“Considering that you tried to have me killed twice already, I would have thought that you knew the answers to your questions,” replied Shaw.
“Actually, we only targeted you and Mister Bruce once, on the train; on the other occasion, we were after the Cubans and Kalakani. You just happened to be there,” explained Choling. “Now please answer my questions. Why are you here?”
“Why did you try to have me killed?” asked Shaw.
“You are in no position to ask questions, Mister Shaw; in case you missed it, you’re my prisoner. If you wish to be alive when the sun comes up, I suggest that you answer my questions.”
Shaw could see that he had no choice. If he didn’t answer Choling’s questions, he had no doubt that the man would have Bruce and Amrit tortured until they gave him what he was looking for.
“Sergeant Bruce and I work for the Special Operations Executive and were sent to India to intercept a team of Nazi infiltrators before they crossed over into Tibet. Unfortunately, they managed to slip away and are now somewhere along the Tibet-Bhutan border. They are the people responsible for the reprehensible attack on the monks, not us.”
“Miss York, how does she factor into all of this?”
“She works for the British government and was our point of contact in Gangtok. She’s with us because she can speak Tibetan and has contacts on both sides of the border.”
“What are the Nazis after?”
“I honestly don’t know,” replied Shaw. “It has something to do with a source of power. The Germans call it Vril. My orders are to stop them from obtaining whatever it is they are looking for.”
Choling sat quiet for a moment, thinking about what Shaw had said. He shook his head, stood up, and then called over one of his men. Quietly whispering into the man’s ear, Choling pointed over at Shaw and then told him to stand up.
Suddenly, from behind, a pair of men grabbed hold of Shaw’s arms.
“I will have your story checked out,” said Choling. “Until then, as you are here to foment trouble, the lives of your friends are now in your hands.”
Roughly pulled off his feet, Shaw was dragged backwards. He struggled to break the tight hold on his arms’ He cursed when he found that the men holding him were far too strong for him. A couple of seconds later, Shaw was thrown to the ground. Quickly rolling over, Shaw hurried to get up on his feet. His heart dropped when he saw Bruce and Amrit kneeling in the dirt with their hands tied behind their backs. Standing behind them was a powerfully built man stripped down to his bare chest. In his hands was a massive curved sword that gleamed in the light a dozen torches held by men who quickly formed a ring around Shaw.
Choling stepped past the prisoners and said, “The rules are very simple, Mister Shaw: if you can beat my chosen man in a fight to the death, you and your friends will live. If you fail, your friends will watch you die and then will lose their heads for trespassing where they’re not wanted.”
“Choling, you said you were going to check out our story,” said Shaw.
An evil grin crept across Choling’s face. “Mister Shaw, I don’t need you alive to verify your story. If you’re telling the truth, then I will go after these alleged Nazi infiltrators myself. If you’re lying, then justice will have been done.”
“Damn it. If you want to kill someone, Choling, kill me, but for the love of God, please let my friends go,” pleaded Shaw.
“Sorry, Mister Shaw, it doesn’t work that way. Traditions run deep with my people,” said Choling as pulled the sword from his belt. Balancing it in his hands for a few seconds, Choling walked over and offered his sword to Shaw. “I suggest you take it. You’re going to need it.”
Shaw, with anger burning deep inside his chest at Choling and his foolish games, was about to say something when he saw a bare-chested man step into the ring. The man stood shorter than Shaw did; however, chest rippled with thick muscles, and his arms looked thicker than tree trunks. In his meaty hand was a sword. Unlike Shaw, the man looked like he knew how to use it.
Shaw took the sword and then said, “I guess you wouldn’t want to lend me your pistol, would you?”
Choling smiled. “That’s not how the game is played.” With that, he stepped back outside the ring of torches.
“You can take him, sir,” called out Bruce.
Amrit was speechless. She bit her lip and watched in disbelief at the gladiatorial spectacle about to unfold in front of her.
Shaw’s opponent stood fixed to the ground, cutting his sword through the air while he waited for the order to strike.
