“Now!” I hissed.
This time Tenzin came too, his robes snapping behind as he ran full pelt down the hill. He overtook me immediately – seriously, he was fast – and leaped into the trailer as it began to drive away. He signalled for me to hurry, but I was going as fast as I could, weighed down by my chuba and slowed by tired legs. Just as I thought I might not make it, Tenzin reached and grabbed my hand. My boots scrabbled at the back of the truck, and he pulled me up into a pile of yak fur.
We lay together among the hides, gasping and laughing, relieved and scared. We’d only been hiking for one day and already we were near breaking point. At last we had a chance to rest.
25
“Guchi, guchi…”
She walked along the line of dusty-faced beggars, stepping carefully over outstretched calloused hands. The destitute always intrigued her, although she had seen far more pitiful examples in India or Brazil. She often wondered why they didn’t steal. Surely it made more sense to break into a house than to hope for handouts? She would have had more respect for them if they did. They needed to survive, and the end justified the means.
That was one thing she had always admired about Jake Atlas. The rest of his family were so concerned about protecting antiquities that it held them back from achieving their goals. Not so Jake. He was gung-ho, focused on the end no matter the cost. He would have made a perfect agent for the organization, and for a time Marjorie had entertained the idea of recruiting him. On occasions she had even wondered if she and Jake might become close. Those times when she felt an almost motherly affection for the boy…
That was then.
That was before he stood over her, gloating. Before he stole her files, made her the joke of the organization. Before he had taken everything.
“Guchi, guchi…”
Marjorie paused to study the latest specimen begging for her coins, checking if it was the person she sought and then barged past the trembling hand. Of course, none of these beggars could steal; most were pilgrims who had spent every penny to reach this city in the hope of washing away their sins. Swiping a purse to pay for food would get them all dirty again. It was pathetic, really.
Marjorie had been searching for hours. There were so many of them: crouched beneath prayer wheels in the Barkhor, sprawled on their bellies in front of the Potala, scrabbling outside the Jokhang muttering the same irritating plea: guchi, guchi. She could only see their faces by giving them coins, so they looked up to smile. Even then it was tricky to identify features beneath the dirt, and she was running out of change.
She was running out of time, too. Lord Osthwait had declared an open hunt on the Atlas family, with a billion-dollar reward. As much as Marjorie despised the pompous old fool, that had been clever. The family were formidable, but they couldn’t outrun that many hunters. Eventually they would be caught, and her opportunity would be lost. There was no chance that Lord Osthwait would allow her time alone with the boy. So she had to find him first.
She had one advantage: she knew them. She had listened to the Atlas family’s private conversations, recorded on bugs hidden in their home. She had researched their history, read the children’s school reports. She knew that family better than anyone.
She knew about Takara.
If the family had come to Tibet, they would have found Takara. They had no other contacts here. They would have been desperate, possibly aware of the open hunt, and sought help from the only person they knew in this god-awful—
Marjorie stopped.
Ahead, one of the beggars, a scrawny creature half-hidden in a heap of shawls, held out a shaky hand. As the woman leaned forward, something glinted beneath her hood.
Something gold.
Not many Tibetans had a gold tooth.
Takara did.
Marjorie stepped closer. She unclipped the brooch from her coat – the emerald emblem of the organization. Until now she had not been able to bring herself to remove it, but this was the right time.
She placed the brooch in the beggar’s palm.
The beggar, who still hadn’t looked up, stared at the ornament of the snake eating its own tail. Her hand trembled harder.
Marjorie knew for certain that this was Takara.
She suspected the beggar wouldn’t admit it, that it would take some persuading to convince her to give up information on the Atlas family. So what the woman said when she finally spoke came as a total surprise.
“I know where they’re going,” Takara snarled.
26
Something jolted. I woke surrounded by darkness and animal hair, and panicked for a few seconds, shoving away yak hides until I saw sky and stars, and smelled diesel fumes belching from the back of the truck.
I sat up straighter, fearing at first that Tenzin had guessed why I was really going to Kailas and jumped from the trailer as I slept. But he was still there, sitting at the back of the truck, his legs dangling over the end. He was staring into the night in the direction that we had come – the direction of his home.
I slid closer.
“I’m sorry about your monastery,” I said.
“Are you, Manchester United?”
That was a good question. I did regret that Tenzin had lost his home, but they were just buildings, which could be replaced. I shifted even closer, seizing the chance to talk. I might not find anyone else to translate the Drak Terma, so I might need Tenzin’s help. I needed us to be on better terms.
“How long did you live at Yerpa Gompa?” I asked.
“Since I was seven,” he replied. “Before, I wanted to be a footballer. To play for the Tibet national team.”
“Tibet has a football team?”
“They are best in world. My father told me.”
I nodded, as if I’d heard the same thing. “Why did you go to the monastery?” I asked.
“My grandfather was a holy man, a lama. My father had not become one and he was ashamed. I have a brother and two sisters. Sisters live with parents, one brother becomes farmer, other brother becomes monk. That is way of things.”
“So why you?”
“I was lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“It is an honour to serve my religion.”
He sounded like he believed that, so I didn’t ask any more questions.
