau hears of this. Instruct the technician to delete all reference to the search once it has been emailed to you.’
Chen looked momentarily puzzled, but then quickly turned back to his tent.
After a moment, Zhu heard him rummaging through the mess of clothing and cables to retrieve one of their two GSM 900 satellite phones.
He stood for a moment, staring up at the sheer side of mountain, his eyes tracing up and down the great lines of the rock. If there really was a beyul up there, he was sure that’s where the Gelugpas would have hidden the boy. It made perfect sense. But the discovery had to remain his, and his alone. He wasn’t about to let anyone else at the bureau claim credit for such a monumental finding. The beyul would be his and that cliff was now the only thing standing between him and the final hiding place of the Panchen Lama.
Come tomorrow morning, he would start to send the soldiers up there two at a time, whether they could climb or not.
Chapter 40
THERE WAS NO path so René and the two soldiers were forced to pick their way over the shrubs and bracken that clung to the mountain slopes, tripping on roots or tearing the lower parts of their trousers on the ragged thorn bushes. It was slow going. Ahead of them, the towering façade of the rock-face continued unbroken for as far as they could see.
They had been walking for six hours without rest. René was continuing with dogged determination, but could feel his thighs getting shaky with the effort. He muttered to himself, channelling his hatred on to the rapist private a few hundred yards in front. He could see the thickset neck and shuffling walk as Xie followed the SOF sergeant like a lap dog.
René stopped suddenly and peered down at some strange flowers growing by the side of a large boulder. The flowers looked like prunes, black in colour and wrinkled on top. Short, bristly hairs stuck out in all directions.
‘Mandragora caulescens,’ he muttered, gently rubbing his hand over the petals. He had spent almost an entire month trying to find this particular species when he had first arrived in Tibet over eight years ago. And now here it was, right in front of him. If only the circumstances were different.
He looked up to find that the sergeant had stopped and was watching him closely. René stood up and continued walking, coming to a halt just in front of the other two men. He reached into the pocket of his corduroy trousers and pulled out a squashed packet of cigarettes. He was playing for time, thankful for the rest. Folding open the pack, he offered one to the sergeant, who shook his head impatiently. He then deliberately passed over Xie, taking one for himself, and with his other hand, reached back into his pocket for the lighter.
Xie’s quick eyes moved from the pack to René’s face. He lunged forward, trying to snatch them from René’s grasp, but missed. He went to try again but the sergeant’s hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks. The sergeant then whispered something in Mandarin and Xie quickly lowered his eyes to the ground. With a slow shake of his head, the sergeant moved off again in the direction they were headed.
‘Guess you’re not so matey with the boss after all,’ René said. Xie’s expression hardened as he caught the tone of the Westerner’s voice and his eyes followed the line of Renés mocking smile.
As René was about to walk off, Xie suddenly made a soft moaning sound. It was quiet enough for the sergeant not to hear and, as René stared quizzically at him, Xie closed his eyes and licked his lips in a horrible parody of pleasure. He moaned again, high-pitched, like a girl.
‘You son of a bitch!’ René hissed. ‘She was just a child . . .’
Xie gave a leering smile and then swaggered off, content that the Westerner had understood. For a moment René just stared after him, his cheeks flushing red while his titanic body seemed to swell, belly clenching in and barrel chest lifting. Then his huge frame listed forward and he staggered into a run, reaching full speed in just a few strides.
With his shoulder hunched, he crashed into Xie’s back at full force, the impact resounding with a dull thump. Xie was thrown forward, his body twisting horizontally in mid-air before landing heavily on his chest and face. René came crashing down beside him on the wet heather but used his hands to break his fall, rolling away and panting from the effort.
Xie lay on the ground, arms flailing as he tried to recover from the shock of the impact and raise himself on to all fours. A strangled wheezing came from his chest and he lifted his head, panicked eyes staring directly at René. He was so badly winded that for a few seconds the only sound was his laboured gasping for air.
René watched him, a broad smile spreading over his face until, suddenly, his massive head jolted to one side and he drop
ped to the ground with a thud.
The sergeant stood over him, rifle butt clasped in his hands. He stared down expressionlessly and then slowly shook his head as René lolled on to his back, unconscious.
