Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

He looked across the Himalaya, admiring a view no man had ever seen before. He wanted to leap up and down with joy and shout triumphantly at the top of his voice, but he had neither the energy nor the breath to do so. Instead he turned a slow circle; the biting wind, which seemed to come at him from every direction did not allow him to move any faster. A myriad of unconquered mountains stood proudly around him, heads bowed in the presence of their monarch.

A strange thought crossed his mind. He must remember to tell Clare that the top of Everest was about the same size as their dining-room table.

George checked his watch: 3:36 P.M. He tried to convince himself that they had more than enough time to return to the safety of their little tent at Camp VI, especially if it turned out to be a clear night with no wind.

He looked back down to see Irvine moving ever closer, even if it was at a snail’s pace. Would he falter at the last step? Then, like a child who couldn’t yet walk, Irvine crawled up onto the summit.

Once George had helped him to his feet, he fumbled around in the pocket of his Shackleton smock, only hoping that he hadn’t forgotten what he was looking for. His fingers were so numb with cold that he nearly dropped his Vest Pocket camera over the side. Once he’d steadied himself, he took a photograph of Irvine, arms held high above his head as if he’d just won the boat race. He passed the Kodak to his companion, who took a photo of him trying to look as if he’d been for a bracing walk in the Welsh hills.

George checked his watch again, and frowned. He pointed firmly down the mountain. Irvine placed the camera in a trouser pocket and buttoned up the proof of what they had achieved.

George was about to take the first step back down, when he recalled his promise to Ruth. With heavy, ice-covered fingers, he clumsily pulled out his wallet and extracted the sepia photograph that he always took with him on every trip. He gave his wife one last look and smiled, before placing her image on the highest point on earth. He put his hand back in his pocket and began rummaging around.

“The King of England sends his compliments, ma’am,” he said, giving a bow, “and hopes that you will grant his humble subjects safe passage back to their homeland.”

George smiled. George cursed.

He’d forgotten to bring Geoffrey Young’s sovereign.

W HEN O DELL ARRIVEDback at Camp IV, he was unable to conceal his excitement. He crawled into Norton’s tent and told him what he’d seen.

“About 600 feet from the summit, you say?” said Norton, still lying flat on his back.

“Yes,” said Odell, “I’m certain of it. They were standing on the Second Step when I saw one of them walk toward the other before going strong for the top.”

“Then nothing should stop them now,” said Bullock as he placed a fresh warm cloth over Norton’s eyes.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” said Somervell. “But I still think it would be wise for Odell to write down the details of everything he saw while they’re fresh in his mind. It might turn out to be significant when the history of the expedition is written.”

Odell crawled across to his rucksack and took out his diary. He sat in a corner of the tent and for the next twenty minutes wrote down everything he had witnessed that morning. Exactly where he’d seen the two figures, the time at which they continued up the mountain, and the fact that they appeared to be in no difficulty as they disappeared into the mist. When he’d finished, he checked his watch: 6:58 P.M. Were Mallory and Irvine safely back in their tent at Camp VI, having stood on top of the earth?

Once they’d roped up, George’s first thought as he stepped off the summit of Everest was to wonder how long his oxygen would last. Irvine had joked about them not taking more than eight hours, but they must surely be approaching that deadline. His second thought was to wonder how many hours were left in the sun’s rays, because that was something you couldn’t alter with the twiddling of a valve. Finally, he hoped it would be a clear night, which would allow the moon to accompany them on the last steps of their journey home.

He was surprised to find that once they had attained the prize, the rush of adrenaline had deserted him, and all he had left was the will to survive.

After covering a mere 50 feet, George wanted to sit down and rest, but with his body so fatigued and racked with pain, he knew that if he closed his eyes even for a moment, he might never open them again.

He jabbed his ice axe into the cracked surface, took a step backward, and immediately felt the rope tighten. Irvine must be finding the journey down even more difficult than he was, if that was possible. George tentatively placed his left foot back onto the icy slope that was now even more treacherous than before. He tried to take advantage of the finger and toe-holds he’d left behind on the way up, but they were already icing over. Despite losing his balance and falling on his backside several times, he managed to keep moving until he had safely reached the patch of stony ground, only to find himself once again standing above a sheer icy rock face, this time looking down. George knew that this would be the most dangerous part of the climb, and he had to assume that Irvine was in an even worse state than he was. If either of them made the slightest error, they would both tumble to their deaths. He turned to his companion and smiled. For the first time, Irvine did not return his smile.

George gripped the top of the rock with both hands and slowly lowered himself a few inches, searching for the slightest indentation that might secure a toehold. Once his toe had found a step, he lowered his other leg. Suddenly he felt the rope go slack. He looked up to see that Irvine had lost his grip on an icy ledge, and was falling backward. His body passed George a moment later.

George knew that he couldn’t hope to cling on to an icy, vertical rock face while the six-foot-two-inch, 220-pound man to whom he was roped was falling through the air. An instant later he was pulled off the rock. He didn’t even have a chance to think about death as he followed Irvine down, down, down…

A second later, they both landed in the two feet of thick snow that had so bedeviled them on the way up, and which now acted as a cushion to save their lives. After a brief, stunned silence, they both began laughing, like two naughty schoolboys who’d fallen out of a tree and were buried in Christmas snow.

George rose slowly and checked his limbs. He stood unsteadily, pleased to see Irvine already on his feet. The two men collapsed into each other’s arms, and George began slapping his young colleague on the back. He finally released him and gave Irvine the thumbs-up before once again setting off down the mountain.

George knew nothing was going to stop him now.

W HEN O DELL ROSEat five the following morning, the first thing he saw was Noel setting up his tripod on a small, flat ridge. The massive lens of his camera was pointing in the direction of Camp VI, ready to roll at the slightest sign of life. A moment later, Norton crawled out to join them.

“Good morning, Odell,” he said cheerfully. “I confess that for the moment you’re no more than a blur, but at least I can tell the difference between you and Noel-just.”

“That’s good news,” said Noel, “because I hope it won’t be too long before we see George and Sandy coming over the skyline.”