Shaw had been trained in unarmed combat and was quite adept with a knife, but he never once in his life imagined that he would be fighting for his life against an accomplished swordsman. His mouth turned dry with fear, waiting for the fight to begin gnawed at Shaw. Once it began, he knew that would have to find a way to quickly defeat his opponent before he wore Shaw down and killed him.
Choling clapped his hands together. Instantly, all the men in the camp began chanting Shaw’s opponent’s name, Sangdrol.
With a grin on his face, Sangdrol raised his arms up in the air and then let out a war cry from deep within his barrel chest. The ring of men cheered lustfully. Although Shaw couldn’t understand what was being said, he had no doubt that the Tibetans were betting among themselves how long it would take for their man to finish him off.
Shaw tensed, bending at the knees; he turned sideways, offering his opponent less of a target.
With a cold look of death in his eyes, Sangdrol strode straight towards Shaw. When he was barely a yard away, he raised his sword arm above his head and swung it down, aiming to split Shaw’s skull in half.
Shaw saw the move coming and jumped to one side just as Sangdrol’s sword sliced through the air, missing him by mere inches. He slashed out with his sword and tried to hit his opponent in the side, but Sangdrol easily blocked Shaw’s clumsy move with his own sword.
Shaw stepped back, gritted his teeth and then lunged forward, trying to hit Sangdrol in the stomach. Sangdrol parried the blow, brought his sword over his head and then brought it straight down with a loud cry trying once more to hit Shaw in the head. Shaw saw the glint of the blade and brought his sword up at the last second, blocking the strike.
The sound of the swords smashing together reverberated through the camp. To Shaw, it felt as if his arm had been struck by lightning. He staggered back.
The camp erupted in cheers when they saw Shaw struggling to stay on his feet.
“Watch out!” hollered Bruce.
Shaw turned his head and saw Sangdrol swing his sword towards his unprotected mid-section. He jumped back, just not quick enough as his opponent’s sword cut through his coarse woolen shirt. A sharp pain erupted in Shaw’s mind as the blade slid along his skin. Acting on self-preservation, Shaw shot his free hand straight into Sangdrol’s head. It was a futile gesture. Shaw’s knuckles instantly screamed at him. He might as well have punched a brick wall with his fist.
Sangdrol chuckled to himself, stepped back from Shaw and did the unexpected. He dropped his sword to the ground, grinned and then motioned for Shaw to come at him.
All around, men cheered Sangdrol on.
“Go get him, sir,” called out Bruce.
Shaw gripped his sword tight in his hand as he took a step towards his opponent. Like a stone statue, Sangdrol stood there waiting for Shaw’s attack. Shaw wasn’t sure what his adversary was up to, but he didn’t doubt that even without a sword, he was more than a match for him. Shaw lunged for Sangdrol’s chest. He was stunned when he saw Sangdrol turn slightly, reach over and grasp Shaw’s outstretched arm in his hands. Like a vice, Sangdrol clamped his hand down on Shaw’s arm, twisting it hard over.
Shaw felt his whole body being turned in Sangdrol’s powerful hands. He moaned in pain. He knew that if he didn’t let go of his sword in the next second or two, his opponent would rip his arm out of its socket.
With a clatter, Shaw’s sword fell to the ground. A second
later, Sangdrol kicked it away and then sent his right knee flying straight up into Shaw’s downturned head.
Stars filled his eyes as Shaw’s head shot back. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. Suddenly, he felt one of Sangdrol’s hands grab hold of his hair. The next thing Shaw knew, he was painfully lifted up off the ground.
Desperate to escape, Shaw balled up his right hand and then smashed it down on top of his adversary’s hand. It did nothing. Sangdrol was just too powerful. With an evil grin, Sangdrol clenched his fist and pulled back his free arm. Shaw saw it coming, but there was nothing he could do to stop the coming blow. A moment later, Sangdrol’s fist hit him square in the jaw. It was like being kicked in the face by a horse.
Shaw struggled to remain conscious. He was seconds away from blacking out when he felt Sangdrol release his hair. His tired and aching body tumbled to the ground. Shaw moaned in pain and then spat out a tooth knocked loose when he was hit.
