The Cloud Maker (2010) (32 page)

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Authors: Patrick Woodhead

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BOOK: The Cloud Maker (2010)
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Their small group walked into the centre of camp and stopped by the fire. Running his eyes anxiously over the weapons on the ground, René looked up just as Captain Zhu approached the fire. The yak’s blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders and he smoked a cigarette, but for the first time since they had set off from Lhasa, he looked alive.
The bastard had somehow found the route up the cliff-face. René was sure of it.
‘You’ve been busy,’ he remarked, trying to prompt Zhu into conversation.
Zhu paused for a moment in front of him, noting the large swelling on René’s forehead and the sullen looks from the private. Then he turned and barked an order across the campsite. A moment later Chen appeared, his laptop in his hands.
As René stood in silence, Chen swivelled the screen of his laptop on its central stem and starting explaining something in Mandarin to Zhu who stared intently at the screen, nodding occasionally. Chen then produced a folded topographical map. Side by side, the men appeared to be cross-referencing it with the image on the screen.
After a long discussion Chen folded the computer in two, carefully placing the map in between, and returned them both to a plastic pelican case resting by the entrance to his tent. Walking back to the fire, he settled down on one of the nearby logs and continued his conversation with Zhu.
René stayed motionless beyond the edge of the fire, watching every movement. He was right. They had found a way up.
From the moment he’d been hauled into the police cells, he had realised that there must be more to this than he had ever suspected. But what were the Chinese looking for, and why were they so desperate to find Bill and Luca? René let his fingers trace over the swelling on his head distractedly. What the hell were those boys up to? Had they been lying to him that night at the restaurant? Whatever the answer, one thing was for sure – they were in way over their heads.
He turned, staring into the embers of the fire. In Tibet, you look after just one person – yourself. That’s what his friend had said but if he didn’t do something, Zhu would eventually track those boys down. And if that happened, they’d be lucky to escape with their lives.
He had to do something. But how could he stop the captain?
René suddenly turned, walking back along the line of tents. He looked up, checking that no one was watching, then quickly knelt down by the fly-sheet of Chen’s tent. A few moments later he straightened up. With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he stepped over the guy line of the tent in front and straight into three soldiers standing in a row.
Xie was in the middle, arms folded across his chest, while two SOF soldiers stood either side of him. They looked young, but fit and well-built. René moved out of their way, gesturing for them to pass, but none of them moved. He wondered whether they had seen him in Chen’s tent, but looking into Xie’s eyes, he realised they were there for a different purpose entirely.
Slowly bringing himself to his full height, René began folding up his shirtsleeves.
‘Go on then, you son of a bitch,’ he said, his eyes settling on Xie. ‘Let’s settle this.’
Xie’s eyes flicked to either side of him, checking that the other soldiers were right on his shoulder. Then he edged forward, inch by inch, his tongue shooting out over dry lips. Despite being three to one, he felt nervous. The Westerner somehow looked even larger than normal, the bulbous stomach and thick forearms swelling with rage. The westerner was ready for him.
With a sudden lunge, Xie swung his right arm towards the side of René’s head. The blow was clumsy and swung wide. René let it glance off his shoulder, then with a quick step forward, jabbed his fist out, straight into the soft flesh of Xie’s throat. With a strangled gurgling, Xie sank to his knees, hands clutching his neck. René followed through with a heavy right hook that crashed into the side of Xie’s temple, sending him sprawling into the mud.
With his fists raised like a prize fighter, René looked at the two remaining soldiers, wondering whether they would engage or not. He knew Xie was nothing to do with their unit and hoped their loyalty wouldn’t stretch that far. Both looked unfazed by the sight of Xie squirming in the mud, but they eyed René carefully, both of them ready to strike.
Just as he was starting to relax, the soldier closest to him swayed to the right. With explosive speed he hammer-kicked down on René’s thigh, striking with the heel of his boot. René howled in pain as the soldier then swivelled on the ball of his left foot, sweeping his leg round in a side kick, which connected deep into René’s ribs.
René staggered back, his arms wide as he tried to keep himself from falling. The second soldier sprang forward, throwing a swift one-two punch at his face and chest. As René tried to duck, the second punch connected with the crown of his head, spinning him off balance and flat on to his back.
Lying flat on his back in the mud, René had his arms raised to protect his face. Both soldiers paused and, slowly unclenching their fists, turned away from him, satisfied that he had been taught enough of a lesson. With a hand clamped to the top of his head, René shut his eyes. He was groaning softly when he suddenly heard a terrible screeching. His eyes flicked open to see Xie stumbling towards him with a survival knife swinging from his right hand. The blade was dull silver, with a cruel serrated edge running along its spine.
As the two soldiers swung round and tried to grab the knife from his grasp, Xie leaped forward with both hands on the hilt plunging it into the top of René’s right thigh. It cut down into the soft muscle, tearing the flesh open with a spray of blood. René screamed, clutching his leg and pressing both hands down across the wound. His breath came in short, erratic bursts as he stared at his own leg, transfixed by the sight of the knife still buried within it.
With a violent jerk, the soldiers yanked Xie backwards, pulling him off René and on to his knees. René’s scream had attracted others. Now they stood in a semi-circle around where he lay, watching. Chen pushed his way to the front.
‘
Get the field dressings!
’ he barked in Mandarin, staring down at René’s leg. ‘
I want him patched up immediately
.’
The line of soldiers suddenly parted as Zhu stepped into the middle of the fray. René gazed up at him hopelessly while Xie lowered his head in disgrace.
‘
Did you hear what I said?
’ Chen shouted, rounding on the nearest soldiers to him.
