As the guard turned, shining his light round to check on them all, Chen suddenly caught sight of Zhu. His features were bleached white by the beam. He had a handkerchief pressed to his nose, but Chen could see the top half of it was wrinkled in disgust. Obviously the smell was getting to him too.
They were approaching the yellow glow of a ceiling light and the corridor widened into a room. At first it was hard to see much, then various shapes began to take form. Towards the back of the room was a heavy wooden bench with thick strapping and several buckets of water lined up on top of it. Further to the left was a rickety metal chair with a figure slumped forward in it, his shaven head almost touching his knees and his face concealed from view.
As the guard switched off his flashlight, a second figure stepped out from the shadows. He was small and gaunt looking, with wide eyes that stared vacantly ahead. He was wearing a cheap plastic cooking apron and long rubber gloves that stretched past his elbows like medieval gauntlets. Approaching the guard, he handed him a clipboard and, without even registering the others, walked past into the dark corridor and was gone.
The guard swivelled the clipboard round and read the name of the prisoner aloud.
‘Jigme Sangpo. A monk from Tashilhunpo Monastery,’ he said, his voice as wavering as his eyes.
The figure in the chair did not lift its head.
Zhu stepped forward into the room, his left arm outstretched for the clipboard.
‘I know who he is, idiot.’
Tilting the pages towards the light, he scanned the notes that had been kept during the prisoner’s interrogation. It had been going on for just over three days, with successively stronger tortures being introduced every few hours. They had got nothing from the early phases, but as Zhu had already guessed from seeing the water and the plastic gloves, the electro-shock treatment had brought better results.
He moved closer to the figure on the chair. He crouched down and slowly tilted the man’s face up from his knees. There were jagged burn marks lacerating his cheeks, stretching right across his face from where the copper wire had been attached. As their eyes met, Zhu could see that the prisoner’s were dull and bloodshot from long hours of pain. He had both his arms folded into his lap, with his hands resting over his groin. That was where they would have done the most damage, Zhu thought, especially to a monk.
After so many hours, all the monk had said was that ‘two climbers had been brought in from Nepal’ to move the Panchen Lama. That was it. Nothing more.
Zhu looked into his eyes, searching for the slightest trace of emotion. That must be all he knew. No one could resist this kind of treatment, and he had already held out for an impressive length of time. But, once broken, it was rare for a prisoner to hold back. They usually said anything to get the electric shocks to stop.
‘You must not feel bad about what you have told us,’ he whispered, moving close but careful not to touch the monk. ‘You have done your duty and we are grateful for it.’
The prisoner stared blankly at this new apparition before him, his mind clouded by the hours of pain and endless questions. In the half-light, the man’s black pupils seemed to expand, obscuring any trace of the true colour of his eyes. Those black circles were boring into him. He could smell the man’s aftershave and the subtle aroma of his freshly washed face.
‘You have done well,’ he said.
Tears welled up in the corners of the monk’s eyes, streaking through the dirt on his cheeks. He had betrayed the boy, betrayed his entire religion. His single consolation was that he only knew a couple of the minor details of the escape, and so had had little to tell. But however little it was, the fact remained — he had told the Chinese.
Captain Zhu stood up, his eyes moving from Chen to the guard.
‘Move him up to the day cells in the main complex.’
‘But, sir, political prisoners are…’
The guard’s voice broke off as he saw the expression on the visitor’s face darken. For a moment Zhu remained quiet, allowing silence to fill the room. The guard straightened up, wishing he had kept his mouth shut and growing more and more uncomfortable as the moments passed.
Eventually Zhu handed him back the clipboard.
‘This is no ordinary monk but one of the High Lamas of the Gelugpa sect,’ he said, in an icy voice. ‘You will treat him with the respect he deserves. Now, see to it that he is washed and has a good meal.’
As the guard quickly pulled himself up into a salute and moved forward towards the prisoner, Zhu grabbed the flashlight from his hand.
‘And return his prayer wheel and beads,’ he added.
Zhu signalled to Chen and they moved back down the dark corridor. As Chen fell into step behind him, his eyes following the beam of light passing over the floor ahead, he felt a strange sense of elation. Even after prisoners had given everything, named everyone involved in a suspected plot and many more besides, they were usually left to rot down here. There were no court proceedings, no appeals or transfers. The cell doors were simply slammed shut and the matter closed for all but the unfortunate soul within.
But today was different. Zhu had given a simple order and now the monk was being transferred. Just like that.
As they followed the line of the corridor, Chen’s expression softened. He had heard of the Captain’s reputation and, like everyone else, found his presence in the office unnerving. But when it came down to it, there was obviously more to this man than any of them had suspected.
He cleared his throat, picking his words carefully.
‘Do you think the information will be helpful, sir?’
Zhu continued walking, but after a moment replied over his shoulder.
‘It’s vague, but it might be useful when cross-checked with something else.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They reached the iron security gate at the foot of the main stairwell. Zhu reached up and banged the end of the flashlight against the metal a couple of times, the noise quickly muffled by the concrete walls. From the annexe behind, another guard buzzed them through and they climbed up the wide circular staircase in silence, pausing only by the door to the outside. Chen turned towards Zhu, having mustered the courage to say something more.
‘I think you did the right thing, sir.’
Zhu looked at him, his expression unreadable.
‘I mean, transferring the monk up to the surface,’ Chen continued, his voice beginning to falter. ‘He had told us everything he knew already. It was as good to let him go.’
Zhu seemed to be nodding slowly as Chen spoke. Then he reached out with his left hand and slowly turned the handle on the door.
‘Every man’s last day should be a good one,’ he said as he stepped out into the light.
Chapter 16
Eight days after their meeting in the Windsor Castle, Bill and Luca arrived in Kathmandu airport with five large duffel bags of climbing equipment and dried food. Stepping out of the terminal, they stood blinking for a moment in the brilliant sunlight, taking in the sheer chaos that is Nepal’s greatest city.
Billows of pungent smoke rose from the grills of food vendors, while beggar children darted through the heavy traffic, scanning the backs of taxis for the pallid faces of newly arrived tourists. Every so often there was a grinding of gears as a car swerved to avoid a cow, lying placidly in the middle of the road with the confidence of a lifetime of Hindu privilege. Amidst the incredible clamour, soldiers in pale blue uniform lined the streets, waving their truncheons and blowing their whistles at largely indifferent locals.