The Doomsday Testament (35 page)

He began to climb the sheer outer slope, his hands and feet unerringly finding the tiny scuffs and crevices another man might miss. His blood stained the rocks
and
they would see it, but that could not be helped. Perhaps it even suited his purposes.

When he reached the point where the surface sloped away towards the crack in the rock, he crabbed his way towards the massive pile of stones and scree that loomed above the fissure like a giant cairn. Carefully, he placed the contents of his pockets among the stones at the base of the pyramid before settling down in its lee where he had a view down into the cleft. He tucked the stock of the assault rifle below his right shoulder and waited.

His mind drifted back to his days in England, the gentle countryside and the gentle climate, and the hard-eyed little rich boys who had made his life there such a hell. He had learned to love England at Trinity, where he had been surrounded by men of learning with a passion to pass it on, but he would never be able to call it home. No, this was his home, this towering citadel of stone that treated the unwary with such brutal impartiality. In no other place on earth could a man feel closer to his ancestors, or to himself. The Himalaya begrudged her people their every breath, but her savage beauty drew them to her and bewitched them so that neither harshness nor want would ever part them from her. Even when they were forced from her embrace, they stayed within sight of the high peaks, their hearts and souls forever among the mountains, even if their bodies would never be again.

It was only good fortune that he heard the sound, the clatter of a rifle barrel on rock, and woke from something more permanent than sleep. He raised his
head.
The noise hadn’t come from the two men who were moving stealthily through the cleft below. He had company, but whoever it was couldn’t see him because of the mound of rock that separated them.

The rifle sight drifted over the two soldiers. It was an execution really, but he felt no shame, which made him a poor Buddhist and a poorer monk. They had murdered so many of his people that he looked upon it as a mere balancing of the scales. His finger caressed the trigger and the short burst shredded the two Chinese, the bullets ricocheting from the narrow walls to cause multiple wounds. His ears were still ringing from the discharge of the weapon, but he identified a soft grunt as one man or more fell on his stomach on the far side of the rocks. A fusillade of automatic fire sliced through the air on both sides of the cairn, but he was safe enough for now. Eventually they would find a way to reach him, but it would take time and time was all he wanted. He changed the magazine for a fresh one and waited for the next attempt to force the cleft.

The lieutenant of the four commandos who had followed Tenzin’s blood trail was forced to admire his enemy’s choice of position. He had been exterminating these vermin, and religious fanatics like them in China’s autonomous provinces, for more than a decade, but he had never come across an adversary as formidable as the leader of the Ghosts of the Four Rivers. Well, now they truly were ghosts, apart from this one, whom he had no doubt was their commander, a man hailed as a legend among the peasants who populated this wilderness.
But
he had made a mistake. He was trying to buy time for the westerners who were the commandos’ prime objective, but when his time ran out, as it inevitably would, there was no escape. They were trapped. Unless they could fly.

One of his men pulled a fragmentation grenade from his belt, but the lieutenant signalled him to replace it. That was a measure of the rebel’s guile. He had deliberately drawn them here to a place where one grenade would do his work for him. In addition, the rock-strewn slope that swept down to the mound was almost impossible to cross at speed or by stealth, the two elements which, along with their ruthlessness, gave the commandos their feared reputation. Still, the lieutenant knew he would have to take a decision. Every one of these men was an élite specialist who had taken years to train. He had lost too many already. He was prepared to sacrifice more. But only if it gave him final victory. He waved two more forward into the cleft and signalled the soldiers around him to get ready to rush the mound.

Tenzin was weakening fast. The Chinese were back in the cleft, but he’d been too slow to fire a telling shot. Time was running out. Movement beyond the cairn indicated that his enemies were manoeuvring to attack. If there was a time for regret, now was it. According to the teaching he lived by, his actions in this life would deny him an elevated position in the next, but he would have done nothing differently. No man should stand aside and watch his country die and people suffer. Kundun taught that one should prepare for death by
doing
only good and keeping the heart and mind pure. But what if one could only achieve purity of heart and mind by acts which might be defined as evil? Was it evil to kill men who were evil-doers and were even now coming to kill him?

