Flypaper: A Novel

by Chris Angus

  “I wish Paul Littlefield was here,” sighed the president. “His interests provide a different perspective from our own intelligence. The man has a substantial network in Asia.”

  “Can’t you contact him?” asked Thompson.

  “I’ve tried. No one knows where the hell he is. Blast the man! He has a habit of disappearing, and when Paul Littlefield doesn’t want to be found, no one is going to find him. He’s got more private planes, railcars, limos, and homes than I do. He moves around the globe like a phantom.”

  “Well, if you want my opinion,” said Page, “he’s one spook we can do without. Even if he had some information, it would be tainted by his absurd religious theories. You can’t trust a word he says. It’s all based on superstitious fantasy. You’re well rid of him.”

  Klein grunted, unwilling to get into that particular argument once again with his science advisor. “All right, here’s what I want. I’m going to have the Transportation Secretary begin to develop a plan to close things down in stages, in case there’s a sudden turn for the worse. Eleanor, keep after Dr. Wokowski. If need be, I’ll call Premier Zhao myself and demand to know the whereabouts of the CDC team. Also, I think your idea of finding a diseased patient to study is a good one, but for God’s sake don’t bring any into the U.S. Contact our embassy in Pakistan. There must be plenty of refugees on the ground there. Get some quarantined and send another team in to study them.” He looked at Gordon. “You have permission to inform Logan or Dr. Kessler about what’s happening at your next contact. All right? Let’s move fast, people. I’ve got a very nasty feeling about this thing.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THEY SPENT MOST of the morning negotiating their horses through a series of torturous, rocky gorges. Logan consulted his compass and maps continually, but even with such aids his ability to find a path through the maze seemed nothing short of miraculous.

  By lunch time, they were nearing eight thousand feet and the alpine-like meadows had given way to snow-covered slopes. The temperature dropped ten degrees and everyone pulled out additional clothing. The enormous, hulking massif of Bogda Feng now towered above them, a series of sharp pinnacles delineating its several peaks. The scope of the landscape dwarfed the riders as they passed through one valley after another, many of them ending at glaciers of varying shapes and sizes.

  Finally, they entered a valley that was larger than the others. Its long, sloping hillsides rose steeply until they turned into the knife-like ridges of the lower Bogda Feng peaks. A tumultuous, glacial stream of frigid gray water flowed down the center of the valley.

  “God, it’s beautiful!” said Leeanne, riding up alongside Logan. “I think maybe those monks are onto something . . . beauty, peace, reflection . . . far from other people. Not such a bad way to live.”

  “I have to admit, I’ve been tempted a time or two to chuck everything to go live in a place like this,” he replied.

  “What stopped you?”

  He gave her a wan look. “Celibacy.”

  She laughed. “It might give one pause at that. After a year or two, I suspect even these horses might look appealing.” She turned to look behind her and saw Marcia draw her horse out of line. Kessler pulled her hat and heavy scarf off, baring her head, and stared fixedly down into the valley. She seemed mesmerized.

  “What is it, Marcia?” Leeanne asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Kessler’s eyes showed a mixture of fear and confusion. She opened her mouth twice before she was able to speak.

  “I—I’ve seen this valley before,” she murmured softly.

  “What? I couldn’t hear you.” Leeanne walked her horse closer. Logan and the others also gathered around.

  “This place is familiar,” said Marcia.

  “You didn’t tell me you’ve been to the Bogda Feng before,” said Logan.

  “I . . . haven’t.”

  “Marcia, make sense. What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head, as though cobwebs filled it, then broke her gaze from the tumbling glacial stream and looked at them.

  “I’ve never been in this part of China,” she said. “But this valley—with the stream going down the middle, the slope of the hills, even the hanging clouds—I’ve seen them all before. In a dream.”

  Logan stared at her in confusion. “What?”

  “A recurring dream I’ve had. It’s always the same and it always takes place in this valley. If I’d been told to draw a picture of the valley in my dream, it would look exactly like this.”

  They sat silently on their mounts, watching her uncertainly. Finally, Leeanne asked, “What happens in the dream?”

  “It starts at the head of the valley. Right where we are now. I begin to walk down along the stream. I become aware that I’m wearing nothing but animal hides. After a time, I see people up ahead. They look like a primitive group. The whole setting is ­inexplicably wild, like this place looks. I try to catch up to the people, but I can’t. Then, suddenly, I’m flying. I fly low over the people, and just as I begin to make out who they are . . . I wake up.”

  Alan smiled. “I’ve had that kind of dream, Marcia. It’s an archaeologist’s dream. A dream of discovery. We get so wrapped up in our digs and the beings we’re studying it stands to reason they’d spill over into our fantasies. I once had a nightmare in which I was being chased by raptors. They chased me a long way and were about to catch me and eat me. Then, all of a sudden, I was sitting around a fire and eating raptor meat. That’s when I woke up.”

  Marcia shook her head. “I know what you’re talking about, Alan. I’ve done that too at digs I’ve worked on. But this dream is different. I first had it when I was very little, only seven or eight. It scared me a lot, and I told my mother about it. I’ve had it many more times throughout my life.” She turned her horse around and tugged her hat back on. “It’s not important,” she said. “Something I have to deal with. Just a dream. China is full of valleys like this one.”

