Jack Higgins - Year Of The Tiger

Chavasse pulled her into his arms and when he kissed her, her face was wet with tears. She smiled happily as she looked up at him, and then her smile died.

He felt a cold breath of wind from the outer hall as it touched the nape of his neck, and something seemed to crawl up his spine. He pushed Katya away and turned slowly. Captain Tsen stood just inside the doorway, Hoffner’s Chinese houseboy beside him, a machine pistol in his hand.

There was an expression of unholy joy on Tsen’s face and his teeth gleamed in the firelight. “So, at last we have the truth, Mr. Chavasse? I’m sure you’ll agree it was well worth our little stratagem, but now the playacting is over.”

He should have known, Chavasse told himself bitterly. The whole damn thing had been too easy. To Colonel Li, who knew his man, the escape was something he had counted on. Just another move in the game, and one that had paid off.

Hoffner took a step forward, pushing Chavasse to one side. “Now look here, Captain,” he began.

“Please stay exactly where you are,” Tsen told him coldly.

For a brief moment the houseboy’s eyes flickered towards Hoffner, and it was all Chavasse needed. He gave Katya a push that sent her staggering out of harm’s way and dived for the safety of the shadows behind a wing-backed chair.

As the houseboy swung the machine pistol in an arc, bullets spraying the furniture, Katya ran forward shouting, “No, Paul, no!” and then she screamed and fell to the floor.

She lay on the sheepskin rug in front of the fire, blood pouring over her face from a wound in her forehead. Chavasse crouched for a moment to the side of the chair and peered round the edge.

The houseboy and Tsen were still standing in the doorway and Hoffner was kneeling over Katya. “You can’t get away, Chavasse,” Tsen cried. “Come out with your hands up.”

Chavasse crawled on his belly behind an antique divan and carefully lifted a small Chinese ornament from a table beside him. He hefted it in his hand for a moment.

“I’m running out of patience,” Tsen cried.

Chavasse lobbed the ornament across the room into the shadows of the far corner. The houseboy turned and fired twice in rapid succession and Chavasse stood up, took three quick paces forward and hit him across the back of the neck with the edge of his hand. He grabbed the machine pistol as it fell from nerveless fingers.

Tsen had only just managed to get his automatic out. He dropped it hurriedly and Chavasse bent to pick it up and slipped it into his pocket.

“There’s only one thing keeping you alive,” he said. “The fact that I happen to have a use for you. Now take off your belt and turn round.”

Tsen complied, hate and fear in his eyes, and Chavasse tied his wrists together behind his back with the strap and pushed him down in a chair.

He went and stood over Hoffner and Katya. The old man had his black medical bag on the floor and was gently swabbing blood away from her face.

“How bad is it?” Chavasse asked.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Hoffner told him. “The bullet has simply grazed her. She’ll be unconscious for some time and when she wakes up, she’ll be suffering from shock and possibly confusion.”

“Can she travel? That’s the important thing.”

Hoffner shrugged and started to unroll a bandage. “She’ll have to – we can’t leave her here after this.”

Chavasse laid the machine pistol on the floor beside him. “I’ll get the necessary clothing and so on from the bedrooms. I’ll leave you the gun in case our friend tries to give you any trouble.”

When he returned five minutes later with several sheepskin coats and quilted jackets in his arms, Hoffner had just finished bandaging Katya’s head and was in the act of giving her an injection.

He closed his bag quickly and stood up. “Well, she’s as ready as she’ll ever be.”

Chavasse lifted her gently from the ground and Hoffner slipped her arms into the sleeves of a quilted jacket and then a heavy sheepskin coat, pulling the hood up around her head.

Chavasse carried her out to the jeep while Hoffner got himself ready. It was still raining outside, and a cold wind was blowing. Chavasse made Katya as comfortable as he could on the rear bench seat and then hurried back inside.

Hoffner stood in the centre of the room dressed in a long sheepskin coat and fur cap with earflaps, the machine pistol in his right hand looking somehow incongruous and out of place.

There was a slight frown on his face, but it suddenly cleared and he crossed to his desk, opened one of its cupboards and took out a worn leather briefcase. “I mustn’t forget this, of all things.”

“The papers?” The old man nodded and Chavasse asked, “Anything else?”

Hoffner looked around the room and sighed. “So very many years.” He shook his head sadly. “I think I’d like to leave everything exactly as it is. I’ve never believed in the erection of sentimental monuments, and I’m too old to start now.” He picked up his medical bag.

Tsen still sat huddled in his seat, and he glared at them malevolently. “You’ll never get away with this.”

“Oh, but we will,” Chavasse said, pulling him to his feet, “because you’re going to sit beside me as we go right through the gates.”

Tsen suddenly looked as if he were going to be sick, but Chavasse remembered Joro and there was no pity in his heart. He sent Tsen staggering out into the hall with a powerful shove and followed.

When they reached the jeep Hoffner got into the rear seat beside Katya and Chavasse took the wheel, Tsen sitting beside him.

The streets were completely deserted as they rolled through the town. As they approached the gate, Chavasse brought the automatic out of his pocket and held it in his lap.

“Remember to say the right things,” he said warningly.

There was no sentry box and the soldier who stood under the lantern by the closed gates looked the picture of misery as the rain beat down on him.

Chavasse slowed and the soldier moved forward, burp gun shining in the headlights. Tsen leaned out and cried, “Get the gates open, you dolt, I’m in a hurry.”

The man’s jaw dropped in dismay and he turned at once and lifted the great swing bar which secured the gates. He pulled them back quickly and stood to one side.

Chavasse kept his head down as they went by, the peak of the military cap shading his face. He turned once to look back and saw the gates beginning to close and then he moved into top gear and drove forward into the night.

Dogs barked as they passed through the camp of the herdsmen and then they were climbing up out of the valley, leaving Changu in the darkness below.

About twenty minutes later, Chavasse braked to a halt and turned to Tsen. “Get out.”

“But my wrists,” Tsen pleaded. “How can I walk all the way back?”

“I said get out!” Chavasse told him coldly.

As Tsen scrambled to the ground and started back along the track, Chavasse got out and went after him.

“Captain Tsen!” he called. “I was forgetting something. A debt I owe you, for myself and a lot of other people.”

As Tsen turned warily, Chavasse pulled the automatic from his pocket and shot him twice through the head at close quarters.

For a moment he stood over the body, then he returned to the jeep and, disregarding Hoffner’s shocked face, drove away into the night.

In the grey of the early dawn, the walls of Yalung Gompa were a vivid splash of orange against the storm-filled skies. Chavasse frowned in puzzlement. There was something different about the place, something not quite right. As they drove down into the valley, he realized what it was: There was no encampment under the walls.