As René stood in silence, Chen swivelled the screen of his laptop on its central stem and starting explaining something in Mandarin to Zhu who stared intently at the screen, nodding occasionally. Chen then produced a folded topographical map. Side by side, the men appeared to be cross-referencing it with the image on the screen.
After a long discussion Chen folded the computer in two, carefully placing the map in between, and returned them both to a plastic pelican case resting by the entrance to his tent. Walking back to the fire, he settled down on one of the nearby logs and continued his conversation with Zhu.
René stayed motionless beyond the edge of the fire, watching every movement. He was right. They had found a way up.
From the moment he’d been hauled into the police cells, he had realised that there must be more to this than he had ever suspected. But what were the Chinese looking for, and why were they so desperate to find Bill and Luca? René let his fingers trace over the swelling on his head distractedly. What the hell were those boys up to? Had they been lying to him that night at the restaurant? Whatever the answer, one thing was for sure — they were in way over their heads.
He turned, staring into the embers of the fire. In Tibet, you look after just one person — yourself. That’s what his friend had said but if he didn’t do something, Zhu would eventually track those boys down. And if that happened, they’d be lucky to escape with their lives.
He had to do something. But how could he stop the captain?
René suddenly turned, walking back along the line of tents. He looked up, checking that no one was watching, then quickly knelt down by the fly-sheet of Chen’s tent. A few moments later he straightened up. With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he stepped over the guy line of the tent in front and straight into three soldiers standing in a row.
Xie was in the middle, arms folded across his chest, while two SOF soldiers stood either side of him. They looked young, but fit and well-built. René moved out of their way, gesturing for them to pass, but none of them moved. He wondered whether they had seen him in Chen’s tent, but looking into Xie’s eyes, he realised they were there for a different purpose entirely.
Slowly bringing himself to his full height, René began folding up his shirtsleeves.
‘Go on then, you son of a bitch,’ he said, his eyes settling on Xie. ‘Let’s settle this.’
Xie’s eyes flicked to either side of him, checking that the other soldiers were right on his shoulder. Then he edged forward, inch by inch, his tongue shooting out over dry lips. Despite being three to one, he felt nervous. The Westerner somehow looked even larger than normal, the bulbous stomach and thick forearms swelling with rage. The westerner was ready for him.
With a sudden lunge, Xie swung his right arm towards the side of René’s head. The blow was clumsy and swung wide. René let it glance off his shoulder, then with a quick step forward, jabbed his fist out, straight into the soft flesh of Xie’s throat. With a strangled gurgling, Xie sank to his knees, hands clutching his neck. René followed through with a heavy right hook that crashed into the side of Xie’s temple, sending him sprawling into the mud.
With his fists raised like a prize fighter, René looked at the two remaining soldiers, wondering whether they would engage or not. He knew Xie was nothing to do with their unit and hoped their loyalty wouldn’t stretch that far. Both looked unfazed by the sight of Xie squirming in the mud, but they eyed René carefully, both of them ready to strike.
Just as he was starting to relax, the soldier closest to him swayed to the right. With explosive speed he hammer-kicked down on René’s thigh, striking with the heel of his boot. René howled in pain as the soldier then swivelled on the ball of his left foot, sweeping his leg round in a side kick, which connected deep into René’s ribs.
René staggered back, his arms wide as he tried to keep himself from falling. The second soldier sprang forward, throwing a swift one-two punch at his face and chest. As René tried to duck, the second punch connected with the crown of his head, spinning him off balance and flat on to his back.
Lying flat on his back in the mud, René had his arms raised to protect his face. Both soldiers paused and, slowly unclenching their fists, turned away from him, satisfied that he had been taught enough of a lesson. With a hand clamped to the top of his head, René shut his eyes. He was groaning softly when he suddenly heard a terrible screeching. His eyes flicked open to see Xie stumbling towards him with a survival knife swinging from his right hand. The blade was dull silver, with a cruel serrated edge running along its spine.
As the two soldiers swung round and tried to grab the knife from his grasp, Xie leaped forward with both hands on the hilt plunging it into the top of René’s right thigh. It cut down into the soft muscle, tearing the flesh open with a spray of blood. René screamed, clutching his leg and pressing both hands down across the wound. His breath came in short, erratic bursts as he stared at his own leg, transfixed by the sight of the knife still buried within it.
With a violent jerk, the soldiers yanked Xie backwards, pulling him off René and on to his knees. René’s scream had attracted others. Now they stood in a semi-circle around where he lay, watching. Chen pushed his way to the front.
‘Get the field dressings!’ he barked in Mandarin, staring down at René’s leg. ‘I want him patched up immediately.’
The line of soldiers suddenly parted as Zhu stepped into the middle of the fray. René gazed up at him hopelessly while Xie lowered his head in disgrace.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Chen shouted, rounding on the nearest soldiers to him.
‘Wait,’ Zhu said, eyes calmly passing from René to Xie.
He drew a nickel-plated pistol from the holster at his waist. It was a small, delicate weapon. Zhu held it close to his side, resting the barrel against his thigh so that it was almost invisible against the folds of his trousers. Standing over René, he examined the knife in his leg with mild interest.
‘I have found the route up the cliff-face and have the exact GPS point for the monastery,’ he said in English. ‘Now, you’re nothing more than dead weight.’
Raising the pistol higher, he suddenly swung round, whipping it across Xie’s face. The blow knocked the soldier backwards, the sights from the pistol cutting into the flesh of his cheeks.
‘Act without my orders again and you will be shot,’ said Zhu, his black eyes never leaving René for a second. ‘Lieutenant, ensure that the Westerner is left exactly where he is. If he’s still alive by the time we return, then he will face charges and be taken to Drapchi. If he bleeds to death in the meantime…’
Zhu paused, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
‘…so be it.’
Chapter 41
Luca followed two junior monks as they swept down endless flights of wooden ladders, moving lower into the foundations of the monastery.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘Where is Dorje?’
One of the monks briefly turned, raising his finger to his lips, then continued climbing in silence. Luca’s shoulders hunched in frustration, but he followed on regardless.
They passed level after level, gradually veering further back into the mountain and away from the natural light of the windows. Corridors had been tunnelled directly into the rock like mineshafts, lit only by a long procession of squat yellow candles. The further down they went, the heavier and hotter the air became.
Luca noticed that the ladders were no longer worn and bowed at the centre. They felt rigid and unused, as if no one had used them in centuries. The ceiling of the tunnel became lower still and, being nearly a head taller than his two guides, Luca was the only one forced to angle his neck to one side.