  Logan pulled his mount up and stared intently at a map, as the others gathered around. He looked up at the horizon and pointed to a distant, thin white line. “That’s our glacier,” he said.

  They all stared at the object of their endeavors.

  “Doesn’t look like much,” Duncan said.

  “We’re still a good ten miles away,” said Logan. “But that ice is three hundred feet thick in places. The forward edge stretches from valley wall to valley wall, maybe three to four miles of ice to search, though I should be able to narrow it down once we get closer and I can examine the landmarks more closely. My memory is that it was toward the northern end of the glacial wall.”

  Another three hours brought them to the glacier. Strangely, the snow on the valley floor melted away as they neared the massive ice sheet, leaving a jumbled mass of boulders alongside the stream. They sat on their mounts and stared up at the wall of ice. It was immediately clear the earthquake had caused considerable disruption, for huge pieces of ice had obviously calved off recently, leaving jagged edges the sun hadn’t had time to melt. Even now bits and pieces continued to fall away, spooking the horses as they crashed against the boulders.

  Suddenly, Alan whispered in a low, urgent voice, “Logan, look! Other riders.”

  They all turned in the direction Alan indicated and indeed, coming toward them, following a path along the southern boundary of the glacier was a string of perhaps thirty riders. Even from a distance of several hundred yards, they could easily make out the men’s uniforms and rifles.

  Logan swore. “It’s a military patrol. God knows what they’re doing here. I’ll talk to them. Remember, we’re a group of climbers. A couple of you pull your climbing ropes out and hang them on your saddle horns.” He did the same with two pairs of crampons, displaying them where they could be easily seen.

  “Christ!” Duncan cried. “We’re going to end up in front of a firing squad over this stupid trip.”

  “Shut up!” Logan snapped, then turned to the first o
f the riders who were coming up to them, giving the men a nod. They wore the standard green, slightly baggy-legged uniforms of the Chinese army. Most of the soldiers were very young, in their late teens or early twenties. The officer in charge looked to be the venerable age of at least thirty. He spoke to Logan in Chinese.

  “We were not aware of other searchers in the area,” the officer said.

  “We’re not searchers,” Logan replied. “Only climbers. I’m guiding this group out of Urumqi.”

  “You are not Chinese,” the man said. “Though you speak very well.”

  “Thank you. I’ve lived in China for many years, though I still wish my language was better. I lead a few expeditions a year for an outfitter in the city.”

  The officer seemed to consider this. “Have you seen anyone?” he asked.

  “No. Who do you search for?”

  “Two climbers have been reported missing. They’re Japanese and were traveling alone without benefit of a guide. A big mistake, but . . . that is the Japanese for you. They always think they are better than anyone else.” He stared at the rest of the group, his eyes wandering over their equipment and horses, lingering for a moment on Leeanne. “You don’t appear to be terribly well outfitted for climbing,” he speculated.

  “My clients aren’t experts and will only do a few modest, low rock climbs. Mostly, they’re here for the beauty of the place.”

  The officer nodded. “I’d like to speak with you privately for a moment, if you please.” He turned his horse and walked the animal away from the others. Logan followed, mystified.

  The officer halted, took his cap off and wiped his forehead. He stared at the glacier in front of them. “I volunteered my men for this job. It seemed a good place to be . . . away from everything. How long have you been out here?”

  Logan couldn’t imagine what was on the man’s mind. “Just a few days.”

  “And you came from Urumqi?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess that’s long enough. Most people in the city have yet to understand what is happening.”

  “What’s happening?” Logan asked with a growing sense of dread.

  The man sighed deeply. “My family comes from Beijing, so I heard quite early on. There’s an epidemic sweeping eastern China. It is very bad. Soon, it will come to the west as well. The authorities appear unable to do anything but lie and tell anyone who asks that there is nothing to worry about.”

  Logan stared at the young officer. “What is this sickness?” he asked softly, glancing at the others.

  “They say it is just the flu, but that’s a lie. Everyone who gets it dies. That is what my father told me before the phone lines were cut. He said I should go into the mountains if I could. That maybe the sickness wouldn’t go there. So I took this assignment. My men don’t know, either. What good would it do if I told them? Some come from the cities and would want to go home, where they would die, too. It’s better to stay here. I think our search for the Japanese climbers will take a long time.”

  “Did the sickness begin in Beijing?” asked Logan.

  “That is what I understood,” came the reply.

  So, Logan thought. The premier wasn’t lying. Or maybe he made it out to be worse than it was at the time. In any event, Logan’s failure to convince the general to install a quarantine zone may have allowed whatever it was to break out into the country at large. Incredibly, he might bear some of the blame for what was happening. It made him sick to think about it.

  He regarded the officer sympathetically. The man was very young and yet had taken upon himself the burden of protecting his soldiers, even as his own family might well be dying a ­thousand miles away.

  “I thank you for telling me this,” Logan said. “May I ask your name?”