With his arms raised over his triumphantly over his head, Sangdrol walked about encouraging his comrades to cheer him on.
Shaw struggled to get back up on his hands and knees. He looked past Sangdrol, trying to see where one of the dropped swords had ended up. He could see one, but it was at least ten yards away. He had to do something and fast. Shaw thought about charging at Sangdrol when a voice from his past spoke to him. It was his unarmed combat instructor from commando school, a short, wiry Canadian sergeant, saying, “Captain, when all has failed, and you are facing death in the eye, fight dirty. Your opponent would never hesitate to do the same to you. Now drop him before he kills you.”
Shaw looked up at Sangdrol and instantly made up his mind. He bowed his head as if he had lost the will to fight. Shaw waited for his adversary to turn around and smugly look down at him. With his heat racing in his chest, Shaw waited until Sangdrol stood above him; then, like a cobra waiting to strike its prey, Shaw saw his opportunity and struck. He shot his right hand straight out and smashed his fist as hard as he could into Sangdrol’s groin. Instantly, Sangdrol doubled over in pain, his hands reaching down between his legs.
Shaw quickly rose up on unsteady feet. With all the anger he could muster in his tired body, he shot his right knee into Sangdrol’s head, bowling him over. Before his opponent hit the ground, Shaw rolled forward and came up alongside Sangdrol. Quickly wrapping his legs around Sangdrol’s neck, Shaw locked them in place and then like a boa constrictor, he started to squeeze the life out of his opponent.
Already suffering from Shaw’s unexpected ferocity, Sangdrol brought both of his hands up and tried to break the ever-tightening hold on his neck. Sangdrol fought for his life. It was a losing battle; within seconds, his lungs were deprived of the precious oxygen he needed to keep him alive. His vision narrowed. Sangdrol’s body starved for oxygen convulsed and then went still as he lost the fight and blacked out.
Shaw could tell that Sangdrol was unconscious. He let go of his opponent’s neck, pushed his adversary away from him and then, gasping for air, he stood up. He looked about for a discarded sword. He saw one lying on the ground a few yards away. Shaw staggered over to it, picked up the blade and then walked over to Sangdrol’s prostrate body. He looked over at Amrit and Bruce; standing behind them was Choling, with an unnatural gleam in his eyes. To Shaw, it seemed the man was taking pleasure from the exhibition of two men fighting to the death.
Shaw took a deep breath, looked down at Sangdrol and then once more over into Choling’s cold eyes. “Choling, if you want your man to die, you can do it. I’m not playing your game anymore.” With that, he threw his sword to the ground.
A surprised murmur rippled through the crowd of onlookers.
Choling scowled at Shaw. He was about to grab the dropped blade and take a swipe at Shaw when a loud blast tore through the air. Shotgun pellets struck the ground in front of Choling’s feet, sending dirt and rocks flying up into the air.
Shaw, his heart racing, turned his head. He couldn’t believe his eyes when Hector MacDonald walked into the ring with his still smoking shotgun held tight in his hands.
“All right, Choling, that’s enough of that,” said MacDonald loudly.
Shaw shook his head. He thought he was hallucinating when the Tibetans bowed their heads and stepped back from the Scotsman.
Choling turned to face MacDonald with a furious look on his face. “MacDonald, you have no right to interfere.”
“Well, I disagree, so I think we’ll let your grandfather decide who has the right to interfere with what’s going on,” said MacDonald as he loaded a fresh shell into his shotgun.
Choling stood there fuming at MacDonald with murderous intent in his eyes.
“Release the prisoners,” ordered MacDonald in Tibetan.
Within seconds, Amrit and Bruce were hauled up on their feet, the rope holding their hands cut. They stood silent for a moment, looking doubtfully over at MacDonald while they rubbed their sore wrists to get the circulation flowing again.
Bruce walked over to Shaw, looked at his battered and bruised friend. With a friendly smile on his face, he said, “See, I told you that you could beat him. You just had to be creative. I’m a lousy fighter. I would have thought of that long before you did.”
Shaw placed an arm on Bruce’s shoulder. “Here, let me use you as a leaning post. I don’t want to fall down in front of the Tibetans; at least, not any more than I already have.”
