High Time To Kill

by Raymond Benson

  Bond’s heart started to race. He knew what was coming, and he was already well aware that it would be a difficult and challenging assignment.

  “The Ministry of Defence is organizing an expedition. They’re arranging with the government of Nepal for permission to climb the mountain, which I understand is sacred to the people there.”

  “Kangchenjunga is a special case, ma’am,” Bond said. “It is indeed sacred, and as I understand it, people are allowed to climb it as long as they don’t summit. Many do anyway. I’ve always heard the mountain referred to as ‘Kangch.’ ”

  “Whatever. As I was saying, the Ministry are organizing an expedition to climb the north face, as this is a route that has proven successful in the past, and it’s the best way to the plane. I think you should tag along and pick up that pacemaker for us.”

  Bond thought for a moment before replying carefully “Ma’am, Kangchenjunga is the third tallest mountain in the world. What is it, Bill, twenty-eight thousand feet?”

  “Twenty-eight thousand two hundred and eight feet, to be exact,” Tanner said. “Or eight-thousand five hundred and ninety-eightmeters.”

  Bond continued. “Any peak over eight thousand meters is considered extremely formidable. Everest isn’t that much taller, and it’s a hell of a lot easier. Not that Everest is a piece of cake, either. Kangchenjunga is one of the most difficult climbs anywhere.”

  “What’s your point, Double-O Seven?” M asked.

  “That it’s not a walk in the park. I hope the Ministry are gathering very experienced people for this job.”

  “They are. You’re going to have some help, too. I’ve arranged with the First Royal Gurkha Rifles to lend you a man who is an experienced mountaineer. You’re to go meet him down at Church Crookham, near Aldershot, this afternoon.”

  “A Gurkha, ma’am?”

  “That’s right. A sergeant, I believe. Comes from Nepal, of course, and happens to be an expert climber. Gets along well with Sherpas. I thought you should have Nepalese backup.”

  Although he preferred to work alone, Bond didn’t protest. If this mission was going to be as dangerous as he thought it might be, he could use the extra help.

  “Now,” she said. “It’s vitally important that you retrieve what is left of Lee Ming. You’re to get the pacemaker with the microdot—before anyone else does. It’s in the interest of Britain’s national security. Not only that, the Minister has told me that my job is on the line with this one. He wants that formula and wants it bad. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We believe that whoever arranged to have it stolen in the first place will send their own expedition to retrieve it. If the Union are involved, our analysts believe that they will mount an expedition as well. Your job will be performed with the utmost discretion. No one on the team will know of your mission except for your Gurkha companion and the expedition leader.”

  “Who is … ?”

  M leaned over to her intercom and pressed a button. “Miss Moneypenny?”

  “Yes?” came the voice.

  “Send in our guest, please.”

  Bond looked at Tanner questioningly. The Chief of Staff averted his eyes, warning him that he wasn’t going to be pleased with what was coming. M watched Bond closely to evaluate his reaction.

  The door opened, and Group Captain Roland Marquis entered the room.

  TWELVE

  NOT QUITE IMPOSSIBLE

  “GROUP CAPTAIN MARQUIS? COMMANDER BOND?” M SAID. “I UNDERSTAND you already know each other. And you know my Chief of Staff.”

  “Right, how are you, Bond—er, James?” Marquis said a bit too warmly. “Colonel Tanner.”

  Bond stood halfway up, shook hands, and retook his seat. “Fine, Roland. You?”

  “Good.” Marquis sat in the other chair facing M, next to Bond, and placed the briefcase he was carrying on the carpet.

  “Group Captain Marquis,” M said, “Mr. Bond is one of our Double-O operatives. He will be accompanying you on the expedition, as we discussed. His mission to retrieve the specification for Skin 17 is classified. Double-O Seven, your cover is that of a Foreign Office liaison.”

  “What about the Gurkha?” Bond asked.

  “Gurkha?” Marquis furrowed his brow.

  “I’m assigning a man from the Royal Gurkha Rifles to accompany Double-O Seven. He’s an experienced mountaineer and knows the area. He’ll take his orders from Double-O Seven. Aside from you, he’s the only other person on the team who will know of Mr. Bond’s assignment.”