  “I am Jiang Gaoming.”

  “I think you must be a very good officer, Gaoming. Your men are fortunate.”

  He nodded soberly. “They are young. But many men die young in China, and I think many more will die very soon.” He looked at Logan with tired eyes. “What will you do with your clients?”

  “We may as well continue our journey. It won’t do any good to attempt to leave. If things are as bad as you say, I doubt the authorities are letting people leave the country. Even if we could do so, we’d have to fly from Urumqi to one of the major eastern cities in order to get a flight out of the country. That would place us in the middle of the epidemic. No. We’ll stay here. Perhaps it will end before too long.”

  Gaoming shook his head. “I don’t think it will end soon.” He turned back to his column and with a small salute to the rest of Logan’s party, led the soldiers back down the valley. They headed away from the glacier in a meandering route that suggested Gaoming intended to crisscross the region thoroughly, extending their search for the lost climbers indefinitely.

  “Well what the bloody hell was that all about?” asked Duncan.

  For a moment, Logan considered not telling them, the example of the young officer still fresh in his mind. But his team had no family ties in the east. They would realize that safety lay in avoiding people.

  “There’s an epidemic in eastern China. The officer couldn’t say what it was, only that it was bad. Many people are dying.”

  “I knew something was wrong!” Duncan said. “We should get the hell out of here—out of China—while we can.”

  “That would be the worst thing to do,” said Logan. “We’re completely safe up here, away from people. Going into the cities could be a death warrant.”

  “I agree,” said Alan. “We might as well continue our mission. Maybe the thing will die out in the meantime. It could even be a help to us. If the rest of the country is in turmoil, there will likely be fewer people vacationing and climbing up here. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  “You’re all crazy!” Duncan looked around wildly. “How do you know we haven’t just been contaminated by those soldiers? Or even by the monks? You said yourself other climbers often pass through the monastery.”

  “If we’re already contaminated, there’s nothing we can do about it. The officer said the sickness is always fatal. There’s no treatment. If we’ve escaped contamination so far, the safest place to be is right here.”

  Duncan started to protest again, but Logan held up a hand. “End of discussion. Let’s get on with it. We’ll head north. The soldiers followed the edge of the glacier up from the south. They probably would have mentioned coming upon anything as incredible as a body frozen in the ice.”

  “They weren’t exactly looking for archaeological specimens,” said Marcia.

  “They’re conducting a search for dead or possibly injured climbers. They’d be examining the terrain carefully.”

  The going was torturous and their progress excruciatingly slow. They had to search not only the base of the glacier, but also each and every one of the hundreds of split-off chunks that littered the glacial plain. Most were just small chunks of ice but some were the size of houses. It was dangerous work, since the ice continued to calve off. Logan spread the team out in order to visually cover as much ground as possible, but also to minimize the possibility of more than one or two being killed by a sudden collapse.

  “We have to stay close to the base in order to search,” Logan said. “But be prepared to move instantly if you hear any splits or cracks. You may only have a few seconds warning.”

  In this manner they proceeded throughout the remainder of the day. At nightfall, they made camp, slept like the dead, and began again the following morning.

  In the end, it was Duncan who found it, and hardly through diligence. He’d taken a break and was filling his canteen from a small stream of melt-water coming off the glacier. As he maneuvered to get into the best position to obtain the water, which was dripping near the edge of a crevasse, he stepped into a fissure and found himself staring at a figure encased in ice. He was so startled by the apparition that he stepped back suddenly and nearly fell into the crevasse. His cry brought the othe
rs over immediately.

  One by one they stared in awe at the small, naked, ice-encrusted body. It was as if they weren’t quite able to believe it was real after all, and they reached out and touched the ice, exclaiming at the sight. They couldn’t see the face, which was turned away from them. The back was covered with shriveled skin, the knobs of the spine clearly visible, along with the twin rows of tattoos.

  “Smaller than I expected,” said Alan. “Must be less than four feet long.”

  “That’s common,” explained Marcia. “Many bodies are first dried and desiccated by conditions before becoming encased in ice, mud, ash, or whatever the ultimate preserving material happens to be. In life, this fellow was probably between five and five and a half feet tall.”

  “Fellow?” Leeanne queried. “How do you know it’s not a woman?”

  “A good point,” Kessler replied. “It’s pretty hard to tell at this point. The sex may have been determined from the studies done on the foot, but I’m unaware if that was the case.”

  The body was covered by six to eight inches of ice, making precise details impossible to decipher. In fact, this was what had so startled Duncan at first, the wavering, ill-defined image blurred by its crystalline ice cover. It was like seeing a ghost. A ghost with a slightly yellowish, waxy, Madame Tussaud’s appearance.

  “Let’s get on with it,” said Logan, for Diana was never far from his thoughts. “Duncan, you and Alan set up camp and hobble the horses over there. It’ll take the rest of the day to carve the body out of the ice, even with our propane torch.”

  “I don’t see how you plan to transport it without having it deteriorate,” said Duncan, who was not aware of the special container. “The whole point is to get a well-preserved body for extensive testing.”