“You weren’t wrong about the snow,” she said an hour later, as she plunked herself down on her pack beside Pete. It was their first rest stop, and not before time.
“It’s tough, but Jortse did well. I’ll lead the next section,” Pete replied. He took a quick slurp from his water bottle and passed it over. She took the proffered drink.
“What are you going to do about your article?” asked Pete when she returned the water.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I can’t write about this now” – she waved at Jortse – “but I desperately need some money.”
“I have money, I can help out if you need it,” he said.
She looked at him. “That’s really thoughtful, but I couldn’t accept, it wouldn’t be right. I’ll figure out something ...”
“What about Powder Burn? Maybe Lens and Vegas will have a story that you can publish?”
“Do you think Lens would help me?”
“He still needs the publicity,” said Pete.
“That’s true, and if he’s as desperate as he says he is ...”
“I can talk to him, I reckon he’ll come round. Once he’s got the film safe and we’re all back in town, he’ll chill out and be fine. When we talked about it, before they did a runner, he could see our side of it. He just didn’t think we could do much more to help Tashi, or not enough that he felt it was more important than his family.” Pete looked down at his boots. “I guess he was right, in some ways. Perhaps splitting up like that was the best thing we could do. It wouldn’t have made any difference to Tashi if those two had been here last night, and they still got the first descent done for the film.”
She was silent – was it possible to be too reasonable? The way she looked at it, if those two had stuck around to help, they would have moved quickly enough to get over the border safely before the storm even hit – but she was too tired to go there.
“I just wish he’d made it,” added Pete, kicking the toe of a boot into the snow. The slight choke in his voice was the tiniest clue that, underneath the composed exterior, Pete was struggling to come to terms with all that had happened just as much as she was.
“You gave up so much, tried so hard,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “You deserved better, we both did.” She looked over at Jortse, sitting silently, as intense as ever, staring across the valley from under the wide brim of the black hat, the long, thin bag laid across his knees. Pete put his arm round her and hugged her tight. At least this one good thing has come of it all, she thought. “When we get back, I’m going to get you that cake I promised you for your birthday,” she told him.
“A fruitcake? With icing?”
“Lots of it.” She smiled.
Then Jortse got to his feet and started to sling his bags across his shoulders.
“We’d better get going, our friend is starting to get a little antsy again,” said Pete.
“And I’m getting seriously cold sitting still,” added Sam.
Chapter 17
It was a long, hard slog, but Pete and Jortse took it in turns to break the trail and they made steady progress. She kept her head down and plodded along behind them. They pushed hard in the final sessions, with the crossing of the border so close. Pete got to the top first, struggling through a last drift before hauling himself onto a rocky lip that had been scoured clear of snow by the wind. He turned and offered her a hand as Jortse scrambled up beside him, both men head down, hands on their knees, gasping back the thin air. So it was Sam that saw them first.
“Oh.” She let out a little gasp as Pete and Jortse dragged her out of the snow and onto the rock ledge with one arm each.
“Come on, you’re nearly there,” said Pete.
“Look!” she said, as she lunged up and onto the lip.
Pete turned to follow her gaze. “Shit.”
Six yards away stood a half circle of five men. She took in the dark cloaks and anxious faces in the glare from the harsh snow-reflected light – but what really drew and kept her attention were the two bolt-action rifles held by the men on the edges.
“Who the hell are these guys?” said Pete.
“It’s me they want,” Jortse murmured, as he stepped forward.
The man at the center of the group spoke in a language she didn’t understand. Jortse replied. She glanced at Pete. He returned her quizzical expression. And then the man switched to English.
“These are your CIA friends?” he said to Jortse, waving at Sam and then Pete.
Sam and Pete both stared back at him.
“No, the CIA aren’t involved,” replied Jortse.
The man laughed for a moment. “I don’t believe you, you will all have to come with us.”
“What the hell ...” said Pete.
Jortse turned to them and spoke very softly. “When I turn back, jump off that ledge and find some cover while I deal with this.”
“Who the hell are these people?” asked Sam.
“Or you can go with them to Demagistan,” Jortse added, “but I’m not. And I wouldn’t advise it.”
She glanced at Pete again, who nodded his head the merest fraction.
“Now!” yelled Jortse, as he swept back around. In the same smooth movement he drew a sword from the long felt bag on his back. The rifles were leveled and aimed in the same moment. Both were pointed straight at Jortse, there was the double report of the shots, puffs of smoke and the glitter of the blade sweeping an arc through the thin air. Did she hear the clack of metal on metal? What she saw was Jortse still standing, still moving, a swirl of dark coat and flashing steel, the image locked in her head as she leapt off the rock, back down into the snow. She heard the yelling and another clang as she landed. Then she was rolling, sliding, thrashing face down, spluttering air through the wet mush as she finally slowed and stopped.
“There, over there!” It was Pete, pointing out cover behind a shallow rock. She dived for safety.
“Bloody hell ...” said Pete, landing with a thump beside her.
She pushed herself upright. “Jortse ... those shots ...” she said, spitting out a mouthful of snow.
