BLOOD GURKHA: Prophesy (James Pace novels Book 5) (22 page)

'Now what?'

'I guess we wait for a train, hijack it and then catch a lift into the heart of the mountain, guns blazing,' smiled Hammond.

'What do you think the service is like down here?' she quipped sarcastically.

'Oh, knowing the Chinese, I'd say they'll be sticklers for a timetable. I don't think we will have to wait too long.'

Great,' she grumbled. 'I hate waiting.'

They sat down with their backs against the wall; one either side of the elevator doors. Just in case any of the guards managed to break free and came down for a firefight, they decided, it was the best place to wait.

For Hammond, his thoughts quickly turned to Pace again, wondering how his friend was faring with that fool Hill and his crazy need to disprove the existence of the Abominable Snowman.'

'Yeti,' he mumbled to himself, beneath his breath, 'How stupid can you get.'

24

The hunt lasted barely three minutes in the end. Chasing after Hill, and his abductor, was fairly easy going beneath the solid canopy of evergreens. There was very little snow underfoot and the snow that had managed to filter its way past the thick ceiling of needles remained powdery.

The creature's route was not difficult to follow either; a fresh, three-foot wide trail created by brute strength smashing through low branches, splintering them off and littering them on the ground. Intent on flight, with all need for stealth now gone, it was the noise of his target that was the simplest to trace; the sounds of the destruction it was making up ahead rudely disturbing the peace of a Himalayan night.

Twisting and turning amongst the thick tree trunks as it moved, the trail did not afford Pace a clear line of sight, though the Mauser was held ready at waist height as he moved. Regular blood puddles also served to mark his way, pock-marking the trail every few feet.

Pace's determination to catch up with Hill, and to save him, had nothing to do with liking the man. They had developed a tolerable relationship; nowhere near anything that could be called friendship. Spurred on by a mixture of shock, determination and anger, Pace's overriding motivation was that he felt nobody deserved to die this way, not if he could do anything to stop it.

The chase ceased after Pace judged he'd travelled about half a mile into the forest. The agitated sounds of the creature, still forging its way through the undergrowth up ahead of him, remained steady but, suddenly, he found himself looking down into the face of Professor Hill. Discarded at the point it had been physically torn from away from the neck of his body, the human head lay in the middle of the trail, atop a scarlet snow pool, eyes fixed open and staring up at Pace with a final expression of sheer terror.

He had seen so much death in his life that he stopped moving immediately and regarded the scene with an almost dispassionate eye. With any hope of saving Hill now gone, Pace realised there was no point continuing. Trying to hunt down the creature, purely for revenge, at night in the middle of its own habitat, was too risky without the chance of saving a life. The game had changed.

Pace also suddenly realised that the noises up ahead of him had ceased. Heart pounding, breath coming in measured clouds in the sub-zero temperature, that could only mean two things. Either it was too far away now to hear, which was unlikely, or it had stopped. Perhaps it was preparing to devour Hill's corpse or, Pace swallowed drily, maybe it had dumped him in the snow to eat later and was making its way back down the trail to grab tomorrow's breakfast.

Him.

Pace figured he had only been a minute behind his target, which did not leave him much time if, in fact, Hill's killer was now on its way back in his direction. Turning smartly on his heels, casting a final, sad look down as the disembodied head, he set off back the way he had just come at speed. The going was just as easy and he poured on every ounce of speed that he could safely muster. He did not stop, even once, to check his rear; reaching the tree line and still not stopping as he charged out across the village clearing. Heading directly back towards the wide open window that beckoned him to safety; shutters now caught in a slight breeze and banging softly against the decaying plaster wall, he dived through as soon as he reached it, managing a less graceful landing this time, banging his shoulder hard on the wooden floor and succeeding in floundering on to his stomach unceremoniously rather than rolling up into a ready, shooting position.

Scrambling up, spinning around to face the open window, Pace brought up the Mauser and aimed at the window. Half expecting to see a set of slavering, blood-dripping jaws framed against the night sky, he felt a wave of relief wash over him to see only an empty patch of dark sky beyond its glassless rectangle. The powerful Maglite shone a beam outside, and slightly up into the sky, appearing like a searchlight tickling the underbelly of the thick cloud cover.

