The Forbidden Temple (39 page)

Norbu crashed down on to his knees, letting the torch drop by his side so that sparks were dashed across the stone floor. He put his head on to the Abbot’s chest and wept openly.

‘I have . . . killed a man!’ he choked out, the strength of his emotions nearly winding him. ‘I . . . didn’t mean to . . . but he kept on . . .’

The Abbot waited, ignoring the pain caused by the boy’s weight leaning against him. Norbu drew in one shuddering breath, then another, and gradually his crying eased. He raised his head, eyes red from tears, and the Abbot smiled.

‘Come, untie me, young Norbu,’ he said. ‘We must not let the fear take control of us. We must detach ourselves from such emotion and believe that all will be well.’

Norbu nodded hesitantly then reached up to the Abbot’s shoulder, unclipping the first of the leather straps with shaking hands. He unwound them from the Abbot’s frail body, looping them back over themselves with each turn. Eventually, the Abbot’s body was released and he exhaled slowly, letting his shoulders fall back into their natural position. Then he reached forward himself, using the torch flame to eat through the thick woven rope around his ankles. It smouldered and blackened before finally pulling apart. With a final kick, the Abbot freed himself and got stiffly to his feet, using Norbu for support.

‘Well done indeed,’ he said, his arm draped over his aide’s shoulder. ‘Only in the most adverse situations do we ever truly know ourselves. And you have shown great courage.’

Norbu bit his lip, the horror beginning to drain from his face.

‘Now, do you have the strength to help an old man one last time?’ the Abbot continued. ‘We must find Dorje and the rest of the elders. Once they hear me speak, we will restore order to Geltang and quell this panic Rega has created.’

The Abbot hobbled forward with Norbu at his side, their shoulders pressed together in the tight confines of the corridor. With their combined strength, they heaved open the trapdoor and slowly clambered out into the brightly lit corridor above.

‘Rega has the entire order in the Great Temple. I saw him there myself,’ Norbu explained. ‘He has the
Dharmachakra
and was . . .’
His voice faded into silence and his expression suddenly froze. He was staring over the Abbot’s shoulder.

‘What is it, my child?’ the Abbot asked, turning to follow the direction of his gaze.

From the shadows behind the last torch a nightmare figure emerged, striding towards them. The entire top half of its body was naked, revealing brawny slab-like muscles across its abdomen. The skin was red and shining, flaked in patches that stretched across the shoulders and thickset neck. Then, as it stepped further into the light, the hideous face of Drang emerged.

Both the Abbot and Norbu froze, paralysed by what they saw. The entire right side of his face was charred black, with raw flesh striped across the neckline. His right eye looked too big for the socket as the delicate skin around it had burned away. From within the exposed orbit, the damaged eye stared at them with violent hatred.

With a mighty swing of his arm, Drang knocked Norbu clean off his feet. The boy’s body arched in mid-air, before crashing down on top the flagstones with a sickening slap. He lay absolutely still as Drang swung back towards the Abbot, his singed flesh only inches from the old man’s face.

‘Rega will punish you for this,’ he seethed, and before the Abbot could even speak, he had grabbed him by the shoulder of his robes, dragging him back along the corridor to the Great Temple and the judgement that awaited him.

LUCA PULLED THE
abseiling rope from his harness and turned around to find four more soldiers standing at the base of the cliff. Two of them had their rifles trained on him, covering him from a distance, while the others dragged a body through the snow by the shoulder straps of its webbing. They were heading for a small semi-circle of tents at the edge of the Kooms.

The heels of the dead soldier’s boots ploughed grooves in the deep snow and Luca followed, trying to stop himself from staring at the man’s face. His neck lolled unnaturally to one side and the entire top section of his head had caved in from the impact of a fall. As they approached the first of the tents, the body was carefully laid next to another, before the soldiers swiftly assembled two collapsible shovels and began piling snow over them both.

Bill and Luca were shunted forward towards the centre of the campsite. A single figure was standing there, waiting, the epaulettes on his shoulder glimmering gold in the moonlight.

As the big soldier from the cliff approached him, the figure listened carefully to what he was saying. Then he reached into his trouser pocket and the sudden flare of a cigarette lighter briefly illuminated the man’s face. It was ashen, with black eyes that stared at them without a trace of emotion.