“Never mind him, he could’ve jumped too.”
“Who the hell are those guys?” she said.
“I’m guessing from what Jortse said that they’re Demagistani border guards got-up to look like they’re from Shibde,” said Pete, dropping his pack off his back, “but I’m not hanging around to check. We’re riding out of here. Come on, quick.”
Sam was about to reply when there was a thud, and then the soft crunch of steps in the snow. She heard heavy breathing and the crack of a rifle, and then Jortse struggled into view behind Pete. “Jortse!” she shouted.
He threw himself towards them, the sword still in his hands, and Pete helped to haul him into cover. Another round thudded into the back of the rock.
“What the hell is going on?” she yelled.
“Demagistanis,” replied Jortse, in between huge sucks of air.
“And what was that about the CIA!”
A bullet zinged off the rock above them.
“They think you’re CIA, I don’t know why,” said Jortse, “but I don’t think it’s a good time to ask.”
“Let’s use the board, we can ride down a lot faster than they can walk,” said Pete.
“Three of us?” said Sam. “On one of those things?”
“I’ll strap in, you two hang off either side to balance each other. We won’t go too fast.”
“With them shooting at us?” said Jortse.
Another volley cracked into the rocks.
“Look, Jortse,” said Pete, “if you want to stay here and wait to take on five blokes with a couple of rifles, you go for it, but we’re going that way,” and he nodded downhill. “It’s about a mile to that big area of rocks. There’s lots of cover and protection down there, we’ll be safe once we get to it.” He started undoing his snowboard from the backpack.
Jortse was staring down the steep slope. “I don
’t like this, I’m not so good with heights and speed, and falling ...”
“So close your eyes, we won’t fall,” said Pete. He pushed his feet into the board’s bindings, and started to tighten them.
Jortse peeked round the edge of the rock, attracted another couple of rounds and dived back. He looked at Pete, shaking his head. “All right,” he said, and started to put the sword away.
“So how do we do this?” asked Sam, as Pete shrugged his pack back on.
“Feet sideways on the board, braced against each other, looking forward ...”
Sam and Jortse started to move.
“No, put your feet in front of mine,” instructed Pete, “so they won’t get swept backwards by the snow coming across the board. That’s it. Now get a good grip of each other, one arm in front, one arm behind me. Good – and lean away from each other. It’s going to be like riding a motorbike, just try and flow with my motion. OK, I think that’s it.”
“If we fall over we’re going to be fish in a barrel,” muttered Jortse.
“We won’t, I’ve gone home from the pub like this on many an occasion,” replied Pete. “Everyone ready?”
Jortse grunted an affirmative.
“Those things are bolt-action, not automatic, so wait till they’ve fired, then go,” she said.
“You noticed that?” Pete replied. “All that time hunting bears in the woods, I guess.”
“What can I tell you – father was a Marine, taught me to shoot when I was eight.”
“Right,” said Pete. “I learn something new about you every day. Let’s get going slowly behind the rock, and wait for the shots.” Pete shuffled and twisted his body and they started to slide, initially at a shallow angle so that they were still protected from the rifles while they picked up some speed. Two more rounds cracked into the rock.
“Go!” said Sam.
Pete turned the board more steeply down the mountain. The snow was soft and deep, but they accelerated quickly. Now she was holding on with every muscle engaged, desperately trying to stay on the board. The snow, the erratic movement, even Jortse – they all seemed to be trying to push or pull her in a different direction. The wind rushed past, she could hear nothing else, tears starting. She closed her eyes, had no idea if anyone was shooting at them. And then suddenly it was over, the board slid to a stop and she was in a heap in the snow.
“We made it,” said Pete.
“Sweet. Jesus. God,” she muttered, collapsing backwards to lie flat, hands to her face.
“You all right?” asked Pete, his breathing forced and rapid.
“Yeah ... yeah ... I think so ...” she mumbled.
“You think so? Or you are?” he asked, more sharply.
“I am ... I am all right,” she replied. No one said anything more for almost a minute.
It was Pete that broke the silence. “What do you think? We should keep moving, huh?”
She pulled her gloves off and wiped her eyes. Pete was calmly fastening his board back to his backpack. “My father never liked snowboarders much,” she said. “He thought snowshoes and, maybe, cross-country skis were the only things that should be allowed on snow. And after that experience, I’m inclined to agree with him.”
Pete smiled. “It’s more fun on your own.”
“You OK, Jortse?” she asked. He was in a heap, covered in snow, face white to match. He looked even worse than she felt, like he’d never get over the experience – but he nodded.
“We could climb down through these rocks until it levels out a bit and then start traversing east, down the valley,” said Pete. “There might be somewhere else we can cross the border. If we can maintain the distance between them and us, we can slip over the border when it’s dark.”
She nodded, then turned and looked back up the hill. She could see figures standing on the top, silhouetted against the skyline, looking down at them. They were a long way away. It would take them forty-five minutes to an hour to cover that ground on foot.
“Jortse?” asked Pete.