Pushing aside any feelings of success, he stepped up quickly to the window, the wickedly sharp two-feet of bayonet leading the way. He had no intention of leaning blindly out to grab the shutters like the unfortunate, newly-deceased Professor Hill. Bathed in torchlight, the entire area outside the window showed itself to be clear and quiet. The only sign of the tumultuous recent events was the churned up snow from many footprints and the splashes of Hill's blood leading away across the open ground to the point he had been dragged inside the trees.

The torch easily reached the tree line and Pace lifted the rifle to his shoulder, sighting carefully along its fixed, iron sights; aiming at the entry point in the trees. If the creature had followed him, it would be right inside those trees, watching, he knew.

Pace fired three careful shots directly into the trees where the creature had vanished. The powerful bullets ran straight and true. There was no grunt or cry from an animal being struck but the shots rang out with painful volume in the still of the night, echoing and amplifying off the surrounding mountains impressively.

Slipping the gun over his shoulder, on its strap, Pace gripped the edges of the rotting shutters and swiftly drew them back inwards, closing them. They had been secured by a small wooden bar that now lay splintered on the wooden floor, so Pace used a small shovel, recovered from Hill's discarded backpack, as its replacement. It slipped down between the wooden block brackets perfectly, locking them tightly. He knew that a single smash from a strong arm, or paw, would destroy them but it kept out the rising wind and
felt
safer.

Still using the Maglite on the Mauser 98 to guide his way, Pace then conducted a very fast recce of the entire building, needing to know that he was definitely alone within its walls and that other local wildlife were not already calling it their home.

It was completely empty. Not a stick of furniture, rug or discarded item of clothing was to be seen. A communal building in its day, the design was painfully simple. A large, single room made up the ground floor which was mirrored exactly on the upper level. A steep flight of stairs joined the two levels, fixed against one wall; devoid of bannisters or a handrail. The floors were of wooden planks, worn smooth from years of foot traffic but now coated with a fine layer of dust.

The lower level wore the same number of windows as the upstairs, their shutters all tightly closed. Pace was not worried about anything getting in through them because the whole floor was buried under snow and ice. He was relieved to see no sign of animal use. The closed shutters of the building had kept everything at bay, until now.

Rather than test his weight on the stairs, Pace was able to flash the rifle around and see every inch of the downstairs room. Assured that the only risk lay in something accessing the building through the four, first-floor windows, he moved himself, and both backpacks, to the very centre of the room, creating as much distance as possible from each shuttered window.

Finally, ears straining hard but hearing no sound aside from the increasingly moan of a rising wind outside, Pace took stock of his situation. With adrenaline levels dropping in his bloodstream, the enormity of the last thirty minutes came crashing down on top of him.

Hill had come here with the express intention of debunking the myth of the Yeti, or
Bun Manchi.
Now he was dead and the myth was very much alive. Pace could hardly believe what his own eyes had seen so he took a breath to replay the memories while they were fresh. Had he really seen a Yeti? What actually had he seen?

He had not seen it up close, true, but when he had fired at its back, he had been able to gain a solid look at it before the creature had crashed into the tree line, dragging the unfortunate archaeologist behind it. The reality, though he struggled with it, was that the Yeti was very real. Far larger than most science fiction films had ever shown it to be, it must have stood well over ten feet tall and weighed in excess of 1000 pounds. More importantly, it was willing to attack humans, just as the villagers who had once used the buildings all around him had maintained.

Pulling his satellite phone from his backpack, Pace dialled Baker's number and waited. Within a couple of seconds, the other end clicked and the familiar voice came on.

'James, good to hear from you,' said Baker. 'How are things going with your ghost hunting?'

'As badly as they could,' Pace replied quickly. 'Professor Hill is dead.'

Baker did not question the statement's accuracy at all. 'How?'

'A Yeti just dragged him out of the window in the main hall in Bruk, where we were setting up camp for the night. I followed it into the forest, hoping to get a shot and save him but then it tore off his head and left it for me to find.'

