The Forbidden Temple (23 page)

René shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. He had spent two full days awake in the PSB headquarters and even a swift injection of alcohol wasn’t doing much to lighten his mood. He had been released for a few hours to prepare his trekking equipment, with Anu being kept in the police cells to ensure he returned. But having made his way home, he had found his restaurant closed, official tape stretched across the front door and a policeman barring his way. Eventually he had phoned an old friend of his in the travel business who’d agreed to lend him some equipment.

‘You’d think eight years here would count for something, wouldn’t you?’ he said, anger suddenly turning to melancholy. ‘You’d think it’d give you some security, some foothold. But just like that’ – René clicked his fingers – ‘they can take it all away. Now I’ve got to betray the very people I wanted to help.’

‘Stop beating yourself up about it, René. It was their decision to go into the restricted area, and you shouldn’t have to pay for their mistake.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ He nodded wearily. ‘But I just don’t understand why a full bloody captain of the PSB would be dealing with this. It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘That’s what worries me too. Are you sure those boys are on the level?’

‘Sure? Who’s sure of anything out here?’ René said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He stared across the bar, thinking back to
the last time the boys had come into his restaurant. He couldn’t quite remember the conversation, but he was sure they were just there for the thrill of climbing. That’s all those two were about. So why in hell was a PSB Captain on their trail?

‘What about throwing some money around?’ his friend suggested. ‘You know, make it all go away.’

‘Captain Zhu Yanlei is one of those tight-arses from the mainland. Anyone approaching him waving notes wouldn’t stand a chance.’

In all the years the two men had been organising expeditions in the Himalayas, they had always been able to buy their way out of trouble. The only bone of contention was how much: officials here had soon got wise to the price nervous capitalists could afford when pushed.

René looked up from his glass and caught the doubtful expression on his friend’s face.

‘I’m serious. I haven’t seen anyone like this guy in Lhasa before. He was something else, but God knows what. He looked at me like I wasn’t even human.’ René’s jaw clenched as he pictured Zhu’s face; the ashen skin without even a hint of stubble and the black, unflinching eyes. ‘He threatened me with Drapchi.’

‘Drapchi? Jesus Christ.’

René nodded, his eyes suddenly very afraid. He thought back to the interrogation; Zhu perched on his plastic chair, the dampness of the cell and the endless wafts of cigarette smoke. He had never felt helplessness like it.

‘But first things first,’ René’s friend continued. ‘They’ve got to find them and from what you’ve said, that’s not going to be so easy.’

‘I know. I haven’t a clue where they’ve gone. I got news back from the herders that they didn’t go all the way to Makalu, but some pissing little village called Menkom. After that, they just seem to have vanished into thin air. They left nearly three weeks ago. Hardly any food, no porters . . .’

‘So where the hell are they?’

‘You tell me. But one thing is for sure: I either find them, and hand them over to Zhu, or I lose my restaurant and my employees . . .’ René stopped talking, looking down at the table. He hadn’t told anyone about Anu yet.

There was a pause as both men reviewed the gravity of his situation. Then, shifting his chair closer to the table, his companion advised him: ‘In a place like Tibet, you look after just one person – yourself.’ He jerked one thumb towards his chest. ‘We’re all fucked anyway. It’s just a matter of time.’ He gave a wry grin and raised his glass. ‘Here’s to being between a rock and a hard place.’

René reached for his own glass, then paused for a second.

‘I’ll do whatever they tell me,’ he said, turning the glass in his fingers and watching the brandy slosh against its sides. ‘But I’m going to make Zhu wish he’d never walked into my restaurant. That much, my friend, I can promise you.’

The two men downed their drinks in one. René wiped his mouth with his sleeve before taking a long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke up into the whirling blades of the ceiling fan. He inhaled again, but this time it triggered a coughing fit. His cheeks flushed even redder. After several seconds of convulsing he settled back down again, the unnatural colour draining from his face. The man opposite looked on with interest.

‘René, can I ask you a question?’

He nodded.

‘Since you’re going to the mountains, you ever thought it might be a good idea to quit those damn’ things?’