  Marquis flashed his white teeth and said, “The more the merrier.”

  Not impressed by Marquis’s levity, M said, “I must emphasize that SIS would greatly appreciate any help that you can provide Double-O Seven so that he can accomplish his mission.”

  “Certainly, ma’am,” Marquis said. “However, when I lead a team, I must insist that safety take precedence over everything else. If I’m asked to do something that might endanger the lives of any other team members, I will refuse. An authority figure is important in an expedition of this magnitude. As team leader, we must agree that my word is final.”

  M looked at Bond for approval. He shrugged. “I would expect nothing less if I were leading,” he said.

  Marquis seemed happy with the response. “Right. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly. Bond and I are old schoolmates, isn’t that right, Bond?”

  Before Bond could answer, M jumped in with “Tell us about the other team members, please.”

  “Of course. I’ve managed to snare some very good people at such short notice. The team’s doctor will be Hope Kendall, an experienced mountaineer from New Zealand. I’ve climbed with her before. She’s thirty-two and very fit. Our communications officer is a Dutchman named Paul Baack. He was recommended to me by the ministry. I met him this morning and I’m confident that he will be more than adequate. He comes with some sophisticated equipment that the ministry is lending us. Two mountaineers who have worked with me before, Thomas Barlow and Carl Glass, will be my immediate lieutenants. The American State Department are sending over three wellknown climbers. They’ll be looking after the American interests in the expedition.” He went on to name a man to be in charge of Nepalese relations and hiring the Sherpa porters and cooks in Taplejung, a famed French climber to be the equipment manager, and explained that the rest of the team would be filled out with dozens of Sherpa porters and other climbers who will assist in hauling down whatever might be left of the plane’s passengers and their belongings.

  “SIS will be conducting security checks on everyone, of course,” Tanner interjected.

  “Now, I’ve drawn up a preliminary schedule,” Marquis continued. He pulled some notes out of the briefcase.

  “Beginning tomorrow there will be three days of intense physical exercise and training, followed by a medical examination.”

  “Most people train formonths for an expedition like this,” Bond said.

  “You’re right,” Marquis said. “But the Ministry wants this job done as soon as possible. We need to get to that plane before the monsoon season starts in June. It’s already the twenty-third of April. We can’t afford the luxury of a long training period. We don’t want to be caught on that mountain when the storms come in.”

  Bond understood and nodded. “Go on.”

  “We’ll fly to Delhi, spend the night, then go on to Kathmandu, where we’ll rendezvous with the Americans and the others. We’ll spend three days there acclimatizing and making further preparations for the expedition.”

  He unfolded a large trekking map of Nepal. A route was highlighted in yellow. “We’ll fly in a chartered aircraft to Taplejung, here.” He pointed to a dot in eastern Nepal. “It’s normally an eight-day trek to the Kanchenjunga Base Camp from there, but we’re going to cut it down to six. We’ll have to push extra hard to do it, but the more time we save, the better. Base Camp is here, at 5,140 meters.” He indicated an X on the north side of a triangle marked “Kan
chenjunga,” which straddled the border between Nepal and Sikkim.

  “We’ll have to spend a week there acclimatizing. No getting around that.”

  “Why?” M asked.

  “A human being’s body adjusts slowly to the change in altitude,” Bond explained. “Ascent has to be taken in stages, or one can become extremely ill.”

  “We don’t want any altitude sickness on this expedition,” Marquis said. “After the week at Base Camp, we’ll slowly lay siege to the mountain within three weeks.” Marquis opened a detailed map of the side of the mountain. “We’ll set up five camps on the north face. Camp One will be here at 5,500 meters. Camp Two is at 6,000 meters. When we get to Camp Three at 6,600 meters, we’ll need to spend another week acclimatizing. I’m hoping that’s all the time we’ll need. There may be some of us who can’t ascend as quickly to Camp Four, which will be set up here at 7,300 meters. Camp Five will be at 7,900 meters, right next to the site of the plane wreckage. We’re extremely fortunate that the aircraft is on this relatively level plain. It’s called the Great Scree Terrace. It’s less than 2,000 feet from the summit.”

