“No one said it would be easy. It just burns me up to know that I took the guy in when Basie turned him down. At least, Nichols said he had asked to join Serfontien’s team. Now I’m not so sure.”
She wanted to say, I love you. Don’t worry.
Would she ever be able to say the words? Her life was in turmoil, and she knew that even when she retrieved the key, her safety couldn’t be assured until she had recovered the papers Maddie had left in the safety deposit box, and cousin Arlon, if proved guilty, was under lock and key.
Until then, she would have to part from Kurt.
Separation. The big New Zealander had decided it was inevitable. Only, he thought that he would be doing it for her welfare. Not that she would be doing it for his.
Talk about tragic irony.
But Kurt had more immediate worries than what they would do when this was over. “If there hadn’t been a chance it would raise eyebrows, I would have asked Basie myself,” he said. “Maybe he knows something I don’t. Though he seems unable to keep a secret. The fact that I’d asked would be bound to get back to Nichols.”
Chelsea grabbed her pack, and Kurt slung it up on her shoulders. She felt Kurt’s assessing gaze on her as she fastened her belt, then bent to retrieve her ice ax.
She looked up.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She found her smile again and with its reappearance, her confidence. Joking wasn’t called for this time. “I’m ready when you are.”
He held out his hand and clasped hers, pulling her out of the tent after him into the cold darkness.
Chelsea shivered with anticipation as she watched the first rays of the sun rising over Tibet. The refraction of the light tinted the snow in hues of pink and blanketed the rough-hewn rock faces in shades of purple and red.
It felt like an omen. As if the mother goddess was sending them a sign that the mission would go well.
Then Chelsea turned, saw the silhouette of Nichols watching them, and felt heartsick. She regretted the loss of camaraderie, the bond she had thought was between them—two fairly new climbers battling the odds.
If her suspicions were correct, the most they had in common was cousin Arlon.
Kurt felt a spurt of exhilaration. All the advance work they’d done, putting in anchors and fixed lines, had paid off. The first part of the climb was over without any problems.
He let out a little of the breath he’d been holding. Not all, though. It was far too soon to let down his guard and relax.
“Let’s stop here for a break,” he gasped out to Chelsea and Rei. Talking was an effort. Every breath contained less oxygen than they needed, even though they were well acclimatized. That’s why Kurt was making sure they took frequent rest stops.
On the last part of the journey, barely fifty meters in height had been gained on their transverse of the slope. Below them the ice fell away in white waves that crested the tops of crevasses. Beautiful to look at, they were deadly to cross, but the couloir would take them straight down like an elevator shaft to above where Bill and Atlanta had landed, three hundred meters down. They were taking the long road, but also the safest.
Kurt took out his drink bottle and began replacing his fluids as he looked around. Chelsea flopped down beside him and Rei leaned on one of his ice axes. They’d need to use two of them to grip the ice on some parts of the climb.
Their entry to the couloir was barely fifty meters from its top. That’s why Kurt had felt comfortable about leaving Bill to help Atlanta over the edge while he rappelled back down for the bag of nylon line she’d been sitting on at their last rest stop. Like now.
Though it tied his gut in a thousand knots, Kurt let his mind’s eye visualize the sequence of events.
Bill had followed him over the top, both of them weighed down by the extra twenty-pound bags of line they’d need on the West Ridge. Kurt had dumped his, preparing to open up what they’d need on the next stage, and Bill had done the same.
Slower than the men, Atlanta had been eight meters down when she remembered she’d left behind the bag of line she’d been carrying. It hadn’t been Atlanta’s fault. Kurt had been in charge. He should have noticed.
The pain of the loss of his friends struck him anew. It had been over seven weeks since he’d been here last. Seven weeks from the accident, and the raw wound of what had happened still hadn’t begun to heal. Could be that this journey was as essential to his peace of mind as it was to Chelsea’s.
If he’d noticed the missing line, none of this would be necessary. Part of the guilt inside his gut centered on believing that if he’d still been with the Chaplins, their deaths could have been prevented.