He took a calming breath and reached for his last grenade. Partially removing the pin, he placed it among the little nest of its egg-shaped companions he had made in the rocks.

A burst of fire from the passage below shattered the rocks to his left. He ignored the threat and moved to the far side of the mound just in time to greet the four commandos clambering across the rocks towards him with a volley of shots. One man was thrown backwards with a shriek of pain, but Tenzin had exposed himself to the guns of the others and he felt the stallion’s kick of bullets hitting his shoulder, chest and stomach. He felt no pain, only a gentle fading towards what came next. Still, he had one more task. From somewhere, he found the strength to roll over and his fingers closed on the pin of the last grenade and pulled it the final few millimetres.

The Chinese commander warily approached the prone body on the rocks and turned it with his boot. Strange that a man could approach death with such a look of serenity on his face. His final thought before the world exploded was that it was what made these people so dangerous.

JAMIE WATCHED THE
smoke billow from the narrow passage in the hillside and he understood exactly what it meant. Tenzin’s fate had never been in doubt from the moment he had sent them away with Chiru. Still, he felt overwhelmed by a terrible sense of loss. But there was no time to mourn. The Tibetan may have managed to delay their pursuers, but they were still stuck like flies on a wall eight hundred feet up a sheer cliff. Somehow he had to find a way to get Sarah down. He signed to Chiru that they would need to work together and was relieved when the Tibetan boy seemed to understand.

Chiru had been squatting nervelessly on the very brink of the ledge with his rifle across his knees. Now the Tibetan stood up and signalled to Jamie to get Sarah to her feet. His face wore an untroubled smile that promised, whatever the perils they faced, he would somehow get them to safety. Jamie smiled back and Chiru’s calm seemed to reach out to him. In slow motion, he saw the moment the boy’s eyes changed
shape.
Heard the butcher’s block smack of the bullet hitting flesh. His mind screamed denial as Chiru was catapulted backwards off the ledge and into the void. Unthinkingly he crawled to the edge and watched the boy’s body tumble end over end in a fall that seemed to go on for ever. Blind panic froze him in position before some deep buried instinct saved him. He rolled sideways and squirmed backwards just as the sniper fired his second shot and the bullet screamed off the rock where he’d lain only a split second before. His hands scrambled for the rifle and he used his body to cover Sarah’s as he frantically scanned the clifftop above. Nothing. It took him a few seconds before he realized that the shape of the cliff concealed the inner part of the ledge from the marksman. They were safe, for the moment, but he knew it couldn’t last. Sooner or later the shooter would find a vantage point that would give him the angle for a clear shot. When that happened they were finished. Carefully, he crept to the end of the ledge where Chiru’s ‘path’ led diagonally down the cliff face. He identified a few possible hand- and footholds in the first twenty or thirty feet, but even alone he would quickly run out of options. Then it would be a matter of whether his strength ran out or he died of exposure. In any case, he couldn’t leave Sarah. The end result would be the same, but better to stay together. Maybe the Chinese would send someone down to rescue them? He laughed bitterly at his own innocence. The commandos were on a seek-and-destroy mission. They wouldn’t rest until everyone who had been with Tenzin was dead. The Tibetan’s face
swam
into his head and he found strength in the solemn features and the gentle, mesmeric voice.
Only you can ensure that the Sun Stone never falls into the hands of those whose greed or ambition or foolishness will destroy us all
. Well, the world would have to look after itself. He still had the rifle and he checked the action to make sure it hadn’t been damaged during the slide. If . . . No. Not that. Not yet. He put his arm around Sarah’s body and she snuggled into his shoulder for warmth. A cloud of exhaustion blanketed his brain and he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her body. There were worse ways to go.

His wandering mind conjured up a scene from
Apocalypse Now
. The opening scene where Captain Willard is lying drunk in his Saigon hotel room and the sound of the ceiling fan morphs into the mesmeric ‘whump, whump, whump’ of helicopter blades and heralds him back to a reality he doesn’t wish to be part of.

