I sat still again in the shadow, listening to the bird calling in the scrub to the west of me, and watching the man lower his gun.
"If you can get the better of Tung Kuo-feng, we'll send in a chopper for you. Otherwise you must try making your own way out. If possible you should relay what information you can get to the Embassy on 5051 kHz, using Tung's radio, and duplicate it on our own wavelength. Tung should be despatched only if you're certain he won't talk or has nothing more to tell you. I shall hold myself ready to interrogate him at the monastery or wherever you can bring him; as you know, my expertise has been proved effective."
Watching the man, I knew what to do now. If I moved to the north or south I would move directly into his fire; if I moved to the east I'd be going towards him; behind me, to the west, there was a series of low rock ridges and then open ground running two or three miles into the foothills of the next mountain range, and if I moved that way he would pick me off before I could reach cover. There was no way out in any direction, and he knew that.
I watched him.
"Control realises," Ferris had told me, "that the odds against you are rather high; that was why he wanted you for Jade One, and no one else. You can opt out, at this stage, as you know; but it wouldn't mean we'd then send Youngquist in, simply because we don't think Youngquist could do it; we think that you can."
Bloody Control for you. Pat on the back and good luck, lad, we know you can do it, never fear, bloody London for you, this was a last ditch operation: throw the executive in and see what happens, never know your luck.
The man with the sunglasses hadn't moved. He knew where I was but he couldn't see me; more accurately, he could see me but he couldn't tell rock from shadow, from this darker shadow that was his quarry.
Not strictly true of course: London knows what it's doing; it was just that I was lonely now, and scared; there was something almost acceptable about getting shot in the back of the head: one minute you were part of all this metaphysical extravaganza and the next minute you were a hunk of chemicals with no awareness of the transition; but if I sat here staring into his gun he might eventually define my shape, and fire, and in the final millisecond I might see the thing coming for me, much too fast to give me time to dodge it: a gleam of copper light in the sunshine increasing in diameter until there it was right in front of me and moving at the speed of sound, its small mass warm from the detonation and the friction through the rifling of the barrel, its rate of spin slowing over the distance to a thousand feet per second and its initial degree of pitch damped out by gyroscopic action as it poised in timelessness an inch in front of my brow before it touched the skin and found the skull and broke the skull and found the brain and blew away the universe on this fine summer's day.
But I would have to stay facing him, for a bit longer. And I would have to move, just a little, and with great care. I had to face him because I had to see when the gun came up, so that I could get the timing right; and I had to move, just a little, to get my flying jacket off. He wasn't using a scope sight: he was using his naked eye; if he'd had a scope sight I'd have seen him aiming the gun all the time, trying to find me; even so, I must move with great care.
Nothing more awkward than getting out of sleeves.
He didn't move. I would see the glint along the barrel if he raised the gun, and have time to drop low and forward, decreasing the target profile. First sleeve.
He would be, I suppose, annoyed by now. They'd sent him down here to deal with me before I could get too close and do any damage, and even if I'd had a revolver on me there would have been no chance of a dueclass="underline" he could stay out of range with that thing and make a remote kill. But I was still alive and he was aware of that: the stone I'd thrown had fooled him for two seconds — the time he'd needed to aim and fire — but he'd seen what it was immediately afterwards. So he was probably annoyed, which was an advantage to me: you bring a flicker of emotion to the gunsight and you'll fire a foot wide. Second sleeve.
The timing was critical and I waited, drawing five deep breaths; then I raised the flying jacket and passed it slowly in front of me and to one side to let the shoulder catch the sunlight; a reflection sparked from his rifle as he brought it immediately into the aim and fired, and I had to wait through the next second while the bullet travelled the distance between us and tore the jacket from my left hand as I let it go, one sleeve flying out before it fell to the ground.
I dropped with it and kept still.
There was no second shot.
After a minute I crawled sideways to the shelter of deeper rock, dragging the jacket after me and leaving tracks. The leg wound was superficial and the blood had already started to congeal; I had to open it with my nails and wait for it to ooze before I could squeeze a trickle onto the stones. In an hour I made a dozen yards, taking my time and waiting for the blood to come, squeezing and moving on with the toes of my boots dragging at the shale. Above me now was a ledge some ten feet high with a sheer drop to the west, facing the buttress that hid me from his sight; it was the best that was offered.
There was antibiotic cream in the medical kit and I smeared it on the wound and bandaged it before I climbed to the ledge, pulling the jacket after me. My wristwatch was in my pocket and I fished for it and put it on again. It showed 06:49 as I settled face down and began waiting for him.
19: Vigil
Eagle to Jade One.
Playing bricks.
Eagle to Jade One.
One on top of another.
He would take his time, of course. I might be armed.
Eagle to Jade One.
A fourth stone, to bridge the lower three. Playing bricks with the boulders, the small ones; but it didn't have to be too fancy; it had to look natural.
Where the hell is Ferris?
07:12.
Eagle to Jade One.
In another hour the sun would clear the bluff to the east of my position and I would no longer be in shade. But then he wouldn't see me, because of the boulders. The set was live, crackling. I wanted more than that, for God's sake. This thing was a lifeline.
Eagle to Jade One.
The peephole was too big: all I wanted was -
Jade One to Eagle. You're very faint.
And very relieved.
Eagle to Jade One. DH is dead. My present situation extremely hazardous. Will report if possible.
Repeat that.
Did so. He acknowledged and we broke.
Within the next half hour I completed the low rock wall; it was built on the assumption that he would pick up the tracks I'd left for him and follow them to the area immediately below the ledge where I was waiting; I could sight through the rocks in three places, and if he looked up, all he would see was my eye, and my eye would be in shadow, and it would be narrowed. If he was a cautious man he would circle the whole area first and climb to higher ground; in that case he would see me; but there was nothing I could do about that, except hide up in a foxhole and wait until he found me; there was no point.
Very faint because of the mountains. Up at the monastery, if I could reach it, the reception and transmission would be a lot better. It had been good to hear his voice, even faintly.
The executive signalled at 07:14 to say his situation was extremely hazardous. That was the last we heard of him.
Ignore. Too much bloody imagination. Eye on the ball.
07:46.
09:51.