“It is honourable also to come with me, Manchester United. To help me on my quest.”
Guilt rose up my throat, but I swallowed it back and patted Tenzin awkwardly on the shoulder. “We’ll rebuild your home, Tenzin, don’t you worry.”
“Can you rebuild the smell?”
“It smelled of yak butter.”
“No, it smelled of incense, jasmine and yak butter, and of wet cloth from robes hung to dry, and fresh tsampa bread from the kitchen, and the moss that grows on the mountain at the start of spring, that smells of Coca-Cola. Or can you rebuild the feelings, Manchester United? The feel of the wall between the prayer chamber and the living quarters, where there was no light so the monks ran their hands along the rock to guide them, polishing it to a shine? That feeling is home. Can you rebuild the shrines as they were, or write again all the scrolls in the library? You can rebuild a house, but is it your home?”
I don’t think he wanted an answer, which was good, because I didn’t have one. A shard of guilt stabbed at my chest, but I ignored it. It didn’t change what I had to do. The end justifies the means, I reminded myself.
We pulled the hides around us and tried to keep warm. This was a chance to get some rest, and God knows we needed it, but for a while we just sat at the back of the truck, staring into the dark.
Eventually Tenzin went to sleep, curled in the yak hides with a little smile, like he was having the best dream. But I couldn’t sleep any more, even though I was exhausted. The truck kept rattling and jolting, and the yak fur was like a hairbrush scratching at my face. But, really, it was thoughts that kept me awake. Thoughts of my family.
If they’d been caught, were they safe? Did they need my he
lp, while I was speeding away from them across Tibet?
I kept reassuring myself that this was the right plan; I had the Drak Terma, so it was down to me to find the Hall of Records. Then I’d have something to bargain with for my family’s safety.
That was what I kept telling myself, anyway. But I knew my motivations weren’t so clear-cut. Even there, in the darkness among the hides, I kept seeing her…
Marjorie.
The Snake Lady.
That smug smile on her painted lips.
It had haunted my dreams, become an obsession. I was desperate to beat her to wherever this hunt led. To wipe that smile off her face.
The truck turned sharply as it began a zigzag slog up to another pass. Yak hair bristled at my face, long and wiry, and somehow still stinking of the animals’ gross milk. I pushed it away and watched Tenzin, whose sleep-smile had spread even wider. I wondered if he was dreaming of being back in his monastery.
I’d promised to help him. I’d sworn that was the only reason I was here. But he didn’t really need my help, did he? He had planned to go alone anyway, and he knew Tibet much better than I did. Maybe I should never have made the promise, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I really would help him if I could, but my mission was more important than his.
Wasn’t it?
27
“Manchester United.”
Tenzin leaned so close that his lips touched my ear, and he hissed a little louder. “Wake up, Manchester United.”
I was already awake, sort of. Sleep had come in bits and pieces, broken by yak hides flopping onto my face, the truck jolting over potholes, and hard braking that sent me tumbling when the driver met obstacles on the road. It was so dark among the hides that I had no idea how long I’d been drifting in and out of sleep, or if it was even still night.
Tenzin shook me again, and I nodded, showing him I was awake. I should have been more alert, but the darkness was disorientating, and it took me several seconds to focus.
The truck stopped. From outside I heard the smugglers’ gruff voices. Then another, a man’s, and in that instant I was totally awake.
I recognized that voice.
I glared at Tenzin, put a finger to my lips and hoped he understood.
The man spoke again, his voice rough. “Government vehicle inspection. We need to search your truck.”
It was Kyle Flutes, the treasure hunter I’d met in Honduras while hunting for an Aztec tomb. I say “met” as if we’d had a cup of tea together. Actually, I’d stolen all his treasure and set a wild jaguar on him.
If Kyle was here, then his wife, Veronika, was too. Just the thought of seeing her again made me want to leap from the truck and run, but my legs were rigid with fear. I moved one of the hides carefully aside to peer through a crack in the side of the trailer and saw a sliver of dawn.
Kyle Flutes was arguing with the drivers. He was tough, but so were the smugglers, and they weren’t buying his story about working for the Chinese government. I imagined they’d dodged a few officials in their time, and none looked like this: a grizzled white man with grey stubble, arms like fire logs and scars across his face that looked like he’d been attacked by … well, by a wild jaguar.
Kyle and his wife had sworn revenge on me, so I’d expected to come across them again some day. I’d always thought I’d be with my family when that happened, rather than trapped in a flimsy three-wheeler truck…
I watched stone-still as the men continued to argue. Kyle was as thick as a brick, but he seemed to understand that the smugglers wanted to keep their illegal yak hides secret.
“We’re not interested in your cargo,” he growled. “We’re looking for escaped prisoners. If you’re hiding them, hand them over.”
This didn’t faze the smugglers, who had no idea they were hiding us. They climbed out of their cab, and then everyone started gesturing and threatening.
I shifted to another crack, struggling to see. Kyle had said “we” – so Veronika must be close. She hated my family even more than her husband. Pan had blasted thousands of bullet ants at her in the jungle, and I suspected she’d been dreaming of revenge ever since. I couldn’t see her, but I guessed she was in front of the truck, blocking the road.
