by Matt Rogers
‘Who spotted her?’
‘A couple of civilian American hikers we managed to get in contact with by posing as their trekking company. We tried not to let on that she was a person of interest, but they figured it out. They saw her around the back of the guest house. The guy went out to take a piss because he didn’t want to use the drop toilet, and caught a glimpse of her face in the tree line. He thought he’d been sprung, so he went back inside and didn’t tell anyone about it until we forced it out of him. It’s only when we spoke to him that he realised she might have been tied up.’
‘And the rebels?’
‘He said the guest house was teeming with Nepali people — dozens, he claimed — and he joked that he thought there was an international porters’ conference being hosted there. Which doesn’t sound like they were clad in military fatigues, or more people would have noticed.’
‘So they’re hiding in plain sight.’
‘It’s relatively easy to do out there. Everyone’s focused on themselves and their condition, and it’s an alien environment for the average trekker anyway. They’re not going to notice anything out of the ordinary, because everything’s out of the ordinary.’
‘When was this?’
‘Four hours ago. Lunchtime.’
King stared into the valley. ‘So there’s probably a handful of the rebels lingering around, expecting us.’
‘I’d say so. Are you armed?’
‘We are now.’
‘With what?’
‘A couple of Sig Sauer P320s we lifted off our attackers. You wouldn’t know whether Perry would have access to…?’
‘Just because they’re American-made doesn’t mean it’s Perry arming them. Do you have ammunition?’
‘Four magazines each.’
‘Use them wisely. And aim steady.’
‘Will do.’
‘We uploaded an audio clip to the same part of the dark web where the rebels dumped the video. We had a team of psychologists who concocted the clip, but it seems the kidnappers bought it hook, line and sinker. We used a voice actor to sound abhorrently stressed, claiming he was doing everything in his power to get in touch with the right negotiator. He told them three of the best special risks insurers in the world were equally desperate to make sure this went off without a hitch. You know what that means, right?’
‘You made Raya seem more valuable, so they wouldn’t be so quick to hurt her.’
‘Yes.’
‘Which means, if Slater and I fail, everything’s going to escalate significantly, and she’s probably going to die.’
‘Yes.’
King paused to rub his brow. ‘Shit.’
‘I just put my career on the line because I have faith in the pair of you,’ she said. ‘Don’t fuck it up.’
‘We’ll try not to.’
‘It’s all of our heads if this doesn’t work. If the two of you lose yours, then mine’s on the chopping block for wasting such important assets.’
‘We won’t let you down, ma’am.’
‘Christ, don’t call me ma’am. Enough of that. I fucking care about you, alright? Come home safe.’
He paused, taking it in, and felt the weight of her words.
He said, ‘I will.’
He hung up the phone.
Hunched forward, put his elbows on his knees, and caught his breath.
He was tired.
He couldn’t mask it.
Slater said, ‘How fucked are we?’
King said, ‘Not as bad as I thought. They were at a teahouse down in that valley four hours ago. We won’t catch them tonight, but we’ll do it in the morning.’
‘She won’t make it until morning.’
‘Yes, she will. Violetta bought us time.’
‘How?’
Fighting extreme lethargy, King pushed himself to his feet. ‘By upping the stakes.’
He set off down the mountain.
45
They reached the Phorste Thanga guest house just as the sun dropped below the horizon.
Slater made it there first. The descent suited his healthy ankles better than King’s, and the pain in his arm had become so consistent and monotonous that it no longer had an effect on his stride. The guest house rested at the bottom of a declining slope, nestled into a dip in the trail. Past it, the path rose, continuing on the long journey to Everest and Gokyo Ri. The building itself was three storeys, made of brick, with green wooden window frames set at regular intervals across the levels. Beside it rested a cobblestone courtyard where trekkers could stop for lunch or a tea break.
Slater made it up three of the rough stone steps before a short Nepali man burst out of the building’s front door.
He was waving his arms hard, practically frothing at the mouth with nervous energy.
Shooing them away.
He pulled to a halt at the top of the stairs and shook his head.
Slater got the first word in, ‘Look…’
‘No!’ the man hissed. ‘Both of you get out of here, right now.’
King trundled to a halt beside Slater and caught his breath. He lifted his bad leg up a step, to take some weight off it. His face was pale — almost green, in fact. He wasn’t in good shape.
‘We have nowhere else to stay,’ Slater said. ‘We—’
The owner cut him off. ‘They are still in hills. From early today. I cannot refuse service, or they make life bad for me. Very bad. Before they leave they tell me what you two look like. They say if I take you in, they kill me and all the guests. I cannot have this happen. My family future at stake. If you seen here… there will be nothing left for them. No one will ever come here. I will be dead. Tourists, hikers … they die. All because of you.’
King said, ‘The rebels aren’t here. They’re gone.’
The owner sighed and bowed his head, as if contemplating what he could share.
Then he lifted his gaze again. ‘Just ahead. Few miles down trail. Many men stay back. They expect you to come. They wait and they ambush. You die. They know this terrain. You do not.’
