by Chris Angus
“All the better for us. We’ll approach the Bogda Feng here.” He pointed again, quickly pulling his hand back to the wheel as they bottomed out hard in a pothole. “It’s the opposite side from where most of the tourist activity takes place. See that dot? That’s an old monastery where the road ends. We’ll find a place to hide the van there and proceed on foot. With luck, we should be able to purchase horses or mules to help carry our gear and the body on the way back. We shouldn’t have more than twenty miles on foot.”
Cooper leaned over the seat. “I don’t know. That looks like pretty steep country. Are you sure it’s even passable?”
“I’m sure. I’ve hiked and climbed all through this region. There’ll be some tough spots, but we’re well equipped and everyone here is in good shape. We’ll make it.”
The goat track turned out to be almost exactly that. The thin, dirt road wound crazily along the edge of a tumbling brook of glacial melt-water. Duncan stared out his window and straight down into a forty-foot gorge, as the van’s tires skirted the edge just inches from disaster. Logan drove with total indifference, barely paying attention to the drop-off until they were all holding their breaths, which may have given the vehicle a bit more lift over the holes.
The landscape grew more and more raw and beautiful. “It’s like Switzerland,” Leeanne marveled. “All the steep meadows, fir trees, small glacial lakes everywhere, and those incredible snow-capped peaks. I could imagine I’m somewhere near the Eiger or Mont Blanc.”
Logan nodded, spinning the wheel around a steep turn that left one tire shooting dirt out over the drop below. Duncan couldn’t look and stared at his feet. “You’re exactly right. It’s considered China’s Switzerland and it’s become a busy tourist destination, though we’re pretty far from the most popular spots here.”
After an hour on the goat track, the road began to peter out until they were driving across alpine-like meadows with barely a hint of wheel marks indicating where they should go. At last, they topped a rise near a stand of trees and Logan pulled the van to a halt.
Spread out before them was the most spectacular view any of them had ever seen, which was saying something for this well-traveled group. The landscape fell away to the tumbling brook below. Across the valley in the shadow of the mountains beyond stood an aging monastery that looked like something out of The Lord of the Rings. Terraced and manicured slopes fell away on all sides. The huge building with its stone walls and square, pagoda-topped towers seemed almost a part of the mountain itself.
“Buddhist Monastery,” Logan said simply. “One of the oldest in all of China. We should be able to find some horses there. The place is remote, but climbers occasionally pass through and the monks have developed a sort of business selling mounts. Everybody out and take your gear with you. It’s the end of the line for old Betsy here.” He slapped the steering wheel. “I’ll pull into that stand of trees as far as I can and we’ll cover the van with branches. It’s unlikely anyone will happen upon it.”
Thirty minutes later the van was hidden. They shouldered their packs and began the climb down to the monastery.
Cooper walked easily beside Logan. “I wonder if it’s a good idea to approach the residents down there,” he said. “The fewer people who see us the better, I would think.”
“You may be right, but we need horses. It’ll make our journey easier and a lot faster, especially once we have the body. It’s a tradeoff—time saved versus the risk of human contact. Still, I’ve been here before. We can easily pass for a climbing party, and the monks are reclusive. They have remarkably little natural inquisitiveness. Mostly they work and pray. The people who pass through are a disruption. They’ll only want to provide us with our needs and get rid of us as fast as possible. What climbers do is literally beyond their comprehension. It’s a nonsensical pastime to them.”
“To me, too,” said Leeanne. “Excuse me if I step on anybody’s fucking toes, but I’ve always found climbers to be among the most self-centered, muscle-flexing dolts I’ve ever met. Prattling on about how the mountains make them feel alive, as if it’s not possible to feel alive without actually risking one’s life. They’re the most unimaginative sorts, squandering the gift of life in exchange for a few moments of adrenaline. It’s pathetic.”
Logan and Alan exchanged a glance. “Don’t hold back, Leeanne,” Logan said. “Tell me how you really feel.”