Then he and Chelsea would never have met and wouldn’t have to face the agony of saying goodbye once they got back to Namche Bazaar. He should have been stronger, should have stopped their relationship coming to this impasse. Chelsea would argue against his decision, of course. He expected nothing less from the woman who had wormed her way into his heart.
But Chelsea didn’t know the worst. Didn’t know about the kind of man who had fathered him. The Heiress And The Drug Dealer’s Spawn. That would make a great headline. He couldn’t let Chelsea face the notoriety their connection would bring. Bad enough if anyone caught an inkling of the passion that simmered under each glance or the fact that neither of them could keep their hands off the other.
He shut off his thoughts. Time to move on.
As Chelsea and Rei readied their packs for the next part of the climb, his gaze settled on the top rim of the couloir. “Seems to me that a short climb away there should be at least two, maybe three bags of perfectly good nylon line we can use.”
Chelsea’s smile rested on him for a moment before she said, “We’ll come with you.” Would she still smile at him that way if she knew the truth? Discovered what he’d been hiding from her?
Rei seldom said much, but when he did it cut to the heart of the matter. “Too tiring for the miss. I will take her down while Kurt goes for line. Can’t have too much line.” As if it was settled, Rei began organizing the lines, anchors and carabiners he and Chelsea would need to rappel to the foot of the couloir.
Kurt watched Chelsea open her mouth to protest, then turn mutinous as he cut her off before she could utter a word. “Rei knows what he’s talking about. The climb would be needlessly tiring for you. If you want to give that helicopter a chance of reaching us before dark it’s better if I go on my own. I’ll be quicker by myself.”
He travels fastest who travels alone.
A metaphor for Kurt Jellic’s life.
Chelsea’s breath shimmered white in the cold air as she let out a sigh. “You’re the boss. I’ll see you down there.”
He was halfway up before the others had gotten organized. He’d hammered in an anchor attached to his rope close to where he started. If he fell, the anchor would prevent him from falling. His hands worked smoothly in a rhythm that came from years of experience on ice, using the serrated spikes of two ice axes and the sharp points on the front of his boots.
Two-thirds of the way up, he reached a small shelflike protrusion. It jutted two feet out from the sheer ice face and gave him an opportunity to turn and see Chelsea get ready to step sideways into the couloir while Rei took care of the lines he’d set to run smoothly for her descent.
He grinned, knowing the exhilaration she’d experience—the closest a climber came to free-falling.
The pick end of his axe dug in a foot above the level of the ice shelf, the serrations holding it fast. He pulled himself up where he could see over the small flat platform barely big enough for his boots to fit.
Almost there. He smiled to himself, imagining Chelsea’s face if he’d dared to make a race of it. But he wouldn’t scare her like that. She would make her way down easily, the way he’d taught her, and that didn’t involve taking risks.
He looked up into the endless blue of the sky, unbroken by clouds or the snow flurries that had marred its brilliance the
day before. Everything was white and blue apart from a narrow length of black sticking out from the rim. Was Bill’s ice axe lying on the rim after all this time?
Kurt knew he’d got it wrong the moment it moved, lifted by a figure in white that had been invisible against the ice and snow, but stood out against clear Himalayan sky. White! Chelsea’s yeti in the night! How had Nichols gotten past them?
Over the rim of the shelf that hid him, Kurt saw the guy take aim, not at him but lower, where Chelsea had begun working down the couloir. His heart jumped into his throat, thumping against his larynx, stifling the cry that roared in his mind. His next decision was made without time for thought or his own safety. Kurt lifted the other ice ax, sent it spinning end over end till it struck the guy’s shoulder.
The rifle went off, with a whimper instead of the clap of thunder he would have expected to rock the air in the corridor of ice they were in. As he ducked behind the shelf for cover, expecting to be the next target, he heard a yell and a couple of bumps against the ice, like a pebble skimming across water.
