Jack Higgins - Year Of The Tiger

The whole place had a strange, neglected air about it. It was as if they were approaching some ancient ruined city, empty and forlorn. He drove slowly through the great open gates into the courtyard and braked to a halt at once.

A line of saffron-clad monks sprawled against the far wall, some with fingers digging into the dirt, others with knees drawn up to their bellies as if they had died hard.

“Oh, my God,” said Hoffner, and there was horror in his voice.

“This gives you a mild idea of how the Chinese are trying to run this country,” Chavasse told him. “You stay here. I’m going to have a look round.”

Earlier, in a compartment in the dashboard, he had discovered an excellent military map of the area, two stick grenades and a canvas belt of.45 ammunition, obviously intended for the machine gun which was usually mounted in the rear. He quickly reloaded the machine pistol, put a handful of rounds in his pocket and crossed the courtyard to the main door.

It was cold and dark inside and he moved along a stone-flagged passage cautiously. From somewhere near at hand he could hear a low, monotonous voice raised in prayer, and he ducked through a small door and found himself in the central temple.

Candles burned beneath a great golden Buddha and a monk knelt there in prayer. He got to his feet and turned and Chavasse looked down into the familiar parchment face of the abbot, the old man whom he had found sitting beside his bed when he had awakened from his deep sleep after Kurbsky’s death a thousand years ago.

“I am happy to see you,” the abbot said calmly.

“And I you. What happened here?”

“The Chinese have decreed that all monasteries must close. We knew our turn would come sooner or later. They came yesterday. A strong force of cavalry.”

“But what about Joro’s men?” Chavasse demanded. “Couldn’t they help you?”

The old man shook his head. “They left two weeks ago to join forces with a stronger group in the south.”

His wise eyes stared up at Chavasse and he placed a hand on his shoulder. “But you, my son. You are a changed man. You have passed through the furnace.”

“Joro is dead,” Chavasse said.

The abbot nodded. “The time comes for all men. There is no escape. Can I do anything to help you?”

Chavasse shook his head. “Not now. I’m trying to cross the border into Kashmir with two friends. I’d been hoping Joro’s men would help.”

“A family passed through here two days ago,” the abbot said. “Kazakhs from Sinkiang. A chieftain, his wife and two children. They also were hoping to cross into Kashmir. They had horses with them, which slowed them down. Perhaps you will catch up.”

Chavasse nodded. “I’ll have to go now.” He hesitated. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The abbot smiled tranquilly and shook his head. “Nothing, my son.”

He turned and dropped to his knees again, and his low monotonous voice filled the echoing hall as Chavasse walked away.

He climbed behind the wheel of the jeep and turned to look at Katya. “How’s she doing?”

“She has passed into a deep sleep,” Hoffner said. “She should come out of it during the next few hours. Did you find anyone?”

Chavasse nodded. “The old abbot. He insisted on staying, I’m afraid.” He started the engine. “We’ll have to get moving. Colonel Li must be hot on our scent by now.”

“Will he have many men with him, do you think?”

Chavasse shook his head as he drove out through the gates. “His only chance of catching us is to use his jeeps, and he’s only got two. At the most, he could have ten men with him.”

“Isn’t there a garrison at Rudok?” Hoffner asked.

“According to Joro, ten men and a sergeant, but this is a bad security area. They stick pretty close to home.”

“But surely Colonel Li will be in touch with them by radio?”

“They may not even have one. It’s astonishing how primitive the Chinese can be about some things.” Chavasse shrugged. “In any case, they haven’t much hope of finding us in these steppes.”

“I see,” Hoffner said, frowning. “Do you really think we stand a chance of getting out?”

“People are doing it all the time,” Chavasse told him. “Kashmir is full of refugees. As a matter of fact, the abbot told me a Kazakh family from Sinkiang passed through Yalung Gompa two days ago heading for the border. We might come across them near the pass. They could be a real help on the way through.”

“But I don’t understand,” Hoffner said. “Why should they want to leave Sinkiang? The Kazakhs have lived there for generations.”

“Colonel Li’s really been keeping you in the dark, Doctor,” Chavasse said. “In 1951, the Kazakhs tried to set up their own government. The Chinese called them together to talk things over, and then butchered them.”

Hoffner frowned. “What happened then?”

“They’ve been trying to get out ever since, in large groups and single families. There were still quite a few in Kashmir when I came through, and the Turkish government has settled a lot of them on the Anatolian Plateau.”

“It would seem I’ve been more cut off from the mainstream of events than I had imagined,” Hoffner said rather bitterly. He leaned back in his seat, a frown on his face, and made no further attempt at conversation.

About two hours later it started to snow in great powdery flakes that stuck to the windscreen, prompting Chavasse to switch on the wipers.

They crossed the great military road to Yarkand, and a little while after that Chavasse looked out and saw on his right the lake where Kerensky had landed the Beaver that night which seemed so long ago now.

He wondered if the Pole had made it back to base, and grinned suddenly. There was a man he really wanted to have another drink with.

Suddenly, Katya moaned and stirred and Hoffner touched Chavasse on the shoulder. “She’s waking, Paul.”

Chavasse brought the jeep to a halt and turned quickly. The rose had left her cheeks and beneath the bandage, the face seemed all hollows.

Noting that the great sheepskin coat looked far too big for Katya, he smiled down at her. “Hello, angel.”

There was puzzlement in her dark eyes and she tried to struggle up, but Hoffner pushed her down gently. “No, Katya,” he said. “You need rest. All the rest you can get.”

She pushed his restraining hand away, sat up and looked out at the barren landscape and the steadily falling snow. “But I don’t understand. Where are we?”

“Somewhere north of Rudok, about thirty miles from the border,” Chavasse told her, and grinned. “We’re almost home and dry.”

She frowned and put a hand to her bandage. “What happened back there?”

“There was a fight at the house and a bullet grazed you,” Hoffner said soothingly. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. Just relax. You’ll need all your strength for the final haul.”

She leaned back in the corner, pulling the hood of her sheepskin coat up around her face. Chavasse turned to reach for the starter and Hoffner tapped him urgently on the shoulder.

“Just a moment. I thought I heard something.”

Chavasse waited, a slight frown on his face, and then, quite clearly from somewhere behind them, the sound of an engine was carried on the wind.

Katya leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Colonel Li, hot on our trail by the sound of it,” Chavasse told her grimly, then drove quickly away.

Hoffner shouted above the roar of the engine, “He must be pushing hard.”

“Of course he is,” Chavasse replied. “If we get away, he’s faced with failure and disgrace, and his career’s ruined. It might even mean his life.”

“Of all alternatives, I think the last one would hurt him least,” Hoffner said.