René looked across at his friend, his expression suddenly sober.

‘You should know better by now,’ he said. ‘I’m not a quitter.’

LUCA STARED DOWN
into the neighbouring valley, his eyes still wide with shock.

Near the top of an immense cliff, a cluster of buildings perched hundreds of feet above the valley floor. They were painted white, punctuated by the hundreds of narrow black windows that dotted their vast, sloping façades. Stairways rose from the lower slopes, hewn out of the same rock as the cliff-face and snaking up through the mass of buildings, interlocking here and there before tracking off in different directions. The focal point of the whole scene was the sheet copper roof of the main building that flashed gold in the morning sun. From its sides, long banners of pale blue silk billowed softly in the breeze.

Shara stood next to him, her eyes moving over each building in turn.

‘The Monastery of Geltang,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve waited my whole life to see this.’

‘It’s like a mirage,’ Luca said, then turning to her, his voice urgent despite his exhaustion, ‘where are we, Shara? What is this place?’

She shook her head. ‘All you need to know is that it’s a monastery, a safe place where we can get help for Bill. Save your strength. We still have a valley to cross.’

She turned back towards Bill who was lying against a rock. His head had slumped to one side. She knelt down, cupping his chin in her hands.

Bill’s eyes were half-closed, their bloodshot whites just visible, and his mouth hung open, spittle collecting at the corners. His hair was slicked down with sweat and his whole body trembled violently. He was in the full grip of the fever now – soon the delirium would start. As she felt down under his thighs to check the makeshift bandages, a watery mixture of blood and pus seeped out across her hand.

‘The infection has come on so fast,’ she said, tears of guilt pricking her eyes. ‘He’s lost so much blood . . .’

Bill could see her face above his: the swathe of long black hair, the green eyes wide with concern. Then he heard her voice again, but this time only fragments of what she said made sense. There was a rushing sound, as if she were speaking from behind a waterfall. He heard her say something to Luca. A monastery . . . A valley to cross . . .

‘Bill.’

Through the waterfall, he heard his name spoken from a distance, then Luca’s face was right before him.

Now his feet were stumbling across a path, his climbing boots dragging over the rocks and kicking up dust. Stones showered down beside them as they descended into the new valley and he could hear the sound of his own breathing filling his head. It was heavy, laboured, blocking everything else out.

Colours swam across his vision: the dull brown of the path, flashes of blue as his head briefly rolled back towards the sky, and then back to the arid land again.

Then came a brilliant white. It was intense, burning out every other colour. He squinted against it, his whole world painfully bright, before realising that it was the sun reflecting off huge marble steps.

He could hear breathing again, louder now. It was Luca, his face pressed right against Bill’s as he hauled him up the steps, one at a time.

Then there was a dull crack and Bill felt his head recoil. He lay still, face down on the marble steps, where Luca had missed his footing
and fallen. A warm, salty taste filled his mouth. Blackness edged around his vision like spilled ink, growing thicker, closing around him, blotting out the brilliant white.

An image of Cathy came to him then. She was curled up on the sofa in the living room, a blanket over her legs. He was there with her. She was smiling. She was smiling because he was there.

‘Come on!’

Luca’s voice.

‘Come on, Bill! Stay with me. We’re nearly there.’

He could hear the edge of panic and wondered why Luca was so upset. Why was he shouting at him?

Another voice. Female. Not Cathy. The swathe of black hair was back again and he felt himself being lifted once more. The stairs. The bleached out white.

To his right, he heard an animal groan as Luca fought with every ounce of strength in his thighs to climb the final few steps into an open courtyard. Luca felt a muscle in his lower back tear and his body buckled to one side, but he kept pumping with his legs, dragging Bill forward.

Luca’s eyes were wide, staring straight ahead. There was a manic light to them as the adrenaline disconnected him from all feeling in his body. Every emotion was blocked, bypassed by the single need to reach the top. He had to finish, had to reach the summit. Nothing mattered except reaching the summit.

They came out into a courtyard of grey flagstones, warmed by the sun. A line of wide-leafed trees ran through the centre, each surrounded by a scattering of fallen white and purple blossom. Further back, just visible through some archways, another smaller stairway seemed to lead to a separate complex of buildings.