René stumbled on, feeling as if the pain would crack his head in two. They were on their way back to camp. He moved as fast as he could, but the effort was almost unbearable.
Xie walked twenty or so paces behind him in silence, staring like a petulant child at the back of René’s shoulders. Further back still was the sergeant. His rifle was held in his hands rather than slung over his shoulder and he was watching them both carefully. The safety was on, but René had heard the metallic crack of the bolt being pulled back. A round was now loaded in the chamber of his rifle.
As they finally crested the brow of a hill to look down on the green, rip-stop nylon tents of the campsite, René immediately sensed something was amiss. The soldier’s clockwork routine had changed – everyone was in camp and they seemed to be busy. Men were running from tent to tent with a purposeful air about them.
As they drew closer, René could see three of the soldiers were packing rucksacks. High-calorific ration packs and aluminium cooking pots had already been laid out on the grass by the main tent. Two other men were measuring coils of rope, paying them out in metre sections as they counted. Nearer to the fire, the remaining soldiers had spread out nylon covers. On top of them were the entire patrol’s rifles. Each had been recently oiled and hardened plastic caps had been fixed over the sights to protect them from the drizzling rain, while magazines of ammunition lay stacked in piles by each stock.
Their small group walked into the centre of camp and stopped by the fire. Running his eyes anxiously over the weapons on the ground, René looked up just as Captain Zhu approached the fire. The yak’s blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders and he smoked a cigarette, but for the first time since they had set off from Lhasa, he looked truly alive.
The bastard had somehow found the route up the cliff-face. René was sure of it.
‘You’ve been busy,’ he remarked, trying to prompt Zhu into conversation.
Zhu paused for a moment in front of him, noting the large swelling on René’s forehead and the sullen looks from the private. Then he turned and barked an order across the campsite. A moment later Chen appeared, his laptop in his hands.
As Chen pressed the ‘on’ button and they waited for the computer to boot up, Zhu’s eyes switched back to René once again and he allowed himself the smallest of smiles. The stupid Westerner and his games were irrelevant now. He had found the route up the rock-face all by himself.
Only one hour ago, he had been smoking a cigarette and staring absent-mindedly at the mountain, his mind on the report he was going to have to send back to Beijing. As his eyes had blurred in and out of focus, it had suddenly occurred to him that the giant crack running down the face was in fact, a ledge. At first, he had thought he was imagining it and had blinked over and over again, trying to switch his focus. But after staring for several minutes, the ledge became clearer and clearer, until he could scarcely believe he had missed it in the first place.
That’s how the Westerners had done it. And in only a few hours time, he would be on their trail once again.
Chen swivelled the screen of his laptop on its central stem and starting explaining the detailed satellite map they had been sent. They spoke for several minutes, with Zhu nodding occasionally, before Chen produced a folded topographical map which he used to cross-reference with the image on the screen. As they spoke, René watched in silence from behind the fire, his eyes following their every move.
A moment later, Chen carefully placed the map in between the two halves of the laptop and closed it shut. He then returned them both to a plastic pelican case lying by the entrance to his tent and settled back by the fire to resume his conversation with the captain. René got up from where he was sitting and quickly walked round the back of one of the tents. He was right. He was sure of it. They had found a way up.
From the moment he’d been hauled into the police cells, he had realised that there must be more to this than he had ever suspected. But what were the Chinese looking for, and why were they so desperate to find Bill and Luca? René let his fingers trace over the swelling on his head distractedly. What the hell were those boys up to? Had they been lying to him that night at the restaurant? Whatever the answer, one thing was for sure – they were in way over their heads.
In Tibet, you look after just one person – yourself. That’s what his friend had said but if he didn’t do something, Zhu would eventually track those boys down. And if that happened, they’d be lucky to escape with their lives.
He had to do something. But how could he stop the captain?
René suddenly turned, walking back along the line of tents. He looked up, checking that no one was watching, then quickly knelt down by the fly-sheet of Chen’s tent. A few moments later he straightened up and with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he stepped over the guy line of the tent in front and straight into three soldiers standing in a row.