'I see.' Baker had always harboured a belief that many of the world's mythical beasts actually still existed. He also trusted Pace implicitly. 'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said, meaning it. He had no other words for such a bizarre revelation. 'Are you okay? What's your next move?'

Pace had not even given any thought yet to what to do next, other than survive the night. He said as much to Baker. 'I am safe from the elements in here,' he explained, 'but the window shutters are rotten and offer no protection if that thing decides it wants dessert. I have my rifle, which should be powerful enough to take it down as long as I can get off three or four shots but I need to see it coming first.'

'Stay awake tonight and move back down to the helicopter at first light?' Baker guessed.

'It's the only thing I can do. There is no point me sticking around up here. I'm not a scientist and Hill is gone. Hopefully, in daylight, I can get back to the Lynx and hold up there until it's time to go and pick up Max and Miss Crown. Have you heard from them?'

'They checked in a few hours ago,' Baker informed him. 'They have found where Barbara was camped but it was all messed up. Clearly she has been captured, probably by whoever is running the mine. Max said there was a great deal of blood staining in the snow.' He left that point hanging ominously in the air. 'They're going to investigate the mine building now.'

'Have they seen enough of the security yet to find a safe way inside?'

'He did not say,' Baker admitted. 'They'd just been hit by a heavy snow storm and the signal must have cut out. I haven't been able to get back in touch with him since but I'm sure it's just the weather.'

Pace wasn't so sure but he had enough of his own problems to deal with at that moment. 'Alright. As soon as you hear from Max, ring me.' On a different tack, his thoughts turned to Sarah. 'How is Sarah? Is she out of isolation yet?'

Baker's tone lifted noticeably. 'Yes, James. She came out yesterday and is now back at your place. She is under strict orders to rest for the next forty-eight hours and I have maintained a triple guard in the woods just to make sure she is safe. Nobody will get to her again, I promise. And she isn't alone there, either. A couple of good friends are babysitting her, much to her disgust I might add.' A short chuckle rumbled in Pace's ear.

Pace was flooded with a great sense of relief that Sarah was finally out of danger. As an overwhelming urge to talk to her flared up inside his chest, he killed the call with Baker and dialled Sarah's number. It rang five times before finally being answered. A vaguely familiar voice; not hers, answered in whispered tones.

'Hello,' responded the hushed female voice. 'Who is this?'

'It's James. Where is Sarah?' Then, as an afterthought. 'And who are you?'

'James!' The voice rose in volume excitedly before remembering herself and dropping back to a whisper. 'Sarah is sleeping. She has been desperate to ring you but her father strictly forbade it until we heard from you first, in case you were busy flying, or something.'

'Is she okay?'

'Yes, she's fine. Most of her strength has returned and she has been eating a little. The doctors have prescribed sleeping pills for a couple of days to make sure she rests. Sarah did not want to take one today; she was hoping you would call. I finally got some soup down her and convinced her to take one, which is why she is asleep already.'

Pace knew there was a five hour time difference between them. Checking his watch, he noted it was now a little after ten p.m. That would make it late afternoon back home. Still, she needed her rest so he was glad she was getting it.

'I recognise your voice,' Pace smiled, despite himself. 'Sorry but could you remind me who you are?'

A giggle at the other end gave away her identity just as she vocalised it.

'Charlene,' she said. 'Charlene Pringle.'

Pace felt himself relax a little, although his other ear was keenly listening for sounds outside the building. Sarah and Charlene had developed a close friendship over the past couple of months, building upon a few hair-raising experiences eluding ARC killers. Short, with natural red hair and a body covered in tattoos, Charlene epitomised the strength and determination of youth. Highly intelligent, her multiple ear piercings, tongue stud and nose stud often gave people the wrong first impression about her. A distant relation to the unfortunate Paul Pringle; lost WW1 submariner whose faded journal had triggered the McEntire Corporation's involvement in the Skeleton Gold affair, Charlene had found herself recruited into their inner circle and was now working at the Headquarters building, applying her mathematical genius to the company accounts, under the direct tutelage of Max Hammond.