He recognized it for what it was, remembered it from the last time he’d visited this spot. Someone was falling.
His heart left his throat along with all the air in his lungs and the sound of her name. “Chelsea-ea-ea!”
He looked down and started to breathe again. Chelsea was where he’d last spotted her, on the end of the line that Rei was feeding out. The guy falling was a blur of white and a curse of screams as he bounced off the couloir walls to the bottom and beyond, the way Bill and Atlanta had taken down to the icefall below.
“Don’t move. I’ll be with you soon,” he called out to the other two. Chelsea had to be in shock. He’d been through that, and wouldn’t wish on anyone the frozen numbness that entered one’s soul watching another climber fall to his death.
From the flat ice shelf it was a few short pulls and a leap over the edge to the top. The blue bags holding the line he’d been after were frost covered but clearly visible. He pushed up to his feet, began looking around for evidence and spotted a small backpack, white as well. The guy had meant business, but obviously hadn’t meant to hang around, as the pack wasn’t large enough to carry shelter for a night on the ice.
The ice axe beside it was Kurt’s. There was blood on the point of the pick, and some of it had seeped into the snow and was already frozen. Head bent, he hunkered down to retrieve it and the pack.
The second white figure was almost on him before he noticed. Kurt dropped the pack and hefted the ice axe in his palm until the balance and weight of it felt just right. “Don’t come any closer. I’ve taken out your friend and I’ll take you out just as easily without giving it a second thought.”
The second man immediately raised his arms, one of them as if in surrender, the other pulling aside the face covering masking his features.
“Paul Nichols!” Kurt gasped the name. He’d been certain Nichols was dead at the bottom of the couloir.
And if not Paul, who the hell had he killed?
Chapter 14
“Hold it! Hold it right there. Not another step, Nichols, and keep your hands where I can see them.” Kurt sidestepped around the bags of line he’d come after. An icy trickle of sweat snaked down his spine as he took a circular route away from the shaft of the couloir, his gaze fixed on Nichols. Kurt’s back was still to the drop into the couloir, and he wasn’t at what he’d call a safe distance. Twice now he’d seen that the descent might be quick, but it was fatal.
“It’s not what you think, Kurt. I was following Basie.”
“What do you mean you were following Serfontien? When we were leaving Camp Three, you were supposedly on your way down to Base Camp with an injured hand. First time you let me down, you were whining over a sick gut. This time the convenient excuse was the cut to your hand that stopped you climbing. How many more lies do you expect me to swallow?”
“They weren’t lies—they were excuses.” Paul’s shoulder gave a little jink back and forth, making his hands wave above his shoulders. At any other time the shrug might have looked funny, but Kurt wasn’t in a laughing mood.
“I’ve been following Basie Serfontien for well over a year, both here and in South Africa.”
Kurt slapped the shaft of the ice axe against the palm of his glove to show what he thought of that story. The sound dropped into the chilled silence with a satisfactory echo. He’d given himself room in case the confrontation developed into a struggle, and now he wasn’t more than eight feet away from Nichols, closer than he’d been to Basie, too close to miss.
His eyes narrowed as he surveyed Nichols, a man whom he’d once trusted with his life. “But you must have known Basie was heading up the Lhotse Face. That’s well away from the route we intended taking. You could have picked a better outfit to join. I did you a kindness and you turned around and bit me, but good.”
Eyeing the distance again, Kurt planted his feet wide, his crampons firmly planted into the ice and snow, solid, in case Nichols decided to rush him. “Another thing—you still haven’t mentioned what was so all-fired important that you had to follow him all the way from South Africa.”
“It’s my job. I was an agent with the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission until they ceased operations. Now another of our—you could say—more secret South African agencies has commandeered my services.”
Nichols paused, but didn’t put a name to the agency.
“You might have noticed from his manner that Serfontien was ex-army. Probably came into the career naturally—the name Basie means little boss.” One of Nichols’s hands edged toward his snug-fitting hood. “Mind if I pull this down? I’m sweating like a pig under here.”