  Marquis sat back and looked at Bond.

  Bond frowned. “It’s an extremely ambitious schedule.”

  Marquis replied, “I agree. I’m not saying it will be a picnic. We’ll have to push ourselves to the limit, but we can do it.”

  There was that word again, Bond thought.

  “We will do it,” Marquis continued. “I’ve been asked to get us up the mountain in the safest but quickest amount of time possible. I aim to do that. This schedule gives us just a little over a month. The weather will be unpredictable toward the end of May. We’re sure to encounter storms as it is, being that near the monsoon season. We have to race against time.”

  Bond had no choice but to go along with the plan. Nevertheless, he foresaw possible personality conflicts with the expedition leader. M looked at Bond. “Well, Double-O Seven?”

  “As he said, it won’t be easy. But I think I’m up to it, ma’am.”

  “Fine. Moneypenny will draw up the details for you to attend the training sessions. Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all, Group Captain.”

  Marquis started to get up, then asked, “So, Bond, do you think this Chinaman, Lee Ming—or whoever he is—still has the specification?”

  “We have every indication that he does,” Bond replied. “Where would he have hidden it?” Marquis asked. “Do you know?”

  “That’s classified,” M said. “Even to you. I’m sorry.”

  Marquis nodded and said, “Of course. I meant only that if it had been placed somewhere in his clothing or hand luggage, the crash could very well have—”

  “We know exactly where the formula is hidden,” M repeated. “Let Double-O Seven handle that end of things. You just get him up and down that mountain in one piece, all right?”

  Marquis stood and bowed slightly. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Bond and said, “We’ll see you tomorrow, eh, Bond? Bright and early?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Bond said dryly.

  The drive in the DB5 was extremely pleasant. It was a beautiful April day without a cloud in the sky. Bond almost wished he were driving a convertible, but he could never own one. They were enjoyable as a novelty every once in a while, but Bond preferred hardtops.

  Church Crookham is a quiet village not far, coincidentally, from Fleet, and is the home of the 1st Battalion of the Royal Gurkha Rifles. Bond had never known any Gurkhas personally, but he had a great deal of respect for them. When M had mentioned that he would be working with a partner, Bond had momentarily stiffened. He relaxed when she told him that his companion would be a Gurkha. Bond was intrigued with the prospect of working with a member of what he considered to be the world’s fiercest and bravest fighting force.

  Made up of hardy hillmen from Nepal, the Gurkhas have been a part of British military history since the Anglo-Nepali conflict of 1814. Bond thought wryly of the British army at that time. He admired the tenacity with which his country had attempted to expand the empire. Britain, already in control of India and hoping to extend the border, pushed northward into Nepal. They were met with such determined, independent, and resourceful soldiers, many not more than five feet four inches tall, the British army was surprised and impressed. Britain eventually won the war, but a friendly, long-lasting relationship was created with the Nepalese government. It was agreed that the British army could recruit soldiers, and being selected became an honor to the Nepalese people. The pay a Gurkha received from the British army was considerable when compared to that of his countrymen, and he could look after his entire family with it.

  The Gurkhas were later incorporated into the Indian Army, and when India became independent after the Second World War, the Gurkhas were split between the two countries. Several regiments remained in the Indian Army. Britain retained four—the 2, 6, 7, and 10 Gurkha Rifles. In July 1994, due to “options for change,” the regiments were amalgamated into one regiment—the Royal Gurkha Rifles, consisting of two battalions, the 1 RGR based in the UK and the 2 RGR based in Brunei. The Gurkhas stationed in England were originally the 2 and 6 Gurkha Rifles.

  As he had reviewed this history before driving out from London, Bond couldn’t help but visualize the stereotypical Gurkha: a short, stocky man with legs the size of tree trunks, running through the jungle after an enemy, wearing the traditional Nepalese topi, a white cotton cap that was decorated with colored designs (although in battle they would wear a camouflaged jungle hat or helmet) and waving the deadly khukri knife. They were known to behead their opponents during hand-to-hand combat. Such was their fierce reputation that during the Falklands conflict, Argentine forces supposedly fled when they heard that the Gurkhas were coming. “Ayo Gurkhali!”—the famous Gurkha war cry meaning “The Gurkhas are upon you!”—was intended to strike terror in the heart of the enemy.