She smiled broadly. “Present company excepted, of course.” Then more soberly, she added, “I lost a close friend who got sucked into the climbing mystique. The whole thing is, they keep trying to do stuff that’s more and more difficult until they reach a point beyond their ability and kill themselves. They don’t think about the people they leave behind, the wives and children and friends. It’s just so brutally stupid and wasteful.”
“Good thing we’re not that way,” Alan said, straight-faced. “All we’re doing is breaking about a dozen Chinese laws in order to carve a body out of an ice cube. None of our relatives have any inkling where we are or what we’re doing. Their first hint if this all goes wrong will be a State Department notice that their loved ones will be in a Chinese prison for the next thirty years.”
“I actually have some sympathy for Leeanne’s view of climbers,” said Marcia. “What they do seems wasteful and pointless to me, too. But that’s not why we’re here. What we’re doing could be of vital importance.”
“Bullshit!” Duncan fumed. “How many people in the world would even understand what this is all about? If you ask me, the president and his science advisor vastly overrate how people are going to feel even if we discover something extraordinary, which I seriously doubt will happen. It’ll just be one more thing in the twenty-four-hour news cycle, forgotten the next day. You talk about the self-absorption of climbers? Look what we’re doing, for God’s sake. And look what we’re willing to have Diana do in order to move the agenda forward.”
Logan stared at him. Much as he disliked Duncan, the words cut deeply. He turned away and the group continued in silence for the next twenty minutes until they clambered up a steep slope and found themselves staring at the monastery entrance. A handful of workers on the terrace nearby gave them barely a glance.
Logan approached a monk who sat beside two stone pillars that bracketed the opening into a hard, dirt-packed courtyard. The monk listened to him without any sign that he heard him at all. When Logan finished, the man stood up, held his palm outward indicating that he wait, and disappeared inside.
The negotiations were carried out in English with a Buddhist monk named Liu Xuemin, who was ninety-five if he was a day. The man was toothless and hairless with sunken gums and a frame that carried virtually no excess flesh. He looked as though he might only recently have been disinterred by his comrades solely for the task of dealing with the unwanted outsiders. The wily fellow was spry, however, and knew his business, demanding an outrageous price for six horses, though the animals were in good condition, and the monk threw in enough grain to feed them for a week.
But toward the end of the negotiations, something odd happened. Another monk had stood by silently during the talks. He was a fierce-looking fellow of perhaps forty, gaunt and almost bald. Just as Logan felt things were wrapping up favorably, this monk began to argue with Liu Xuemin. The two spoke in a strange tongue Logan couldn’t decipher, but the nature of the discussion was hardly in doubt, as it quickly escalated into a near shouting match.
Logan was astonished at such behavior between two monks. He’d never seen anything like it.
“What are they arguing about?” asked Marcia.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. About the only thing I can make out is this guy’s name, which is Li-Wen. But he’s one fierce-looking fellow and he sure is riled up.”
Finally, Liu Xuemin said something sharply and made a cutting gesture with his hand. The gaunt monk gave them a scowl and left the room. Logan attempted to ask Xuemin what it was all about, but the old monk refused to discuss the matter. The deal for the hor
ses, however, still appeared to be on.
Less than two hours after their arrival, the group was mounted and back on the trail that wound up into the hills above the monastery. Logan kept them going until the last moment of daylight, for try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of Diana and Huang out of his mind.
CHAPTER NINE
AT THE VERY moment that Logan and company were heading out of the monastery, Diana was leaving Urumqi Museum, where she’d spent a fruitless day pretending to engage in serious research. Her actions were a charade on so many levels that she had trouble keeping track of what she was supposed to be doing. She was no archaeologist herself, after all, and so she poked about hardly knowing what to show interest in. Her inability to speak the language proved advantageous, for no one seemed to know quite what to do with her. Thus, at Huang’s insistence, she was given free rein to come and go.