The figure came closer, halting in the snow just in front of Bill
and Luca. As he drew the smoke into his lungs, the tip of the cigarette glowed in the darkness.

‘I offer you one chance. Give me the boy and I will release the pair of you.’

The man’s voice was light, almost conversational. Both Bill and Luca remained silent.

‘The boy,’ the figure repeated.

Zhu waited a moment longer for them to answer then turned to Chen, standing just to his right.

‘Make them understand,’ he said in Mandarin.

Chen inhaled slowly, wishing the captain had chosen another of the soldiers standing nearby. An image of the Westerner standing over him with a rock raised above his head flashed through his mind. Would the captain have hesitated like that? Would the captain have spared his life?

Chen stepped forward, halting just in front of Luca. The Westerner was staring up at him, eyes shining with a mixture of arrogance and defiance. From that single look Chen sensed that he would not back down, that he wouldn’t be intimidated by a few simple punches or threats. This was going to go all the way.

He hesitated, his hands balling into fists.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Zhu snapped from behind him.

With a sudden twist of his body, Chen brought his hand whipping across Luca’s face. There was a dull slap as Luca’s head jerked backwards with the force of the blow.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Bill shouted, clambering to his feet. Immediately one of the soldiers behind him grabbed him by his shoulders while another rammed the butt of his rifle into the back of his knees, collapsing him into the snow. Bill clenched his jaw in pain as the scars across his thigh split open once again.

‘We’re British Nationals,’ he said, grimacing. ‘You’ve no right to do this.’

Zhu didn’t respond, signalling instead for Chen to continue. With
a quick jab of his arm, Chen sent his fist crashing into the bridge of Luca’s nose. There was a sharp crack and Luca’s head snapped backwards again. He groaned in pain then slowly raised his head again, spitting out a thick string of blood into the snow in front of him.

‘The boy,’ Zhu repeated. ‘I want the boy.’

Luca stared up at him, blood oozing out between his teeth.

‘Fucking coward,’ he said, spitting the words out.

Zhu inhaled on his cigarette, his expression unchanged. Then, with a brief nod, he motioned once again. Inhaling deeply, Chen raised himself to his full height and tilting his body forward lashed out with both fists, thudding them down on to Luca’s head and chest. He did it again, and again. The blows became faster, his huge fists hammering down indiscriminately as his arms swung in wide, powerful arcs. The constant fear he had been living with since he had first met captain Zhu, boiled over into a terrible consuming rage. His eyes were half-shut and his body heaved from the effort, until sweat ran from his temples and the skin across his knuckles tore open. If only the Westerner would say something, he could stop. All he had to do was talk.

‘Talk!’ Chen bellowed in Mandarin. ‘Just fucking talk!’

Bill tried to get to his feet, his right hand reaching up to grab hold of Chen, but before he had even got off one knee, the two soldiers behind had wrestled him back down to the ground. He shouted in defiance, wrenching his shoulders from side to side and hitting out with his elbows as he tried to break free. Despite the soldiers’ combined strength, they struggled to hold him back until two more of their number stepped forward to help. Their hands gripped tight, bunching the fabric of Bill’s jacket in their fists, until all he could do was stare in horror at the terrible beating.

As Chen raised his fist once more, Luca simply collapsed back on to the snow, his body limp. Two of the soldiers holding Bill moved forward to prop Luca up on to his knees, but his whole body sagged and his head lolled forward. Bill reached out an arm to steady him.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he murmured, taking in the terrible damage to Luca’s
face. The skin above his right eye had split, weeping blood down his cheek and neck. The other cheek was already swelling, the eye above it starting to close. Bill turned to stare directly at Chen.

‘You animal,’ he hissed.

Chen stepped backwards. With his hands still clenched into fists, he stared down at the Westerner’s face. He watched the blood slowly well up above the eye, before dripping down onto his cheek and a wave of guilt broke over him. All the energy seemed to drain from his body and his shoulders sagged with self-disgust. He had nearly beaten the Westerner to death with his bare hands.

