Authors: Patrick Woodhead

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The Cloud Maker (2010) (18 page)

BOOK: The Cloud Maker (2010)

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‘OK, OK. Keep your shirt on.’

René backed away towards the stairs, and, bracing himself for the pain he was about to inflict on his own head, shouted up for one of his staff to come down with the necessary paperwork. A moment or two later a Tibetan girl came cautiously down the wooden steps. She was tall and gangly and, like most teenagers who have only recently developed out of childhood, awkward with her height. Her brown eyes darted nervous glances at the restaurant’s unwelcome visitors as she handed over a file to her employer.

‘Thanks, Anu,’ René said quietly, noticing that the seated soldier was following her every move. ‘Why don’t you go back up to the office and wait for me there?’

He turned to Chen.

‘You’ll find all the necessary permits in here. Knock yourself out.’

Chen frowned as he tried to understand what was meant by this last phrase. René smiled. Using slang was one of his favourite ways of confusing officials. Chen skimmed through the paperwork, then laid the file down on the table.

‘We need all paperwork,’ he said, tripping over the pronunciation. ‘All permit issued.’

‘You’re investigating me? Why?’ René said, surprise outweighing his annoyance. There was silence and he stared past Chen’s sizeable frame, directing his question to the seated officer beyond. Despite his silence, there was air of authority about him. From the sidelong glances this huge brute in front of René was directing at the man, it seemed that even he was scared of him. One thing René knew about living in Lhasa was that you always had to speak to the man in charge.

‘Look, I had a full investigation by the CMA only four months ago,’ he said to Zhu, in a more reasonable tone. ‘All the permits I issue are above board. You can just get the report off them.’

Zhu slowly raised himself to his feet and lit a cigarette with his left hand.

‘But we are not the CMA,’ he said in his precise English. ‘And from the dossier we already have on you, Mr Falkus, it would appear that you would do well to give us your full co-operation. You wouldn’t want to be deported over something so trivial as a wrongly issued permit, now would you?’

‘Deported?’ René challenged him. ‘What the hell are you talking about? No one’s deporting me.’

Zhu gave the briefest of smiles, it flickered on and off like a lighter running low on fuel.

‘Well, let us start by reviewing the permits for the two Westerners who were recently travelling to Nepal.’

He motioned to Chen who opened a file he had been holding and read out the names,

‘Luca Matthews. Bill Taylor.’

‘How do you say in your country?’ Zhu said, glancing back at René. ‘Ring any bells?’

For a moment René was caught by surprise, then his expression darkened and he glowered at the other man with undisguised hatred. He was just about to shout a protest, trying to bluff his way out of the situation, when he suddenly stopped, catching himself before a word had escaped his lips. He’d suddenly realised what the epaulettes on the officer’s jacket actually signified.

René quickly glanced away and stared down at the floor, his mind reeling.

How the hell had he missed them when the soldiers first walked in? Everyone knew that gold and black insignia. This man was PSB. And a full captain at that.

‘I’m sure there’s just been some confusion here,’ he said eventually. ‘They were just standard tourist permits. Nothing more than that.’

‘Well, your “standard” tourists have not yet reached Shigatse. In fact, they seem to have disappeared completely. They even left without their interpreter,’ Zhu said, inhaling on his cigarette and blowing the smoke across the table. Then, without looking at René, he spoke again, his voice soft, almost conversational.

‘Where are they?’

‘I’m not sure . . .’

‘Where are they?’ he repeated, his tone unwavering.

René stood in the centre of the room, staring down at his bare feet. His toes were balled up against the cold flooring. For some reason, having no shoes on was making him feel horribly exposed. Why the hell was a full captain of the secret police asking him questions about something so banal as a permit? Had the boys been telling him the truth or were they up to something more than just climbing Makalu?

‘Maybe their truck broke down and they’ve been held up a few days. These things happen.’

‘That could be the case,’ Zhu replied, unblinking. ‘Yes, maybe that’s it. The truck.’

There was another silence and René tried to work out what to say next, but found his mind struggling to keep up. If only he weren’t so damn’ hung over.

‘So why are these two particular foreigners back in Tibet after only a month?’

The change of direction in his questioning caught René completely off-guard. Christ, they had been fast. The amount of paperwork these guys had to wade through, it normally took them weeks to put all the pieces together.

‘I don’t know why they came back,’ he said, shrugging his bear-like shoulders. ‘Maybe they like it here.’

Zhu stared at him, their eyes meeting. A split second later René broke the gaze, looking away to the window.

This seedy expat was holding something back, Zhu was sure of it. Two foreigner climbers back within a month to the same godforsaken area, and now they had suddenly disappeared. The monk at Drapchi had said that it was climbers from Nepal who had come to rescue the Panchen Lama, and the Westerners had arrived from Kathmandu and were last seen heading south-east. That would put them near Tingkye.

Even if the location were a coincidence, the timing could not be. Back now, at the very same time that the boy had been spirited away.

Zhu stood up from his chair, and addressed Chen.

‘Have him dress properly and take him into the station for questioning.’

René glared at the slight, precise figure before him, rage finally triumphing over his hangover.

‘I am a Foreign National. I have rights,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘We both know it. You can’t touch me.’

‘I think you might be surprised what we can do,’ Zhu said, and with the tip of his shoe delicately stubbed out his cigarette on the wooden floor, leaving a small circular burn mark.

‘By the way, nice place you’ve got here.’

Chapter 25

The chill of the night drew in quickly and a multitude of stars appeared across the black sky. Bill and Luca lay close to the campfire, away from the direction in which the wind was blowing its smoke. Their feet were right up against the embers, almost burning the soles of their boots, as they watched the boil-in-the-bag rations begin to simmer in the small aluminium cooking pot.