‘We’ll manage,’ Slater said. ‘Can you feed us, at least?’
‘No.’
Slater pulled the Sig Sauer out of his waistband and aimed the barrel at the owner’s stomach. He kept it low, below the line of sight of anyone peering out the guest house’s windows. But he raised an eyebrow, asking the age-old question: Do you get the message?
‘Bring us food,’ Slater said. ‘Or you die right here.’
‘You will not do that,’ the owner said, keeping his voice low. ‘I know what you trying to do. They have girl. They try to keep it from me, but I see her. You’re good man, trying to help her. You will not shoot me.’
‘We’re good men who will collapse tonight if we don’t get food,’ Slater said. ‘We respect you, so we’re doing what you ask. We won’t force ourselves into your property. But we need to eat.’
There was no movement. The owner didn’t respond. He was still as a statue.
Which left Slater in a tricky situation.
He said, ‘Am I going to have to lead you inside at gunpoint and have you make us food with a barrel to your head?’
‘That would not be good for our guests,’ the owner said. ‘They are tired from day walking the trail. They do not need this fright.’
‘We’re tired, too.’
‘Okay. I will help you. Will you wait out here?’
‘Of course.’
‘I will be honest. You are good men. I need to tell you truth.’
King said, ‘Okay.’
‘After I make you food, I must call number and tell them you here. So you must eat, then you must go. If I no tell them, and word gets to them that I help, then me and my family die. I cannot risk this.’
Slater thought about it. After all, he had the leverage. But ultimately he said, ‘Okay.’
‘Do you hate me?’
‘No,’ Slater said. ‘This is life. Sometimes it’s messy.’
‘Y
es,’ the man said, and gazed down the mountainside. ‘Sometimes messy.’
‘Thank you for helping us.’
‘You need water?’
‘Yes,’ they both said in unison.
The owner nodded curtly, said, ‘Wait here,’ and trudged back into the guest house.
Sometimes Slater didn’t like what he had to do.
But he wasn’t about to ruin a hard-working innocent man’s life over refusing to shelter them. Not under these circumstances, anyway. And he knew King felt the same.
They sat down on the lower steps, and watched the dull twilight settle over the mountain range.
Beside Slater, King started to shiver.
Slater said, ‘So do we walk all the way back up to Long-Ma, or do we give up and bed down in the woods?’
‘I can’t make it back up that hill tonight,’ King admitted in a rare moment of honesty. ‘There’s only so much longer I can tough this out for.’
‘How’s your ankle?’
‘Bad. But resting helps. Our sleeping bags are good enough. We can bed down anywhere and cover ourselves in layers, and we’ll be okay.’
‘We might not get the best sleep.’
‘You got a better idea?’
‘No,’ Slater said. ‘I really don’t.’
‘Then we press forward maybe a few hundred feet and bunker down in the woods.’
‘You heard what that guy said. Some of the rebels stayed back to intercept us. They knew this would happen. They knew how far we’d make it, and they knew this place would turn us away.’
‘They probably projected it based on how much ground they already knew we’d covered. That doesn’t mean anything.’
Slater stared. ‘Doesn’t it? Or does it mean they’re getting help?’
‘If you’re implying it’s Parker feeding them information, then you’re wrong. He has no idea where we are.’
Paranoid, Slater patted down the outside of his pack. ‘Unless he’s tracking us…’
King reached over and put a calloused hand on Slater’s wrist. ‘Stop.’
Slater sat back, and adjusted himself. ‘I don’t know… I just can’t work this out. We should have figured out who’s behind this by now.’
‘We won’t until we get there.’
They lapsed into silence, and twenty minutes later the owner returned with a handful of plates sporting steamed momos, mountains of vegetable fried rice, and a half-dozen fried eggs. Slater and King accepted the food graciously as the daylight receded and devoured the meals within a couple of minutes. The owner waited for them to finish with his hands behind his back, observing the darkening sky, watching for any sign of the rebels returning.
When they handed the plates back, the owner handed over sealed plastic bottles filled with clean water.
They drank, and drank, and drank, and then tucked what was left over into their packs.
‘Please go,’ the owner said. ‘And good luck.’
‘One last thing,’ Slater said. ‘Did you notice a blond American with the group yesterday?’
The owner didn’t answer.
Slater said, ‘Please.’
‘Yes,’ the owner said. ‘He was here.’
46
King bristled until the man followed up with, ‘They had him tied up.’
‘And you saw that?’
‘I saw them do it,’ the owner said. ‘They had gun pointed at his back, whole way down. I saw them coming from long way away. They try to conceal gun, but I can tell by the way they walk. It was … not normal.’
‘So he was unrestrained until he got here?’
‘Yes. So was girl. They came in separately, with rebel walking behind each of them. Then when they get here the rebel take them round back and tie them up. I cannot say anything. They can kill me if I speak.’
King said, ‘Did they tie up a small Nepali guy, too?’
The owner shrugged. ‘Not that I saw. But I stay busy in kitchen to feed them all. I no see much.’