  Bond pulled into the compound after showing his credentials to the sentry, then drove past the barracks, which were painted black with white trim. When he presented himself at the officers’ mess, he was greeted by a tall young Englishman in civilian clothes.

  “Mr. Bond?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Captain Alexander Howard.” They shook hands briefly. “Come this way.”

  He led Bond into a magnificent room that could have served as a museum for the entire history of the Royal Gurkha Rifles. The lounge was decorated with a blend of British colonialism and Nepalese culture. Along with the more westernized brown vinyl-covered chairs and green carpet, there were real ivory tusks mounted on a nonworking black wooden fireplace with a grand carving of the Hindu god Ganesh in the front. A tiger skin covered the carpet, and there were silver trophies and ornaments all over the room. Bond took a moment to admire the famous paintings portraying the Battle for Sari Bair, Gallipoli, August 9, 1915, and the Battle of Kandahar on September 1, 1880. A portrait of Prince Charles, who serves as colonel in chief of the regiment, hung over an impressive display of khukris, medals, and awards. A painting of Field Marshal the Viscount Slim, the most famous Gurkha officer, was also on display. Bond greatly admired his book about the Gurkhas’ exploits during World War II, which is now required reading at Sandhurst.

  Captain Howard said, “Have a seat and Sergeant Chandra will be with you soon.”

  “I thought his name was Gurung,” Bond said.

  “The Nepalese automatically adopt their tribal name at birth, like you and I would adopt our parents’ surname. Because there are only a handful of the main tribes, there are an awful lot of people with the same surname,” Howard said. “Hence, we have several men whose last name is Gurung. A lot of Gurkhas are Gurungs. They’re mostly either Gurungs or Magars, from the western part of Nepal, and there are subtribes within those. There are a few from the eastern tribes, the Rais and Limbus. We refer to the men around here either by their first names or by their numbers. It’s much less formal here than in other regiments.”

  “
I see.”

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Vodka martini, please.”

  Howard smiled with approval. “Excellent choice.” He moved to fetch the drink, but Bond stopped him.

  “Could you please shake it? Don’t stir it.”

  Howard looked at Bond curiously, then said, “Yes, sir.” He left Bond alone in the room that contained so much history: monuments and memorials to the ghosts of foreign men who had died for Britain, as well as the proudly displayed commendations and trophies for those who had survived.

  The captain returned with the drink and said, “I understand that what you have to discuss with the sergeant is classified, so I will take my leave.”

  “Thank you, captain,” Bond said. He sipped the drink and said, “You make a fine martini.”

  Howard gave a slight bow and left the room.

  After a few moments, Sergeant Chandra came into the room. He, too, was dressed in civilian clothes consisting of dark trousers and a green pullover sweater. He was a stocky five feet two inches tall and weighed roughly one hundred and fifty pounds. He had shiny black hair slicked back on his head, and his skin was the olive brown color prevalent among the middle-Asian races who appeared to be mixtures of Indian and Chinese. What was immediately striking about the man was his huge, warm smile, which seemed to transform his entire face into a pleasant configuration of dimples and lines, especially around his sparkling, friendly eyes.

  “Namaste. I am Sergeant Chandra Bahadur Gurung,” he said in good English. Namaste is the traditional Nepali greeting. Gurkhas are required to learn English, just as British officers serving in the regiment are required to learn Nepali, or Gurkhali, as the military calls it. The reason for this is that many words used are specific to the army and wouldn’t necessarily be part of normal conversation in Nepal.

  Bond stood up and shook the man’s hand. He noted that it was a firm, dry handclasp, one that was full of strength and confidence. Chandra looked to be in his thirties, and there was experience and intelligence in his eyes. Bond knew from his record that the sergeant had been in the army since he was eighteen years old.