It was only when Jamie opened his eyes that he realized the sound was real and growing louder with every passing second. He grabbed the assault rifle and pushed Sarah down low, but even as he reacted a gigantic mechanical monster rose up before him with an almighty clattering and he was engulfed in its hot breath, the draught from the helicopter’s blades threatening to buffet him from the ledge. Through a Plexiglas shield men in flying helmets studied him like a trapped insect from behind mirrored visors. He found himself staring into the mouths of four lethal-looking
rocket
pods and a pair of remotely operated machine guns moved remorselessly to fix him with their little black eyes. He laid down the rifle and did his best to shield Sarah’s body, knowing just how pointless it was. His final thought was that somebody had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to kill them.

‘If it was up to me I would throw you in prison and leave you there.’ The Indian Army major’s manner was polite but chilly, but then Jamie could hardly blame him. When the air force Mil-35 began its training flight out of Joshimath, the last thing the pilots were looking for was a confrontation with élite Chinese special forces which had all the signs of developing into a full-blown international incident. ‘Not only did you put yourselves at risk, but our airmen, and, if we are to believe you, the poor deluded Tibetan peasants who were bringing you back to India. Your partner, Miss Grant, was fortunate to survive her altitude sickness, but I am happy to say she has a remarkable constitution and will be released from hospital later today.’ He picked up a piece of paper from the metal desk. ‘Our prosecutors have formulated a list of charges against you that makes very grave reading indeed, Mr Saintclair, but, for reasons I find somewhat disconcerting, my superiors have ordered me to offer an alternative solution. This is a statement of your activities in Chamoli region which I will require you to sign. You will note that there is no mention of Chinese commandos, parachute drops or gun battles. No explosions and no dead bodies. Mr James Saintclair
and
Miss Sarah Grant unadvisedly decided to leave their guided walk to the Valley of the Flowers and strayed into Tibetan territory, where they ran into difficulties and had to be rescued by the Indian authorities, to whom they are extremely grateful.’ He offered Jamie a ballpoint pen from the breast pocket of his olive-green shirt.

‘What happens if I sign?’

‘You and Miss Grant will be transported to Delhi and placed on the first flight to London.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘I hope you like ghee, Mr Saintclair.’

THEY ARRIVED AT
Heathrow airport still in the clothes they’d worn to climb the Himalayas. The two travel-stained pariahs held in isolation at the back of the Air India flight had attracted the curious stares of their fellow passengers – the consensus seemed to be drug smugglers caught in the act – but in their weariness and with the memory of Tenzin’s sacrifice still fresh, they barely noticed.

Sarah insisted on stopping off at her flat for fresh clothing before they continued to Kensington and after they’d showered it seemed sensible to fall into bed where they slept for the best part of the afternoon. It was only when they were up and dressed that she noticed the red light flashing on her telephone that indicated a new voice message.

Jamie busied himself in the kitchen while she listened. When she joined him the news was clearly not good.

‘Vanderbilt have cut us loose. They say we breached the conditions of our contract. I’m not sure how it
works,
but I suspect we weren’t supposed to get involved in a shooting war. There was also a suggestion that the museum won’t let the painting out of Poland again. They’ll pay me for the feature, but we can forget about buying a yacht.’

‘Does it bother you?’

‘Being poor again?’

‘Yes.’

‘It doesn’t seem to matter.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘So what happens now? We can’t just stop.’

He smiled and kissed her hair. This was the old Sarah talking.

‘I’ve arranged to speak to an old friend who knows all about that stuff Tenzin told us about. Nuclear fission and fusion. The Holy Grail and all that. I also think we need to find out more about the secret American operation to smuggle Nazi scientists out of Germany at the end of the war. We’re not finished yet.’

Mike Oliver had known Jamie long enough not to expect him to be on time. He was sipping his beer patiently in the corner of the pub when the familiar rangy figure walked in. What did surprise him was his friend’s choice of companion. Here was something much more exotic than the fragile and often rather dull English roses who normally lasted a couple of months with Jamie before mutual apathy prised them apart. Sarah was wearing tight leather trousers and a short, tailored jacket that emphasized her slim figure. With
her
golden complexion and high cheekbones she could have had star billing in one of those commercials for Italian designer gear, but something told him this girl was much more than a clothes-horse. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, and not for the first time, wished he had more of it.