Xie was in the middle, arms folded across his chest, while two SOF soldiers stood either side of him. They looked young, but fit and well-built. René moved out of their way, gesturing for them to pass, but none of them moved. He wondered whether they had seen him in Chen’s tent, but looking into Xie’s eyes, he realised they were there for a different purpose entirely.
Slowly bringing himself to his full height, René began folding up his shirtsleeves.
‘Go on then, you son of a bitch,’ he said, his eyes settling on Xie. ‘Let’s settle this.’
Xie’s eyes flicked to either side of him, checking that the other soldiers were right on his shoulder. Then he edged forward, inch by inch, his tongue shooting out over dry lips. Despite being three to one, he felt nervous. The Westerner somehow looked even larger than normal, the bulbous stomach and thick forearms swelling with rage. The westerner was ready for him.
With a sudden lunge, Xie swung his right arm towards the side of René’s head. The blow was clumsy and swung wide. René let it glance off his shoulder, then with a quick step forward, jabbed his fist out, straight into the soft flesh of Xie’s throat. With a strangled gurgling, Xie sank to his knees, hands clutching his neck. René followed through with a heavy right hook that crashed into the side of Xie’s temple, sending him sprawling into the mud.
With his fists raised like a prize fighter, René looked at the two remaining soldiers, wondering whether they would engage. He knew Xie was nothing to do with their unit and hoped their loyalty wouldn’t stretch that far. Both looked unfazed by the sight of Xie squirming in the mud, but they eyed René carefully, both of them ready to strike.
Just as he was starting to relax, the soldier closest to him swayed to the right. With explosive speed he hammer-kicked down on René’s thigh, striking with the heel of his boot. René howled in pain as the soldier then swivelled on the ball of his left foot, sweeping his leg round in a side kick, which connected deep into René’s ribs.
René staggered back, his arms wide as he tried to keep himself from falling. The second soldier sprang forward, throwing a swift one-two punch at his face and chest. As René tried to duck, the second punch connected with the crown of his head, spinning him off balance and flat on to his back.
Lying in the mud, René had his arms raised to protect his face. Both soldiers paused and, slowly unclenching their fists, turned away from him, satisfied that he had been taught enough of a lesson. With a hand clamped to the top of his head, René shut his eyes. He was groaning softly when he suddenly heard a terrible screeching. His eyes flicked open to see Xie stumbling towards him with a survival knife swinging from his right hand. The blade was dull silver, with a cruel serrated edge running along its spine.
As the two soldiers swung round and tried to grab the knife from his grasp, Xie leaped forward with both hands on the hilt, plunging it into the top of René’s right thigh. It cut down i
nto the soft muscle, tearing the flesh open with a spray of blood. René screamed, clutching his leg and pressing both hands down across the wound. His breath came in short, erratic bursts as he stared at his own leg, transfixed by the sight of the knife still buried within it.
With a violent jerk, the soldiers yanked Xie backwards, pulling him off René and on to his knees. René’s scream had attracted others. They now they stood in a semi-circle around where he lay, watching. Chen pushed his way to the front.
‘Get the field dressings!’ he barked in Mandarin, staring down at René’s leg. ‘I want him patched up immediately.’
The line of soldiers suddenly parted as Zhu stepped into the middle of the fray. René gazed up at him hopelessly while Xie lowered his head in disgrace.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Chen shouted, rounding on the nearest soldiers to him.
‘Wait,’ Zhu said, eyes calmly passing from René to Xie.
He drew a nickel-plated pistol from the holster at his waist. It was a small, delicate weapon. Zhu held it close to his side, resting the barrel against his thigh so that it was almost invisible against the folds of his trousers. Standing over René, he examined the knife in his leg with mild interest.
‘I have found the route up the cliff-face and have the exact GPS point for the monastery,’ he said in English. ‘Now, you’re nothing more than dead weight.’
Raising the pistol higher, he suddenly swung round, whipping it across Xie’s face. The blow knocked the soldier backwards, the sights from the pistol cutting into the flesh of his left cheek.
‘Act without my orders again and you will be shot,’ said Zhu, his black eyes never leaving René for a second. ‘Lieutenant, ensure that the Westerner is left exactly where he is. If he’s still alive by the time we return, then he will face charges and be taken to Drapchi. If he bleeds to death in the meantime . . .’
The Forbidden Temple Page 23