‘You go back to the village and ask if you want to,’ Bill said again. ‘She must think I’m a complete idiot for handing out the antibiotics.’

Luca grinned and leaned his head back in his clasped hands. ‘I’m just as guilty as you by association. Besides, women seem to like you. It’s that trustworthy face of yours. Fools ’em every time. Take Cathy, for instance . . .’

At the mention of his wife’s name, the smile faded from Bill’s face. He stared into the glowing embers, his expression clouding over. Luca sat forward again.

‘Sorry, mate, I shouldn’t have brought that up. And for the record, about the antibiotics, I’ve been thinking about it and . . .’

He stopped mid-sentence. From somewhere in the darkness came the crunch of stones on the path. Both men sat up straight as the old monk they had seen at the entrance to the village came slowly into view, his red robes glowing in the firelight. He raised a hand in greeting, emitting some guttural syllables that neither of them could understand. His right hand was extended behind him and it took a second for Bill and Luca to realise that he was leading someone out from the shadows.

The woman from the village stepped into the light.

After a moment’s surprise, Bill and Luca both scrambled to their feet.

‘Hello,’ Luca said hesitantly.

Without answering, the woman moved around the fire, her green eyes switching from Luca to Bill as if assessing them both. Suddenly the old monk started talking again, his voice thick and rasping.

The woman waited until he had finished, then nodded.

‘My friend wants to introduce himself. He is Gyaltso Choedon of the Gelugpa sect.’ She paused before adding, ‘And I’m Shara.’ A smile crept across her lips, transforming her face. ‘I’m sorry we got off to such a bad start this afternoon.’

Luca grinned. ‘Don’t worry about it. We were just saying the same.’ He offered his hand. ‘I’m Luca. This is Bill.’

By the time Bill had reached across to shake her hand, the old monk had sat down by the fire and was shuffling forward, warming his hands against the flames. As they joined him, his dark eyes glinted slightly as he stared from one man to the other. His face was set in a crooked smile and he seemed strangely pleased with himself; a different man entirely from the one who had ignored them on the pathway.

Luca nodded respectfully to him before turning to Shara.

‘So, I’m guessing from your English that you’re not from this village?’

‘No,’ she said simply. ‘And I imagine you’re not either?’

Luca glanced over at Bill who was staring at her from across the flames. ‘Yeah, we’re pretty far from home. We’re both from England originally, but we’ve been to Tibet a few times before. I don’t think either of us has ever come across anyone who speaks such fluent English as you, especially as far out in the sticks like this.’

‘“In the sticks?”’ repeated Shara quizzically, then laughed. ‘You see, my English is not as good as you think.’

‘I’m sorry, I meant, remote, far away from towns or cities.’

‘I see,’ said Shara. ‘“In the sticks”. Yes, I suppose we are.’ She glanced over at the monk who smiled at her approvingly. ‘Well, I grew up at an English school in Dharmasala in Northern India. I used to work there on . . . translations. But I have travelled through much of Tibet and we don’t often see foreigners in this region. Can I ask why are you here?’

‘We’re climbers,’ Luca said, a trace of pride in his voice. ‘We’re here for a few weeks to try and climb one or two of the mountains on the other side of the valley.’

‘But why
here
exactly?’

‘Well, I guess it started a couple of months ago. We were high on another mountain and spotted this range. From all the maps, it looked as if none of them had been climbed and so we came out here to try some first ascents.’ He shifted forward a little, his expression suddenly less casual. ‘Perhaps you could help? I’ve been trying to find out if they really are unclimbed from a few of the villagers, but my Tibetan’s not exactly great.’

‘No one has climbed these summits . . .’ Shara began, but before she could say any more the old monk started speaking again, his voice louder and more insistent than before. Shara turned and spoke to him for a few minutes. He seemed to be pressing her on some point, repeating the same phrase over and over again, and tugging on the sleeve of her tunic as he spoke.

Bill and Luca shot each other glances before Shara turned back to them.

‘Gyaltso wants me to tell you about a proposition he has for you. He says that if you want to climb these mountains, he will show you a way up through the rock-face.’

Luca sat up, almost leaning into the fire in his excitement. ‘You’re serious? He really knows a way up the face?’ As Shara made to answer, he added, ‘Ask him about the first section of rock, Shara. It’s a gulley, isn’t it?’

Bill also was watching her intently.

‘Is there something further on from the village? Something we haven’t seen yet?’ he asked.

Shara raised her hands. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know the way myself, but Gyaltso would be able to show you. If you agree, of course.’

Luca had levered himself up so that he was on his knees.

‘There’s really a way?’ he said incredulously, staring over at the monk in excitement. ‘I’ve been over and over that face all day and I couldn’t see a thing.’

‘Shara, how does an old monk from the Gelugpa sect know the way up a technical rock face?’ Bill said suddenly. ‘And if there really is a route, then surely that means the mountains have already been climbed?’

‘I said the summits had never been climbed. The lower slopes have. And to answer your question, when he was younger Gyaltso used to go up there every summer, searching for rare herbs. That’s how he knows of a route.’

‘Rare herbs?’ Bill repeated. ‘Didn’t think there would be many of those on an icy glacier . . .’

‘I’m told there are certain lichens that grow on the rocks at these altitudes,’ Shara replied, her face tilted towards the fire. ‘There are many ingredients from the mountains used in our traditional remedies. But, of course, now that he is getting frail, Gyaltso looks to me to continue his work.’

‘You? You’re going up into the mountains?’ Bill asked, glancing at her slight figure.

‘Yes.’

BOOK: The Cloud Maker (2010)

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