Philip Kerr - Esau

Swift nodded. ‘It all sounds fine to me, Mister Boyd. Jack? What do you say?’

Jack examined his now empty glass and then nodded grimly.

‘Whatever equipment you take, it’s never enough. Things go wrong. The unforeseen happens. It’s that kind of place. State-of-the-art equipment from NASA, huh? You can bet your last dollar we’ll be needing it. Because in winter, the Himalaya is as cold and hostile an environment as... as the surface of Pluto.’

Jack drummed his fingers on the table.

After Boyd finally left the hotel, he and Swift settled in with a good dinner. He might have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t been a little preoccupied with trying to fathom the reason for the committee’s sudden turnaround. It was nagging at him like a persistent toothache.

‘You’re being very perverse about this,’ she told him. ‘We’ve got the money. We’ve even got a breathing space.’

He grunted with puzzlement.

‘I mean, the cooling-off period. What more do you want? The car comes gift-wrapped in pink ribbon, and still you want to inspect the tires.’

‘Someone has to if we’re all going to ride safely.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘Companies don’t just find a million dollars lying around like that. Like so much backyard lumber.’

‘But it’s just as I told you. They liked the grant proposal.’

‘My guess is that you’d take the grant no matter what. Jimmy Hoffa could show up and give you a suitcase full of money and you wouldn’t ask any questions. Am I right?’

Swift let herself be amused by him.

‘Maybe.’

‘So, who’s being perverse now? I mean isn’t there any part of you that wants to know more about this? That wants to be just a tad cautious?’

‘Okay then, tell me. What should I suspect? That someone has figured out the real purpose of the expedition is to find a yeti? If anything, I think that would make people less inclined to hand over a million bucks, don’t you? What is there that should make us suspicious? Please, Jack, I would like to know.’

‘It feels wrong, that’s all. I can’t explain why.’

‘Well, you’re certainly not trying very hard. I’m a scientist. I need a little more to go on than what’s happening in your gut. Jack.’

She stood up.

‘I’m going back to the room,’ she said. ‘Are you coming?’

‘No, I thought I would get some air. Clear my head.’

‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘Too much wine makes you paranoid.’

They parted stiffly in the lobby. As Jack headed toward the front door, the concierge called to him.

‘Mister Furness. There’s a parcel here for you, sir.’

‘A parcel? For me? I’m not expecting any parcel.’

‘Your name is on the label, sir.’

‘Thanks, Harvey.’

Puzzled, Jack came over to the desk to inspect the parcel, immediately recognizing its White Fang address label. It was from his sponsor. Inside was a note from Chuck Farrell and several pairs of new compound sticky rock boots, all in Jack’s size. The concierge watched as Jack picked one pair of shoes out of the box. With their Velcro fastenings, bright colours, and Navajo Indian designs, they looked more like moccasins than climbing shoes.

Reading the name on the shoebox, the concierge said, ‘The Brundle shoe. What’s a Brundle shoe?’

‘Do you go to the movies, Harvey?’

‘Some.’

‘Ever see a movie called The Fly? After Dr. Martin Brundle. The Jeff Goldblum character.’

‘Right,’ said Harvey. ‘But I still don’t get it.’

‘They’re climbing shoes.’

‘Climbing shoes. Well, they look comfortable.’

‘Not on me,’ said Jack. ‘Not anymore. You keep ’em. Christmas present.’

‘Thanks, Mister Furness. But where can you climb around here?’

‘You could try the Washington Monument.’

He went out onto 16th Street, braced himself against the cold, and walked south, heading past the ornate mansion that housed the Russian Embassy and chuckling quietly. The Washington Monument. Now that really would be a climb. A one-hundred-and-forty-metre obelisk of New England granite. The wonder was he hadn’t tried it before. There had been a time when just thinking about it would have made him want to go and do it.

On the corner of M Street he turned right, his footsteps carrying him automatically in the direction of the National Geographic building. He could see a couple of lights still burning on the penultimate floor, where the executive decisions were made. Even the ones you couldn’t account for. Why had they changed their minds, and so quickly? Was it really anything to do with the cooling-off period negotiated by the secretary of state?

It didn’t make any sense. It just wasn’t the way they did things. Was there some other reason? But what could that be? Swift was right. He had to give her more than just his gut feeling. He had a good mind to go up there and see if he couldn’t find some answers. Jack tried the front door, but it was locked. What was the point, anyway? Even if there had been someone around, they would probably just have given him the same story that they had already given to Swift about the Semath Corporation bean counters and their financial year.

He walked on, staring up at the top of the building and the lights still burning there, and rounding the next corner, he saw that someone had carelessly left a corner window open on the top floor. The light was off but he could clearly see a net curtain billowing out into the night air, like the sail of a ship that had slipped its rope.

Perhaps he had only to climb up and through the open window to find out why the decision had been changed. Look around someone’s office. Someone like Brad Schaffer, on the Research and Exploration Committee. Turn on his computer. Locate a file. It sounded simple enough when he considered the idea. Just climb up there and nose around. It wasn’t as if it was a particularly tall building. There was a height limit on all buildings in Washington — roughly the elevation of the Capitol dome and the Washington Monument, so that you could always see the sky and the Capitol downtown. About thirteen stories. The Transamerica Pyramid he’d climbed for the junk-bond commercial had been several times higher. In comparison, this one looked positively squat.

Jack walked quickly back to the hotel, his heart racing in anticipation. Perhaps it was as well that he’d had so much to drink. Dutch courage: In hell of any other kind, it would have to suffice. If he was ever going to climb the big walls again, this might just be a quick way to recover his nerve. Either that or it would be an easy way of killing himself.

The concierge was sitting behind the desk, reading a copy of the Post .

‘Give me a pair of those shoes, will ya?’ said Jack.

‘Sure thing, Mister Furness.’

Jack threw off his coat. He was wearing a cashmere turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans. He sat down behind the desk and pulled off his loafers and socks.

‘Kinda late to be going climbing, isn’t it, Mister Furness?’

‘It’s never too late to go climbing, Harvey.’

He laced the Brundle shoes up tightly on his bare feet and stood up, flexing his insteps. Chuck’s new shoes felt good. He laid one foot flat on the marble floor and pushed hard. The sole hardly moved.

‘Not bad,’ he murmured. ‘Not bad at all, Chuck.’ He looked around the inside of the reception desk. ‘You got any Band-Aids there?’

The concierge produced a first-aid box and let Jack help himself.

‘How about chalk powder?’

‘Chalk powder?’ He looked thoughtful. ‘No sir. Can’t say we do. But there’s some resin in the health dub. Guys use it on the rings. Would that do?’

Jack nodded.