But Huang hovered constantly. Upon their arrival in the city, he had immediately ensconced her in a tiny hotel room almost directly across the street from where he lived with his wife. That way he could keep an eye on her from his own living room window. He seemed ready to keep up the facade of helpful guide for the time being. In part, this was a credit to Diana’s skill at playing the man like a fish on a line—a very small carp. She knew exactly how far she could go, as she coyly complimented him on his knowledge of the city and his general worldliness. By showing a level of interest in Huang he had hardly expected, she intended to keep his hopes up that something romantic might happen between them, given enough time. She had few illusions, however, that this could be maintained beyond the first two or three days. Once he began to see his available time with her dwindling away, she knew he would expect something more.
As she descended the steps from the museum, arms filled with papers and reams of meaningless notes, she saw Huang waiting for her, standing beside his little car. She took a deep breath and forced a smile.
“Huang, it’s good of you to meet me. I’m so tired of carrying all this stuff and I’ve had such a long day. I’m very tired. Can you drop me at my hotel?”
“You work too hard,” said Huang. “Now, I insist you relax and allow me to show you some of Urumqi’s nightlife.” He held up two tickets in one hand. “We shall have dinner and go to a very fine . . . what do you Americans call them . . . a nightclub.”
She started to protest, but then realized it would be hopeless. Better to play him along, though it would make for a very long day. “That’s nice of you, Huang. Where are we going?”
He held the door for her and slammed it once she’d climbed in, taking a long look at her legs in the process. “A club owned by a friend of mine. You shall see. Very fine food.”
In fact, the meal was quite good, though the floor show was like something out of a 1940’s Charlie Chan movie. They sat at a tiny table, surrounded by scores of chain-smoking young Chinese. At every opportunity, Huang brushed against her, put his arm on the back of her chair and even once lightly placed his hand on her thigh, at which liberty she needed every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep from leaping out of her skin.
By eleven p.m., as Diana was trying to think of some way to end it all, Huang suddenly froze. She followed his gaze toward the entrance, where a round-faced Chinese man was arriving with a very beautiful young girl on his arm. Huang’s reaction seemed curious and she decided to see if she could draw him out.
“An old girlfriend?” she asked, nodding at the couple who were being shepherded to a table across the room.
“My boss,” Huang said, nervously. “I didn’t think he came here. It’s a young crowd.” He didn’t relish the thought of Ren Zhong seeing him here, so obviously not at work. And he knew the man’s roving eye would soon pick out Diana, whose fair hair stood out in the room like a sunflower in the Arctic.
“The girl with him seems young enough,” said Diana. “Is she his daughter?”
He sighed, the longing in his voice almost palpable. “She’s very pretty, isn’t she? Her name is Yä Ling and she’s his mistress.”
Diana looked startled. “Mistress?”
“Yes. She stays in a small apartment not far from where Mr. Ren lives with his wife. It is a very good arrangement for her. He pays for everything in return for which . . . well . . . I’m sure you understand.”
Diana stared at the girl with renewed fascination. She wore a skin-tight silk dress slit all the way up to her waist. Her legs were slim and very petite, her features flawless with half-moon eyes set in the purest white skin and almost hidden by thick, black hair parted in the middle. She was clearly at home in the nightclub, but there was something about her expression that suggested weariness. She couldn’t possibly be more than twenty years old.
“We should leave,” Huang said abruptly, searching for their waiter, but in the next moment, Mr. Ren spotted them. Diana saw his round face stiffen with surprise. The man stared at them until Huang looked in his direction, then Zhong waved them over. Huang groaned, but there was no avoiding it.
“Come,” he said, taking Diana’s arm. “We’ll pretend we’re leaving. I’ll have to introduce you, but then we go. Whatever you do, don’t sit down.”
But if Huang was at a fever pitch of nervousness, Diana was quite content at the turn of events. The more people around when she was in Huang’s company the better. “Oh, come on, Huang, let’s be sociable.” She pulled away from him and strode purposefully over to Zhong and Yä Ling. Huang followed after her in pure misery.