From what I could see, it looked like we were high up on a mountain. To one side was a steep slope, thick with snow painted red and pink by the rising sun. I guessed there was a rock wall to the other side, so there was even less hope of escape that way.
“Manchester United, what do we do?”
I wasn’t sure yet. Kyle and Veronika would have chosen a strategic point for this roadblock, a place too dangerous for us to flee on foot. Around us would be sudden drops, ice walls, ravines…
The arguing stopped.
Kyle had brought out a stun gun, instantly silencing the smugglers. “I know your cargo is precious,” he snarled. “I won’t damage it. I just want to look.”
The smugglers could no longer refuse, and Kyle didn’t wait for an answer. A crooked smile spread across his scarred cheeks as he stalked closer to the truck. He didn’t know I was in there, but the reward on my head was “dead or alive”, and I knew which way he’d rather turn me in.
“Manchester United, he is coming.”
Kyle edged closer, boots crunching in the snow. He’d promised the smugglers he’d not damage their cargo; otherwise, I suspected, he’d have opened fire into the hides.
“Are you in there?” he called. “Why don’t you come on out before this gets nasty?”
Tenzin moved to obey, but I pulled him deeper into the hides. My heart was going at machine-gun speed. I thought about my family and wished they were here. At times like this we always had one another’s backs. Part of me still expected them to appear.
I leaned towards Tenzin and whispered, “We have to fight.”
“No, Manchester United. I do not fight.”
“I know, but we have to.”
“No, Manchester United. We talk to this man.”
“Tenzin, this man doesn’t do talking. And he doesn’t like me.”
“Why not?”
“I … I destroyed this temple in a jungle, and it kinda fell on him.”
“Did you rebuild it?”
“What?”
“The temple?”
“No. That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“It doesn’t right now, Tenzin! We have to get out of this truck.”
I cursed under my breath, listening to Kyle’s boots crunch even closer. He was wary, moving like a Special Forces soldier stalking a target. There was no way he’d be so cautious if he knew it was just me and a monk in here. Kyle was looking for my whole family.
I closed my eyes, trying to get myself into that zone where I could think past my fear. I breathed in and out slowly, discarding options and possible plans until only one remained. Plans were meant to be my speciality, but I couldn’t work out if this was the dumbest idea I’d ever had, or if it was … well, just really dumb. Unfortunately, it was the only idea I had.
Tenzin was right: there was no way out of the truck. But could the truck itself be our escape? The wobbly three-wheeler swayed dangerously on corners, and several gusts of wind had nearly toppled it over. We were on a mountain road, with a steep snow slope to one side…
“Tenzin, we need to jump against this side of the truck.”
“I cannot fight.”
“Not even a truck?”
“Yes, I can fight a truck.”
“Then get ready.”
“But why?”
I feared he’d refuse if I told him, and this plan needed both of us, so I just shrugged. “Maybe it’ll scare him off.”
That was a lie – nothing could scare Kyle off – but Tenzin seemed to believe it. He grinned at me, as if now that we had a plan everything was fine.
“Now,” I hissed.
We hurled ourselves at the trailer wall. My shoulder slammed against metal, and I couldn’t help scre
aming from the pain as the truck leaned and swayed. I heard the smugglers and Kyle cry out in shock. I rammed my side again and again against the corrugated wall. Tenzin joined in, still thinking this was all just to scare Kyle – even as the truck swayed harder, and Kyle finally opened fire.
The stun blast lit the inside of the truck, causing yak hides to fly up and catch fire. Tenzin shrieked and covered his head, but I kept banging the truck wall. I’d known Kyle would fire, and he’d keep on firing until we stopped moving.
“Tenzin!” I yelled. “Help!”
His survival instinct kicked in, and he thrust himself harder into the wall. Another blast sent more sparks and hides flying, so we were no longer hidden. I snatched a glance to my side and locked eyes with Kyle Flutes. The hunter’s grin spread further; he aimed his weapon directly at me.
And then the truck fell.
It toppled over and slammed onto its side in the snow. Tenzin and I tumbled among the yak hides, but I recovered and dragged him with me to the side of the trailer that leaned off the road like a seesaw. Our weight may not have been enough to tip it, but Kyle – who, like I said, wasn’t the brightest spark in the science lab – fired again, and the force of the blast did the job for us.
The truck swung, hit the slope and then began to slide over the thick snow. It must have hit a rock because the whole thing went into a spin, tossing Tenzin and me around like socks in a washing machine. Through flying yak hides I glimpsed the road. Kyle stood there firing stun blasts at us, but there was something else too, something more terrifying.
Veronika.
She had blocked the road with some sort of snowmobile, and now she was coming after us. Snow tank would be a better description; an open jeep with crawler tracks. There were no windows, just a rally car roll cage with a mean-looking laser cannon fixed on a hydraulic arm. Veronika sat at joystick controls, grinning and gurning as she steered the machine after us down the slope. She looked like a mad pirate at a ship’s wheel, with a patch over one eye and flame-red hair thrashing in the wind.
Jake Atlas and the Quest for the Crystal Mountain Page 12