“Come on, Captain, let’s find you some water to clean out your wounds,” said Bruce as he led Shaw away from a handful of men trying to console Shaw’s defeated opponent who was just regaining his senses.
Amrit watched as Shaw limped past her, his face battered and bruised. She turned and looked at Mac Donald; gritting her teeth, she strode straight towards him. In an instant, Amrit released all of her pent-up feelings of fear and anger. She hauled back her right hand and then slapped MacDonald hard across the face.
“You lousy son of a bitch!” snarled Amrit. “It was you who told these people what was going on. Wasn’t it? I never should have taken you into my trust all those years ago. They butchered innocent men and women because of you.”
MacDonald stood there sympathetically, looking down at her. “My dearest Amrit, there is a lot more going on than you could possibly imagine. I did what I did for all of our sakes.”
“Liar!” screamed Amrit. “Hector MacDonald only does what’s good for Hector MacDonald. We all could have died here because of you. I hate you, you two-faced bastard.” With tears streaming down her cheeks, she left to find Shaw and Bruce.
Choling reached over to stop Amrit.
“Let her go,” said MacDonald. “She’ll be all right in the morning.”
They stood in silence and watched Amrit walk off into the night.
“What are your orders?” Choling asked MacDonald, deferring to the older man.
“We leave at dawn for the temple. Make sure that Captain Shaw’s people are well guarded. I don’t want them to disappear in the middle of the night. Your grandfather needs to speak with them before we decide what their future holds for them.”
“And if he thinks they are a threat?”
MacDonald looked into Choling’s eyes. He could see that the young man was still furious at him for stopping his fun and games. With a serious look on his face, MacDonald said, “For their sakes I hope that they are truly on our side. If not, then I will personally deal with them. You need not worry about them anymore. You and your men have other work to do.”
Choling nodded his head and then walked away.
MacDonald watched the hothead and then shook his head. He wasn’t sure what was annoying Choling more, the fact that he had stopped him from killing Shaw or the fact that his ambush at the monastery using his men disguised as monks had failed so badly and had also resulted in the death of a local family. Now the Nazis were at least a day or more ahead of everyone and with the weather about to turn, he wasn’t sure they would be able to stop them before they made it to the b
ase of the mountain. After that, MacDonald knew that it was out of hands. Suddenly, feeling tired and worn, MacDonald went in search of a warm fire to rest nearby; he had no doubt that the next few days would decide everyone’s fate.
Chapter 17
Mountain pass
Tibet- Bhutan border
As he looked up at the long line of mountains that stretched across the eastern horizon, Shaw felt a cool breeze on his face. High above on the mountain peaks, a powerful wind whipped up the loose snow, creating flag-shaped clouds that billowed as if hung from a flagstaff. With the sun beginning to disappear behind the mountain range, the clouds turned golden yellow and then bright pink before the gloom of dusk descended on the pass.
They had been traveling east for the past two days. The Tibetans had only taken their weapons; all other personal possessions had been left with Shaw, Bruce and Amrit. With two men, riding in front and behind, they knew they didn’t stand a chance of escaping, not that they knew where they were going anymore. Even Bruce with his eidetic memory was stumped. Earlier in the day, they had begun to snake their way through a rocky canyon before climbing up a narrow path that led high up into the hills.
After stopping for the night, the Tibetans let their prisoners cook their own meals using the provisions they had with them. Before too long, Bruce had a fire going. Amrit volunteered to make supper. Using some of her own personal rations, she soon had a delectable curry meal cooking over the fire.
Bruce took in a deep whiff of the mouth-watering meal and then took a seat. Looking over at Shaw, he said, “Captain, I’ve been trying to determine where we are, but I can’t. We’re not on any map that I ever studied. It’s as if we’ve stepped off the face of the earth.”
“Surely this region was surveyed at one time,” said Shaw.
“It may have been, but this valley definitely was not,” replied Bruce.
Amrit stopped stirring the food for a moment and looked over at her companions. “Gents, we’re in what the Tibetans call a Beyul.”
The Mountain Page 13