Diana held out her hand. “You are Mr. Ren? I’m so pleased to meet Huang’s superior. I want you to know he’s being the most perfect host, showing me the city and helping me in my archaeological duties.” She hesitated, glancing at Yä Ling, who was looking at her curiously. “Oh—I hope you speak English.”
Zhong stood up and bowed, then shook her hand. “Yes, I speak English. I didn’t know Huang had brought someone from the dig into Urumqi.” He stared at Huang with one eyebrow raised sharply.
Looking like a small, tense lapdog, anxious to please, Huang said, “Yes, sir. I meant to report it to you tomorrow. This is Diana Shatraw. Dr. Kessler has asked me to help her attain certain supplies for the work they’re doing.”
“I see,” said Zhong. “Would you join us?”
“I’m afraid we were just leav—”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Diana, promptly sitting down next to Yä Ling.
Reluctantly, Huang pulled an empty chair from the next table and sat down.
“Your friend is very lovely,” Diana said. “Do you speak English, too?” she asked the girl.
Yä Ling smiled brightly. “I am learning English.” She bowed slightly, her eyes never leaving Diana’s blonde tresses. “Your hair is very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Diana said. “You know, I feel so stupid always asking people if they speak English. It’s a very great accomplishment to learn English, which is a hard language. I’m ashamed to be in your country and not able to speak your very ancient and wonderful language.”
Zhong nodded. “Yä Ling is very smart,” he said with a proprietary air. “She also plays the wooden flute beautifully and has many other . . . talents.”
Diana could imagine what some of those were. She glanced at Huang, who for almost the first time since she’d been with him had managed to take his eyes off her. Clearly, he had the same sort of interest in Yä Ling that he had in her. But the girl didn’t bother to meet Huang’s gaze. She obviously considered him beneath her own status.
“How does the work go at the dig?” asked Zhong.
“Oh, they work very hard,” Diana said, lightly. “Night and day.”
“Perhaps I should come visit myself,” Zhong said.
Diana felt her heart freeze. “I’m certain that would be most welcomed by Dr. Kessler. They’re just beginning to uncover some new material. But progress is slow. Might I suggest a visit in about two weeks’ time? I think there would be more to see than there is now.”
Zhong no
dded absently, then waved a hand at a waiter who came over at once. Zhong said something rapidly to him and the man hurried away, returning with a very large bottle and several glasses.
“We must celebrate our meeting,” Zhong said, filling the glasses. “This is a very good—and quite strong—locally made brandy. I hope you will like it.” He handed glasses around and then made a small toast. “To your stay in China. May it be worthwhile to both our countries.”
Diana took a sip and felt her eyes water. It was very strong. She needed to be careful not to drink too much. Still, after a moment, she could feel the liquor warm her all the way to her toes. For the first time in three days, she felt some of the thick tension she’d been enduring begin to ease. She took another sip and then another. It was wonderful to be relaxed.
Yä Ling continued to stare at Diana’s hair in fascination. Very tentatively, she asked if she could touch it, and then expressed wonder at its silkiness.
The music in the tightly packed room seemed more enjoyable to Diana, the heat less oppressive. “Do you come here often?” she asked.
Yä Ling said, “It is—how you say it—very hot! Or maybe . . . very cool? We come here once or twice a month. I live just in the next street.”
Zhong filled Diana’s glass again. She began to feel sleepy. The loud music and smoke-filled room absorbed a great deal of energy. The incredible tension she’d been under had left a residue of exhaustion. Though she knew she needed to be wary and suspicious of everything, she felt herself growing increasingly unable to concentrate.
Yä Ling was looking at her strangely. She leaned her mouth close to Diana’s ear. “You . . . okay? Brandy is . . . strong . . . no?”
Suddenly Huang stood up. Diana’s condition had become obvious, as was his desire to be alone with her in such a state.
“We must go,” he announced. “It’s very late and Ms. Shatraw has a busy day tomorrow.” He took hold of Diana’s elbow and lifted her up. She staggered a little, the strong liquor now almost completely in control of her.