The Mountain (A James Shaw Mission Book 2)

by Richard Turner

  “Trust me, if there were Germans skulking about in the capital, the White Russian colonel would have told me. He seems to know everything about everyone,” said Bruce.

  “Yes, Colonel Brusilov is quite well-connected, and if he knows nothing, then perhaps the Germans have yet to arrive or were captured on route,” offered Amrit.

  Shaw said to Amrit, “Looks like you’ll have to check in with your superiors after the party and see if they know anything new.”

  “I don’t know about you two, but I’m famished,” said Bruce. “Come on, let’s find a quiet table and try some of the local cuisine.”

  Amrit smiled and then led her new friends through the party to a table covered in trays, piled high with food.

  “It all smells and looks delicious,” said Bruce. “It’s not going to turn my stomach, is it?”

  “No, you should be fine,” said Amrit, patting Bruce on the hand.

  “I’ve seen you eat,” said Shaw. “Nothing on heaven or earth will ever make you sick.”

  “Aye, you could be right,” replied Bruce as he hungrily helped himself to a pastry filled with meat, that Amrit called Sha Phaley.

  Outside the palace, in the shadows, a man in loose-fitting gray clothes slowly got up off his stomach and, without making a sound, stealthily made his way from boulder to boulder. When he arrived at a metal gate covering an old stone culvert at the base of the rocky hill, he stopped and looked up at the brightly-lit walls of the castle. He could see a couple of bored soldiers walking along the castle’s parapet, neither of whom were even looking out into the night. Reaching over, he grabbed hold of the thick metal bars on the gate and pulled hard. As expected, they didn’t budge an inch. Feeling along with his hand, he found an old, rusted lock at the bottom of the gate. After taking out a key from his pocket, the man inserted it into the lock.

  It fit perfectly.

  He had been worried that the man who sold him the key had lied and given him a key that wouldn’t work in the aged lock. He inserted the key. At first, the lock refused to open, but with each turn of the key, the lock’s mechanism slowly began to open. However, before he could grab hold of it, the lock fell to the ground. Instantly, his heart leapt up into his throat. He broke out in a cold sweat. At any second, he expected a searchlight to shine down on him, followed by a deadly volley of bullets, ending his life.

  The only sound he heard was the breeze stirring a nearby prayer flag.

  He was safe.

  The man let out his breath and reached into a leather sack slung over his shoulder. He took out a small can of oil and poured its contents onto the grate’s hinges. He took a deep breath, held it, bent at the knees and then pushed up the heavy-metal gate until it was high enough for him to crawl under. He quickly propped it open with a thick metal bar that he had brought with him. The man took a couple of deep breaths, wiped the sweat from his brow and then quickly crawled inside the culvert. When he was sure that he was deep enough inside, he dug out a flashlight from a jacket pocket and turned it on. The sudden burst of bright light momentarily blinded the man. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the light. He was relieved to see that the stone culvert was high enough for him to crawl through on all fours. As he made his way along the slime-covered tunnel, the man soon came to another grate. The man grinned to himself when he pushed on the grill and it opened. He had paid good money for his contact inside the palace to remove the lock earlier in the day. After lifting the grate, the man found he could easily stand up. He shone his flashlight about and saw that he had come out, as he had planned, in the lowest level of the old fort. The dusty room was empty except for a couple of smashed wooden boxes and a few old rusting muskets from the last century leaning up against the stone walls. Quietly, the man made his way to the only door in the room. With his ear against the wooden door, he listened for the sound of voices from above. After a minute, the man was positive that he was alone. He reached over and tried the door handle.

  Slowly, the door opened, its hinges creaking loudly.

  He anxiously bit his lip. The man wished that he hadn’t used up all of the oil he’d brought with him on the outside grate. He warily peered around the side of the door and saw a stone staircase leading up to the next level. When he shone his light up the stairs, the man saw that the door leading out into the castle was closed and more importantly, unguarded. With a grin on his face, the man carefully closed the door and made his way back to the culvert entrance. He made the sound of an owl hooting in the night. A second later, from somewhere in the darkness, another owl called back.