Jortse shook his head. He still looked stunned by the ride. “I don’t know this area, whatever you think ...” he said, eventually.
“Hold on a minute,” she said.
“What?” asked Pete.
“Over there, look.” She pointed downhill.
“I don’t see it,” said Pete, “what am I looking for?”
“It’s a man, grey jacket, gone now, behind that big rock, the one clear of snow.” She shuffled up unsteadily beside him and pointed again. “There! Just come out to the right of it.”
“Lens,” said Pete, with absolute certainty. They both waited, watching the figure climbing agonizingly slowly towards them from some six hundred yards below.
It was Sam that voiced it. “Where’s Vegas?”
“He’d be ahead of him, wouldn’t he?” replied Pete, turning to look upwards – but nothing moved.
“If he was higher than where we are now, he’d have heard the shots and seen us ride down,” she said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.
“Yeah,” said Pete, wiping the back of his mitten across his face. “He must be down there somewhere. We need to get across to their line. We can’t let them walk up to the border and into a trap. Those blokes don’t know he’s nothing to do with Jortse. Let’s go.”
Chapter 18
They set out to intercept Lens. Sam had to force back the bubble of questions and concentrate on picking her steps amongst the rocks. A twisted ankle now would be a disaster. It didn’t take long to travel the few hundred yards to get above Lens. “See anything?” she asked, as she pulled up beside Pete.
He pointed to where a couple of the ambush party were still visible, silhouetted against the skyline. “Just those two, Vegas isn’t up there.” He turned to look down at where Lens was struggling towards them. “We might as well go to him, it’ll put some more distance between us and those guys.”
Maybe Vegas is waiting for Lens behind one of those remaining rocks, she thought, as they set off again and the distance closed. It wasn’t a very convincing argument though, and a terrible fear of the alternative was blossoming.
“Lens!” called Pete.
The filmmaker had his head down, apparently locked into his own ordeal, but he stopped dead in his tracks at Pete’s call and looked up. “Holy crap, how did you get there?” he gasped, as Pete and Sam scrambled towards him.
“Never mind us, where’s Vegas?” asked Pete.
They knew immediately, the worst confirmed as his face collapsed. Pete and Sam jumped the final yards down to where he had buckled onto the snow, dumped their packs and knelt in front of him.
“What happened?” said Pete, gently.
“Powder Burn,” Lens managed to reply.
“How?” asked Pete.
Lens looked up at him, both hands balled in front of his mouth. “He went off the cliff, lost it on a turn. You should have been there, Pete, he was so slow getting to the top. I tried to tell him not to do the run on the radio, that it was too late in the day.” A deep shaky breath. “But I don’t think he could hear me, the batteries were shot. And it took him so long to get up there, something had to be wrong. If you’d been there you could have stopped him ...” Lens doubled up to his knees, hugging himself, rocking backwards and forwards as the suppressed grief and tension poured out.
Sam didn’t really grasp the full implication of the words – the accusation – just that Vegas was dead. She leaned forward and put her arms around Lens. The rocking slowed and he sank into her, shoulders shaking. She felt a hand on her arm and looked up, as Pete knelt beside her. Jortse was a few feet away, staring up the slope, arms folded, hat brim tipped down.
“Tell us what happened, from the beginning,” said Pete.
Lens nodded, pulled away from her and snuffled himself into some kind of composure. The others listened in silence until he described the agonizing wait for Vegas to call and say he was at the top.
“Didn’t you have a schedu
le for him to check in with his progress on the ascent?” asked Pete.
“We didn’t think of it, he was just going to call when he got up there. That’s why you should have been with us. I knew you’d have thought of that. If you’d been there none of this would have happened –” said Lens.
“That’s out of order,” interrupted Sam. “We’re all upset, Lens, and I understand what you’ve been through, but you can’t throw around accusations like that. Pete doesn’t need you dumping your guilt on his shoulders. He was doing the right thing, trying to save Tashi –”
“Where is Tashi?” It was Lens’s turn to interrupt.
Sam took a deep breath. “He didn’t make it through the storm last night.”
“Damn it, I told you he needed proper help, that you were wasting your time. If you hadn’t –”
“It was not their fault that we didn’t save him. Perhaps if you had remained with us, both Tashi and your friend would now be alive,” said Jortse, without looking round. His tone didn’t invite a response, and there was a long, unhappy silence.
Finally, Pete said, “I want to hear from Lens what happened next.”
Lens lurched back into his story, words slow and flat. He continued uninterrupted through a description of the radio conversation, what he had seen of Vegas’s last run and the slide over the cliff. “I’ve got it on a card,” he added, “but I couldn’t watch it.”
“So it didn’t avalanche or anything, sounds like the snow condition was OK. Maybe he just pushed it too hard,” said Pete. Sam could hear in his voice how much he wanted that to be true.
“I don’t think he was quite right, he was so slow getting up there, chances are the altitude was affecting him,” responded Lens.
“Could just have been a tougher climb, harder technically than we’d expected,” suggested Pete.
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