“Your choice. Remember that this axe is lethal whichever side of the head it hits. Think about that before you try any tricks.”
“I’m not stupid.”
The irony of the remark made Kurt’s mouth twist into a sneer. “Could have fooled me, mate. But you were in the middle of telling me why you traveled all this way to watch Serfontien.”
“He was originally part of a covert counterterrorist group. They took away his commission and booted him out after they suspected him of enjoying his work so much he’d begun moonlighting. As far as we can tell he’s responsible for the murders of four young up-and-coming leaders. But knowing is one thing, getting proof is something else.”
“And I’m supposed to believe all this crap?”
“I have ID in my parka that will show you I’m who I say I am.” Nichols’s hand went to his jacket.
“No, you don’t. You haven’t convinced me enough to allow you to reach inside your coat.” Kurt waved the axe at him. “Hands back up where they were. I want to know why you linked up with my outfit instead of Basie’s. Serfontien never seemed the kind of guy to let an extra buck or two slip past him. I always wondered why he turned you down.”
“The first time I arrived in Base Camp, I went looking for him and caught him spying on Atlanta when he thought no one was looking. That’s why I pretended he’d turned me down and asked to join Aoraki Expeditions. Could have been the guy was just a pervert, but I knew from past experience Basie never did anything that wasn’t to his own advantage.” Nichols’s mouth twisted in a cold smile. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Damned if the puzzle wasn’t getting more complicated by the minute. If what Nichols was insinuating was correct, the actions of both South Africans left an unpleasant smell, to his way of thinking. “You realize Basie shot at Chelsea? That isn’t history. He damn near murdered her a few minutes ago.”
“Well, it had to be something along those lines. Can’t see him going to all that trouble on the odd chance of looking down her anorak. From the comments he made about them, I’m not even sure if he liked women. But if he tried to shoot Chelsea, then in my book that’s as good a reason as any for taking him down. I like Chelsea, man. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head.”
Kurt hit his palm with the axe handle.
“I’m thinking you are just too pious to live. I reckon you’d stand back and watch someone else hurt her to get the proof you’re so desperate for.”
As Nichols opened his mouth to reply to the accusation, a noise behind Kurt made him turn his head, praying Chelsea wasn’t about to walk into the standoff. He smiled as Rei’s head appeared above the rim of ice.
The Sherpa had obviously been listening. “Ms. Chelsea’s a nice lady. You touch her head and you deal with me also.”
“Good man, Rei. Just what I needed—another witness.” As soon as the Sherpa’s blue shadow fell across the snow beside his, Kurt let go of some of the tension bottled up inside his chest. “Okay, Nichols. You can toss over that ID now. Rei will pick it up while I keep my eye on you.”
He brushed the snow off the plastic card Rei handed him and studied the ID with Nichols’s photo in the top right-hand corner. Right enough, it said South African Security Services. But, in truth, Kurt was no wiser, never having heard of the agency before today.
“So let’s hear the rest. You were making a case that Basie might have been after Atlanta Chaplin, but I was there, mate. I never saw a soul or heard a sound except both of them falling.”
“He uses a silencer. You must have had luck on your side today to pick him out before he got his shot off. His camouflage was the best around. I should know—this gear of mine cost a fortune. But this time I was ready and followed his tracks in the snow. Last time I followed his party toward the Lhotse Face before I realized he had tricked me.”
“You can have this back.” Kurt flicked the ID card back to Nichols. It went spinning onto the snow at his feet. “Why was he after Atlanta and Bill? They weren’t South African, hadn’t set foot in the country as far as I’m aware.”
But Arlon Rowles had.
Nichols crouched to pick up the card. His story had a ring of truth. That didn’t stop Kurt keeping a wary eye on him as he straightened. He’d dropped his hands, but Kurt let him get away with it. All the talking Nichols was doing was wasting oxygen and probably sapping his energy.
Stranded with a Stranger Page 18