  Like wraiths rising from their graves, two dozen men got up off the rocky ground and then moved towards the open culvert. They all had one thing on their minds: they had to kill all of the foreigners inside Mohammed Kalakani’s palace. Each man had taken a vow and was willing to give his life to protect a secret that had been hidden from the outside world for centuries.

  Shaw nibbled on some food while he waited patiently for his opportunity to pounce. The instant Mohammed Kalakani left the Cubans to speak with a Chinese diplomat Shaw was on the move. Quickly crossing the busy floor crowded with people merrymaking, Shaw made a beeline straight for the Cubans before they could leave.

  Amrit, surprised by Shaw’s sudden move, hurried to keep up.

  Bruce had been so busy eating that he didn’t notice his friends leaving the table until they were gone.

  Shaw saw the man take the woman at his side by the arm and turn to leave. “Excuse me,” Shaw called out in Spanish. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”

  Seeing Shaw push his way through the partygoers, Adler let go of Ortega’s arm and waited for Shaw to arrive.

  “Sorry for shouting,” said Shaw. “It’s hardly the thing to do in polite company. However, I just had to meet you before you left.”

  “It’s quite all right,” replied Adler. “It’s always nice to meet a fellow traveler in this part of the world. Especially one who speaks Spanish as well as you do…Señor-?”

  “Shaw, Doctor James Shaw. Pleased to meet you,” said Shaw, offering his hand.

  “Señor Carlos Adler and Señorita Cristina Ortega, at your service,” said Adler, looking deep into Shaw’s gray eyes.

  Amrit stopped beside Shaw and said, “Doctor Shaw, as I cannot speak Spanish, could you please introduce me?”

  Adler smiled. “My dear lady, it would be my pleasure to speak to you in English.” Taking her hand, he delicately kissed it and then introduced himself and Ortega to Amrit.

  “I was told that you are from Cuba and are heading to Bhutan to conduct a scientific survey of the region,” said Shaw. “That must be quite the undertaking.”

  “It is by far the most complicated thing I have ever done in my life,” replied Adler. “The government of Bhutan is very reticent with the war on to allow foreigners into its country. If it wasn’t for the charitable support of His Highness, Mohammed Kalakani, I doubt that we would have even gotten this far.”

  “I see there are five of you in your party. Are you all from the University of Havana?” asked Shaw.

  “Señorita Ortega and Señor Diego are the only professors from the university in our group,” said Adler. “The remainder, myself included, are accomplished climbers and are simply here to help out. I also put up a substantial portion of the expedition’s funds in exchange for the rights to a film being made about our time here in Asia. I’m hoping to sell it to Hollywood to recoup some of my money.”

  “Well, I wish you good luck on your expedition,” said Shaw.

  “Thank you for your kind wishes, Doctor Shaw,” said Adler, looking down at his wristwatch. “Unfortunately, I see that it is getting late, and we still have far too many things to do before we depart in the morning, so if you’ll excuse us, we must round up the rest of our party and get back to work.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Shaw as Adler and Ortega walked away.

  Turning his head slightly, Shaw looked over at Amrit. “They seem to
be in a hurry to leave.”

  “That they do,” said Amrit.

  “You know, I’m not sure if I entirely believe his story. Perhaps I’m being a bit paranoid, but I’d like our friends back home to check out Señor Adler and the remainder of his team.”

  “A bit of paranoia is good in this line of business,” said Amrit. “I find it keeps you on your toes.”

  Looking about, Shaw said, “Where’s Duncan?”

  “He’s still eating. For a skinny man, he sure can pack away the food.”

  “Come on, let’s grab him and make our exit.”

  With that, Shaw took Amrit by the arm. They quickly made their way through the throng of partygoers who didn’t realize that in minutes their whole world was about to be turned upside down.

  Chapter 12

  In the dim light of the room, Yeshe Chophel quickly changed out of his dirty gray rags and put on the white-jacketed uniform of a server. Around him, half the men hurried to change into servers’ outfits while the other half slipped into shoddily-made Afghan soldiers’ uniforms.