‘
Wait
,’ Zhu said, eyes calmly passing from René to Xie.
He drew a nickel-plated pistol from the holster at his waist. It was a small, delicate weapon. Zhu held it close to his side, resting the barrel against his thigh so that it was almost invisible against the folds of his trousers. Standing over René, he examined the knife in his leg with mild interest.
‘I have found the route up the cliff-face and have the exact GPS point for the monastery,’ he said in English. ‘Now, you’re nothing more than dead weight.’
Raising the pistol higher, he suddenly swung round, whipping it across Xie’s face. The blow knocked the soldier backwards, the sights from the pistol cutting into the flesh of his cheeks.
‘Act without my orders again and you will be shot,’ said Zhu, his black eyes never leaving René for a second. ‘Lieutenant, ensure that the Westerner is left exactly where he is. If he’s still alive by the time we return, then he will face charges and be taken to Drapchi. If he bleeds to death in the meantime . . .’
Zhu paused, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
‘. . . so be it.’
Chapter 41
Luca followed two junior monks as they swept down endless flights of wooden ladders, moving lower into the foundations of the monastery.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘Where is Dorje?’
One of the monks briefly turned, raising his finger to his lips, then continued climbing in silence. Luca’s shoulders hunched in frustration, but he followed on regardless.
They passed level after level, gradually veering further back into the mountain and away from the natural light of the windows. Corridors had been tunnelled directly into the rock like mineshafts, lit only by a long procession of squat yellow candles. The further down they went, the heavier and hotter the air became.
Luca noticed that the ladders were no longer worn and bowed at the centre. They felt rigid and unused, as if no one had used them in centuries. The ceiling of the tunnel became lower still and, being nearly a head taller than his two guides, Luca was the only one forced to angle his neck to one side.
The guides hurried on, while Luca felt a growing sense of dread build within him. Where was he being led? He’d already seen what these monks were capable of the previous night – a tormented soul, bound by leather straps in the darkness. For how long had that poor man been rotting down there? Luca could still picture his colourless face. And those eyes . . . They had just stared at him through the darkness with such desperate sadness.
Who was he? The last person to stumble accidentally on this secret monastery?
Luca felt the muscles on his arms tense involuntarily as he stared at the backs of his two guides. The only consolation was that they were little more than kids. He knew he could overpower them both if he needed to, but for now it was worth the gamble of following and obeying – more than anything, he desperately needed some answers.
The tunnel opened out into a high chamber where two pillars had been carved out of the natural rock, stretching twenty feet above their heads. Both were covered in gilded swastikas from top to bottom, covering the entire height of the pillar. As one of the guides reached across and picked up a burning torch from its stand, the patterns caught in the flickering light.
Using the base of the torch, the monk rapped twice on a door to the far side of the chamber. There was the sound of heavy metal runners being pulled back and, with a rush of air, the door creaked open on its hinges.
‘What’s in there?’ Luca whispered, feeling the pulse in his neck quicken. He threw a glance over his shoulder back the way they had come, wondering if he should make a break for it. Perhaps he had been foolish to have trusted the guides this far.
A young face appeared at the door and a figure stepped out towards them. It was a boy – about fourteen years old, but tall for his age. He moved awkwardly, with a hesitant shuffling of his feet. As he came closer, Luca realised there was nothing to fear from him. His brown eyes were timid and gentle, and he was smiling apprehensively.
‘Please,’ he said in a thick accent, sweeping his hand low and gesturing Luca inside.
‘What’s in there?’ Luca asked. He could see light glimmering beyond the door.
‘Please,’ the boy repeated, his English clearly limited to no more than a few words.
Retreating inside, he gestured for Luca to follow once again. Luca hesitated for a moment longer, fighting his natural instinct to flee, then ducked his head under the low doorway.
It was a large room, bright with colour and heat, and dazzling to the senses. Hundreds of miniature candles had been placed in long lines in alcoves along the walls. Wax welled from their sides, dripping on to the floor with an irregular beat.
Along the uninterrupted back wall, huge golden prayer wheels were lined up like sentinels. The cylinders towered towards the ceiling, the gold looking old and battered from use, while the sacred words etched into their sides were rubbed almost clean. On the far side of the room a large recess had been carved into the wall and was covered by a wide, translucent screen. At the centre of this was an enormous picture of the Buddha with piercing blue eyes. Despite the serene countenance of the face, there was something about those eyes that Luca found unnerving. They seemed to stare down at him wherever he positioned himself in the room.
Dorje stood to one side of the screen, his hands clasped behind his back.
‘You are in the presence of His Holiness the seventh Abbot of Geltang Monastery and High Lama of the Blue Order,’ Dorje intoned. His expression was deadly serious as he raised a finger towards Luca. ‘Do not presume to speak unless spoken to.’
Luca turned as the door behind him was slammed shut, the metal runners scraping noisily across the wood. He looked back towards the screen and could just pick out the outline of a figure seated on the ground behind. It was leaning forward, whispering to Dorje.
‘What were you searching for last night?’ he passed on, turning towards Luca.
‘Hey, wait a second! I saw stuff last night that . . .’
‘What were you searching for?’ Dorje repeated, his voice firmer.
Luca stared back for a moment, eyes boring into the monk.
‘I was looking for Bill. You satisfied?’
Luca took a step closer to the screen and suddenly registered movement, a shifting of the shadows just visible under the doors at the far end of the room. There were other people there, watching him. The Abbot’s guards?
He stopped about ten feet away from the screen.
‘Look, you haven’t allowed me to see him in all this time. And since he was barely breathing by the time we got here, I broke out last night to check whether he was all right.’

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