‘Find . . . someone,’ Luca panted as he laid Bill down on the flagstones, his breathing so laboured he could barely get the words out. For a moment Shara stood motionless, her mind blank and her eyes dull with exhaustion.

‘Shara! Wherever the hell you’ve taken us . . . get some help!’

She looked at him for a moment, something like fear flickering across her face. Then she seemed to gather herself and nodded, stumbling off towards one of the many archways.

Luca turned back to attend to Bill. He sat with his own legs out straight, resting Bill’s head on the top of his thigh. Looking down at his friend’s face, he saw the broken nose from where they had fallen on the marble step. Blood crawled down the side of his face like the trails of a spider’s web.

‘We’ve made it, mate,’ Luca whispered. ‘We did it.’

There was not a flicker of response. Bill’s head stayed slumped to one side, his eyes closed. Luca shook his shoulder gently.

‘Stay awake, Bill. That’s all you’ve got to do. Stay awake for just a few more minutes.’

Luca peered more closely at his friend’s face. There wasn’t a hint of movement. He bent forward, pressing his ear against Bill’s mouth, listening for any sign that he was breathing. Nothing.

‘No. No. No,’ Luca repeated, panic rising in him as he put two fingers against Bill’s throat, pressing down to feel for a pulse. He stared at his fingers, stained with a mixture of blood and dirt, willing them to find a heartbeat. All he could hear was the hammering of his own chest.

Forcing himself to slow his breathing, Luca closed his eyes and concentrated. Gradually, he began to feel the faint flutter coming from Bill’s throat. It was so weak it was barely perceptible, running fast and irregular – but it was there.

Luca tilted back his head, breathing out a long sigh of relief, and let his eyes scan the buildings encircling them. There was a stillness to them that made him feel the whole place hadn’t seen movement for centuries, and now they were the first to trespass upon it.

Opening directly off the courtyard, the façade of the main building towered over them. Proportioned against the mountains the monastery had been impressive, but only now that he was up close did Luca
understand the true scale of his surroundings. Walls reached up, smooth and unbroken, for hundreds of feet above them, cut into the rock of the mountain itself.

Behind him, he heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see a group of three monks following Shara through an archway. Each had a shaven head and wore a long cornflower blue robe that billowed with the speed of their approach. Before Luca had managed to get to his feet, a short man who was plainly the leader came to stand before him, arms folded across his chest.

Shara appeared by his side.

‘This is Drang, the aide to Geltang’s chief physician. They’re going to take Bill to him now.’

Luca looked at him, taking in the raised, twisting scar that ran from the crown of Drang’s head all the way down to his left eyebrow, making it droop slightly. He looked to be about forty years old, short and very stocky, with eyes shadowed by a heavy brow. His hair was shaved to stubble, while years spent exposed to the harsh Tibetan sun had turned his skin the colour of hardwood. His right arm was bare, the veins crossing his powerful forearm standing out in jagged lines.

Drang motioned to the two other monks who quickly moved to either side of Bill and hoisted him up by his shoulders and legs. Both strained under his weight, then, adjusting their balance, moved off towards the far stairway.

‘Hey, wait!’ Luca said, raising one hand. He made to follow, shuffling forward whilst clutching his lower back. But before he could move more than a couple of steps Drang’s arm shot out, grabbing the front of his Gore-Tex jacket so that he was stopped dead in his tracks.

‘What the hell . . .’ Luca said in surprise, staring down at the beefy monk. He was nearly a foot taller than Drang but only half his build, with barely the strength to stand. As Luca reached up to force his hand away, Shara stepped forward, speaking urgently in Tibetan.

A moment later, Drang’s fist slowly unclenched, releasing the front of Luca’s jacket and he stepped back a pace.

‘I’m sorry, Luca. Drang just meant for you to stay out of the way,’ Shara explained. ‘Time is running out for Bill. We should not disturb them.’

Luca shook his head slowly, his mind fogged by tiredness.

‘Is he going to be all right?’