Zhu stepped closer, leaning over Luca. He stubbed the cigarette out, pressing it down into the snow with the toe of his boot.

‘There are only a few hours left till dawn and my patience is running out. I am going to ask you for the last time: where is the boy?’

Luca blinked, the pounding at his temples searing right across his forehead. The figure before him swam in and out of focus and he could hear the sound of his own breathing. Eventually he shook his head, murmuring a single word.

‘No.’

There was silence as the word resonated through the still air. Chen shut his eyes, leaning his head back towards the sky. He knew what was coming. He wanted to reach across and grab hold of the Westerner, tell him to say something! Say anything! They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Zhu unclipped the pistol from the side of his belt. With a sharp click he pulled back the slider, chambering the first round and pushing off the safety. Then he slowly raised the pistol level with Bill’s head, the sights hovering just an inch from the end of his nose.

‘If you don’t care for your own life,’ Zhu said, only his eyes moving towards Luca, ‘then perhaps you will value your friend’s more highly.’

‘Tell, tell!’ Chen shouted, the words bursting from him. ‘He kill you.’

Luca looked from the pistol to Bill’s face and back again. The pain pulsing across his temples suddenly faded and every sound around the campsite seemed to amplify. The slightest movement registered in his brain, from the fidgeting of the men in the semi-circle around them, to the pleading eyes of the big soldier in front. He could see the officer’s knuckles tightening around the pistol grip and the hatred in his cold eyes. Every movement seemed to slow in that single instant, stretching out in terrible suspense.

‘OK,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

Zhu didn’t respond but held the pistol level, waiting for him to continue.

‘There’s a monastery a few hours from here, over the mountain,’ Luca said, his voice distorted by the blood in his mouth. ‘The boy is being held there by the monks.’

‘It is as I thought,’ Zhu said. ‘Do you know the way to the monastery from here?’

Luca looked across at Bill’s face. He was frozen still, his eyes screwed shut. His lips were moving in silent prayer.

‘I know the way.’

‘Then I don’t need you both,’ Zhu said, and his hand suddenly jerked upwards. There was a deafening crack from the pistol and a flash of light as Bill was flung back behind them on to the snow. He lay flat, arms stretched out past his head, and remained perfectly still.

Luca stared, his mind reeling, stunned by the noise of the explosion. It resonated through every fibre of his body, deafening him. A thin spray of blood was wet upon his face and he stared in mute horror at the empty space where Bill had just been. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. Shock held him perfectly still, his mind detached by complete disbelief.

Suddenly he began to shake, the horror rising up from his chest in choking, gasping waves. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible that Bill could be dead. He forced himself to turn around, his eyes
passing over the prostrate form in the snow behind him. A patch of black blood was fanning out from under the head.

Luca was dimly aware of the other soldiers moving behind him. They had turned their heads away from the scene, staring silently up to the far mountain as if trying not to register what they saw.

‘We leave at first light,’ Zhu commanded, his voice matter-of-fact as he addressed the men. ‘We will get the Westerner to lead us there. When we reach the monastery, it is imperative that the boy is taken alive.’

Zhu stared down at Luca’s grief-stricken face.

‘And take his boots. That should ensure he doesn’t try to leave us during the night.’

With that he turned back towards his own tent. The remaining soldiers slowly dispersed, one of them running a knife down the laces of Luca’s boot and pulling them from his feet so that he knelt in his socks in the snow. Despite the icy cold, he didn’t even notice.

In only a few moments he was alone with the body of his friend. Finally the tears came. He wept in choked bursts, his right hand clutching on to Bill’s chest. It was still warm, but as he stayed in the same position, limbs locked by the confusion and grief, he could feel the body heat slowly drain away.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he was lifted to his feet. He felt his arm being pulled over the big soldier’s wide back as he was helped across the open patch of snow to a tent.

Chen gently lowered him inside, pulling his own sleeping bag across Luca’s legs. Without a word, Luca curled up into the foetal position, eyes staring blankly at the dark wall of the tent. An image of Bill’s face was all that he could see. He imagined the soft eddies of snow gently collecting in the damaged eye sockets as the very last vestiges of heat drained from his body. How could Bill be gone? How could such life and strength be so easily snuffed out?