  When they were all changed, Chophel walked over and embraced the man who would be leading the group dressed as soldiers. No words were exchanged between the two brothers. Both men knew precisely what was expected of them.

  He knew that he would probably never see his brother again in this world. Chophel let go of him and then made sure that his stolen revolver was loaded. He took a deep breath to calm his shaky nerves and then placed his pistol in a holster under his jacket. Edging his way to the door out of the basement room, Chophel opened the door and looked up the narrow passageway.

  As before, the door was unguarded.

  He waved for his comrades to follow him as he made his way up the stone staircase. Chophel cracked the door open and peered outside. He could see a soldier standing in the open courtyard in front of another door. The man rocked back and forth on his heels and looked as if he had drunk one too many glasses of champagne smuggled out of the kitchen by his friends before coming on duty.

  Chophel raised a finger to indicate to his people to wait a moment. With his heart pounding away, he stepped out into the courtyard. Smiling, he walked straight towards the tipsy soldier. When he was less than a couple of yards from the soldier, Chophel smoothly pulled out a dagger hidden up the sleeve of his jacket. Before the soldier could even react, Chophel struck, sending the blade straight into the doomed man’s throat. With a wet gurgling sound, the soldier fumbled for the knife lodged in his neck. A second later, he dropped to the ground. Quickly looking about to make sure that he hadn’t been seen, Chophel dragged the dying soldier’s body back to the stairwell. He turned his head and then nodded to his counterpart in the soldier’s uniform, who tossed the dead body down the stairs like so much garbage.

  It was time.

  Without saying a word, the intruders split into two groups. Chophel led his people towards the kitchen at the back of the castle, while his brother led the fake soldiers out into the night in search of their prey. Both men knew that they were too few in number to overwhelm the garrison. They counted on surprise and fear to be their allies this night.

  “Where are we going?” Bruce asked Shaw as he grabbed a couple more pieces of cheese.

  “Back to Amrit’s,” replied Shaw. “She still has work to do.”

  “Ok then, just let me grab some more food for the ride back,” said Bruce as he grabbed a plate to fill with finger food. When he spotted a server enter the hall carrying a tray piled high with exotic looking food, Bruce enthusiastically waved the young man over to him.

  “You and your bloody stomach,” remarked Shaw. He was about to turn away and say something to Amrit, when something about the server, walking straight towards Bruce, set off alarm bells in the back of Shaw’s mind. The man looked nervous. His less than spick-and-span white server’s uniform seemed to hang off his narrow frame. In a flash, Shaw reached over and pulled Amrit behind him just as the server threw his tray at Bruce and went for his hidden pistol.

  “Down!” yelled Shaw.

  Bruce ducked as the tray of food flying past his head. With Shaw’s voice booming in his ears, he dove for the floor.

  Shaw’s combat training kicked in. In under a second, he whisked his pistol from behind his back flipped off the safety with his thumb and without aiming fired two shots at Bruce’s attacker. Both rounds struck the man in the chest.

  With a stunned look on his face, the server dropped to his knees. Bright-red blotches of blood began to form on his white jacket. A couple of seconds later, the man fell face first onto the stone floor.

  It had all happened so fast that the other guests didn’t realized what was going on. The wife of an Indian trader turned her head to see where the shot came from. When she saw the blood seeping out from under the server’s body, she let out an ear-splitting scream. The crowd instantly stepped back trying to put as much space between themselves and the corpse.

  Suddenly, from the far side of the room, dozens of shots were fired as the attackers struck, mercilessly cutting down anyone in uniform. People screamed and like water from a burst dam ran for the door, only to find it blocked by a couple of assailants who fired into the panicked crowd, killing a British officer and another who had stopped to help his friend.

  “On your feet,” said Shaw to Bruce as he helped him up off the floor.

  “What’s going on?” asked Amrit, her voice trembling in fear.

