Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

‘Please, Luca,’ Shara said. ‘We have to keep moving.’

He didn’t answer but only sank down so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Bill, both of them facing the steep gulley. Bill raised his head and, for a moment, they looked at each other.

‘Bet you’re glad you let me talk you into this expedition,’ Luca said.

A flicker of emotion passed across Bill’s face. He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. His pale blue eyes slowly passed over Luca’s face, taking in the large swelling on his forehead from where he’d dived out of the cave, and the matted hair which clung to his cheeks with sweat.

‘You look like shit,’ he murmured. There was a moment of silence before Luca’s shoulders started to shake. A wave of laughter took hold of them both. Their laughter grew louder, dampening their eyes, before Bill broke into a coughing fit. He curled forward, his body convulsing as it rattled through him. After a while he managed to lean back again and they sat in silence, watching Shara trudge up through the deep snow. She was moving slowly, but as the minutes passed, they could see she was making ground.

‘Where are we going?’ Luca asked, the elation suddenly evaporating. The euphoria was replaced by a terrible sense of desolation, brought on by the hours of constant strain. He could feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes and his throat was suddenly tight to the point where he thought he might choke.

‘Come on, mate,’ Bill managed beside him, his voice little more than a murmur. ‘Piece of piss.’

Luca nodded, fighting back the tears. Then, with a sudden surge of energy, he pushed himself off the rock and on to his feet. He offered his hand to Bill.

‘You’re right. We can do this.’

Bill raised his own hand, lacking the strength to do anything more. Luca grabbed his wrist and was about to wrench him to his feet when he felt the violent trembling of Bill’s arm. The fever had taken hold of him completely.

With a desperate shout, Luca yanked him forward, getting his shoulder under Bill’s arm again. Side by side, they waded into the gulley, forcing their way higher with each step.

They had trudged on for what seemed like hours when all of a sudden, the first rays of sunlight burst on to the ground in front of them, burnishing the side of the mountain and illuminating Shara’s tracks ahead. They kept moving, step after step, each muscle stretched to breaking point.

Luca stared up to the highest point of the ridge and saw that Shara had already reached it. She had stopped moving, her dark hair whipping behind her, and was staring out over the hidden side of the mountain. On they went, Bill groaning now with each step and Luca fighting with every ounce of strength to keep him moving. Every few paces his legs would sink down into the deep snow, so that he had to use his free hand to claw their way along.

The ridge seemed to stay just out of reach, each pace they took getting infinitesimally smaller, each movement costing more energy than they had. Then, with a final shout, they broke free of the slope and collapsed at the top. As Shara came back to check on Bill, her eyes ringed with fatigue, something made Luca pull himself up on to his feet once again and stumble over to where she had been standing. He took a couple of steps forward, swaying on his feet unsteadily, and stared at the view.

At first he couldn’t see much at all. The morning sun dazzled his eyes. Then slowly shapes began to take form and he blinked, taking it all in.

‘My God,’ he whispered, barely able to believe his eyes. ‘That’s impossible.’

Chapter 32

‘Another.’

A glass was slammed down on to the table top. With considerable effort René shifted his bulk forward on his chair, craning his neck so that his eyes were level with the diminutive Tibetan barman’s.

‘Fill me up, Shamar.’

With laudable strength of character, the barman shook his head. Picking up the half-empty bottle of brandy, he placed it right at the back of the glass shelving over the bar.

‘Mr Falkus, I think you drink too much tonight.’

René shook his head wearily. He turned and focussed his bleary eyes on the Westerner sitting across the table from him.

‘You see that? I’m not allowed into my own bar and now I can’t even get a drink at this shit hole. It’s worse than prison.’

He’d started to raise himself to his feet, his bear-like chest expanding in the process, when his companion intervened.

‘Come on, Shamar, the man needs a drink.’

From the top pocket of his khaki shirt, he pulled out a wad of grubby notes and peeled off three ten-yuan bills which he placed on the counter. The barman shrugged and turned away to reach for the brandy. ‘You drink too much, Mr Falkus,’ he repeated. ‘I sorry for you.’

René sat down heavily and his friend returned with the bottle.

‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry. You’re sorry. We’re all sorry. Now I have to head off into the mountains to go and help the bastard Chinese find those boys. I’ve got to lead them right to them. And for what? I’ll tell you what. To save what I already fucking owned.’

René’s companion poured a shot of brandy into each glass and waited for the rant to continue.

‘Have you any idea how much I hate the mountains? Those endless bloody paths and horrible leeches . . . size of your damn’ fingers. But what’s really going to drive me crazy is having that son-of-a-bitch captain following me every step of the way. He’ll be like the worst leech of all, sitting on the underside of my balls.’

René shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. He had spent two full days awake in the PSB headquarters and even a swift injection of alcohol wasn’t doing much to lighten his mood. He had been released for a few hours to prepare his trekking equipment, with Anu being kept in the police cells to ensure he returned. But having made his way home, he had found his restaurant closed, official tape stretched across the front door and a policeman barring his way. Eventually he had phoned an old friend of his in the travel business who’d agreed to lend him some equipment.

‘You’d think eight years here would count for something, wouldn’t you?’ he said, anger suddenly turning to melancholy. ‘You’d think it’d give you some security, some foothold. But just like that’ – René clicked his fingers – ‘they can take it all away. Now I’ve got to betray the very people I wanted to help.’

‘Stop beating yourself up about it, René. It was their decision to go into the restricted area, and you shouldn’t have to pay for their mistake.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ He nodded wearily. ‘But I just don’t understand why a full bloody captain of the PSB would be dealing with this. It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘That’s what worries me too. Are you sure those boys are on the level?’

‘Sure? Who’s sure of anything out here?’ René said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He stared across the bar, thinking back to the last time the boys had come into his restaurant. He couldn’t quite remember the conversation, but he was sure they were just there for the thrill of climbing. That’s all those two were about. So why in hell was a PSB Captain on their trail?

‘What about throwing some money around?’ his friend suggested. ‘You know, make it all go away.’

‘Captain Zhu Yanlei is one of those tight-arses from the mainland. Anyone approaching him waving notes wouldn’t stand a chance.’

In all the years the two men had been organising expeditions in the Himalayas, they had always been able to buy their way out of trouble. The only bone of contention was how much: officials here had soon got wise to the price nervous capitalists could afford when pushed.