‘You saw,’ Slater said. ‘You’re perceptive, and you have good info on the girl and the blond guy. Was there a Nepali guy tied up at any point they were here?’
A pause.
And then, ‘No.’
Slater didn’t answer.
King didn’t answer.
They just stood in stunned silence.
‘You must go,’ the owner said. ‘I don’t know what this means — what I just told you — but you are both shocked. You must get out of here. Too risky.’
They didn’t protest. They just nodded their thanks for the food and drink, and set off trudging down the trail into the dark.
There was the faint remnants of light leftover in the sky, barely perceptible, but it was enough for them to make out the dirt underfoot. They watched for potholes, steep drop-offs — anything that could compromise them. Each step set off a fiery ache in King’s ankle, but it wasn’t as severe as early the previous day. He could handle it. His mind was bulletproof.
As they strode away from the guest house’s exterior lights and plunged into shadow, Slater said, ‘It’s got to be the porter.’
‘We don’t know anything,’ King said. ‘Not until we catch them.’
‘You think we can?’
‘We just need to survive the night.’
A twig snapped, perhaps a hundred feet ahead.
The remnants of the sound echoed in the semi-darkness.
They both froze.
And waited.
The seconds drew out, becoming long minutes. King kept his hand on his weapon, and he knew Slater would be mirroring his actions. They didn’t look at each other — tactical awareness took over, and they became statues against the dark backdrop of the mountain. The wind seemed to pick up, but it was probably an invention of the mind.
Sounds amplified — creaks, rustles, whispers in the dark.
‘We need to get off the trail,’ King muttered.
‘Here?’
‘Just as good as anywhere else.’
They stepped off the hard-packed dirt and up into the tree line. King tested his ankle against the forest floor and found the surface springier then the trail. Relief flooded him — it might not have to be a long and painful night after all.
Or so you think.
He didn’t have to remind himself of the man’s warning.
There are still rebels in these hills.
Out of nowhere, Slater whispered, ‘Make sure you keep your headlamp off.’
Explaining the obvious.
‘No shit,’ King said.
The twilight turned to night. King had only ventured ten feet into the tree line before he could no longer make out the sight of his hand in front of his face. He waved his palm a couple of times to test, but came away with no visual stimuli.
They were literally walking blind.
‘I can’t do this,’ he whispered, his voice barely audible. ‘Let’s just bed down here. I’ll turn an ankle if we go any further.’
‘Suits me.’
King heard the rustling of a pack, and then the soft muted thump of Slater’s rear end hitting the forest floor.
‘That’s a relief,’ Slater whispered. ‘Feels good to rest.’
King sat, too, and his eyes began to adjust to the dark. He made out the faint silhouettes of the trees in front of him, and then the short stretch of trail, and then a plummeting drop that swept across the mountain ranges. As soon as they stopped, the main issue became clear. King started shivering in the evening chill, and beside him he heard Slater’s teeth chattering.
They were still close to thirteen thousand feet in altitude.
Out here, the weather was as hostile as the men they were chasing.
He fumbled blindly for his pack, finding the zip after a solid minute of searching. He paused to make sure there were no foreign sounds nearby, and then ran the zipper along its tracks.
It grated in the silence.
King winced.
But then his pack was open, and he f
ound his balled-up sleeping bag in its cover and undid the clasps and rolled it out. His ankle was somewhere in the dark, stretched out in the soft undergrowth, and when he lifted it up it burned hot like an invisible molten orb. With a wince he slipped it into the sleeping bag, followed by the rest of his lower body. He pulled the bag up to his waist, and packed on a couple of extra jackets he found at the bottom of his bag.
Then there was nothing to do but rest and recover.
And watch for signs of insurgents.
For reassurance, he tested the weight of the P320 in his palm.
Slater’s soft voice trickled through the darkness. ‘Have you got easy access to your gun?’
‘Yeah. You?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So now we wait?’
‘Now we wait.’
‘We should take this in shifts.’
‘I’m not in too much pain. I can tell you are. I’ll take first watch.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t slip up.’
‘I can’t afford to.’
‘Alright.’
King rolled onto his side, nestled down into the sleeping bag liner, and drifted away in seconds.
47
Slater didn’t waver for close to an hour, and then everything steadily went downhill.
It started with a numb ache in his muscles. Not specific regions in particular, but all of it at once. His entire frame, throbbing and lethargic and heavy. It came out of nowhere, and he almost didn’t realise what was happening until it seized him completely. He adjusted his position, convinced he was cramping from sitting at an awkward angle.
Then it got worse.
The heaviness swamped him, like his muscles were made of lead, and his heart rate skyrocketed as soon as he moved an inch. It thudded against his chest wall, spearing up into his throat, drawing all his attention
He put it together in an instant.
His heart was working overtime to oxygenate his muscles. That was the crippling downside of having the physique of an Olympic sprinter at high altitudes. It meant there was a whole lot of oxygen required to satiate his body, and at thirteen thousand feet there simply wasn’t enough in the air.
The beginnings of altitude sickness were setting in.