  “I don’t know,” said Shaw. “But one thing is for certain; we can’t stay here. We need to find another way out.” Shaw was about to lead them away from the firing when he saw a white-jacketed man rush out of the crowd. In his hand was a pistol. In a flash, Shaw brought up his pistol and dropped the attacker with a shot at point blank range between the man’s eyes.

  “Look,” said Amrit, pointing towards the Cuban camera crew who had just turned over a heavy wooden table and were using it for cover.

  “Let’s go,” said Shaw firmly as he took Amrit by the hand and began to push his way through the panic mob of people scurrying about the hall trying to avoid the merciless assailants in their midst.

  More shots rang out.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Shaw saw an Indian officer fall. Whatever was going on was well planned, flashed through Shaw’s mind.

  Just before they made it to the Cubans, Shaw swore when he saw the Swedish missionary try to help a wounded man up off the floor only to fall with a hole blasted in his chest. Shaw’s blood was up. Someone was going to pay.

  “Quickly, grab another table,” one of the Cubans called in Spanish to Shaw.

  Flipping over the nearest table over, spilling the food and drinks on it all over the floor, Shaw and Bruce hurried to drag it over beside the Cuban’s makeshift barricade.

  Shaw told Amrit to lie down behind the table, dropped to one knee and then looked about the hall. There were at least two dozen bodies lying motionless on the floor. Not all of them were in uniform. Several were innocent bystanders who had been caught in the deadly crossfire. Many more people, some gravely wounded, crawled across the bloodstained floor trying to escape the horror raging all around them. Shaw cursed when he saw the Afghan guards cut down one by one as they tried to protect Mohammed Kalakani and his wife from the deadly firefight.

  Adler and Ortega had taken cover behind a tall stone statue of Buddha. Adler held a pistol in his hand. On the floor beside them lay Musa Khan with the back of his head blown open. Blood, bone and gore littered the floor.

  “Where are the rest of the guards?” asked Bruce as peered over the top of the table.

  “I don’t know,” replied Shaw. “I hate to say it, but for now, I think that we’re on our own.” What he didn’t know was that the fake soldiers had barricaded the other side of the entrance to the hall and were fighting to the death with the king’s guards who were desperately struggling to force their way into the hall to save their sovereign.

  The sudden sound of shots fired nearby made Shaw duck. He gr
inned when he saw that both Cubans were armed with 9mm automatics and were coolly trading fire with their attackers. “Thank God for that,” said Shaw to himself.

  “What are we gonna do?” asked Bruce, wishing that he had brought his pistol along with him.

  “You’re going to stay here and protect Amrit,” replied Shaw.

  “And what are you gonna do?”

  “I’m going to put an end to this,” said Shaw as he leaped over the top of the table and ran towards the stone statue and Adler.

  “Bloody fool, you’re gonna get yer head shot off one of these days,” called out Bruce.

  Shaw came to a sliding halt behind the statue. He heard the sharp snap of bullets hitting the stone, chipping away small pieces of rock.

  “I’m not a Buddhist, but shooting at a statue of Buddha can’t be good karma,” said Shaw to Adler.

  “No, it can’t be good for one in the next life,” replied Adler dryly.

  “Do you know how to use your pistol?” Shaw asked Adler.

  “Do you?” replied Adler as he calmly shot down a man using a petrified Indian politician as a human shield.

  Shaw grinned. They had both called each other out. There was no hiding it anymore; both men knew that the other was obviously not, what he pretended to be.

  “All right then, Señor Adler, shall we get to work?” said Shaw.

  “What do you suggest we do?”

  “Well, it looks like whatever is left of the attackers has clumped together near the main hall entrance. I say we go pay them a visit.”

  “Why not,” replied Adler, his voice as cool as glacier ice.

  “On three,” said Shaw.

  Adler nodded his head.

  “Three, two, one,” counted down Shaw.

  Together they stepped out from behind the statue with their pistols held out in front of them. Calmly, they advanced towards the men blocking the doorway. Like the Red Sea parting for Moses, the terrified mob of people moved apart, giving Shaw and Adler a clear view of their enemy.