Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

‘That’s all I know,’ he repeated, pouring some boiling water into his cup and trying to avoid eye contact.

‘We’ll see,’ Zhu said quietly. ‘We’ll see how much you really know.’

Over René’s shoulder, Zhu noticed two soldiers making their way back along the cliff edge from their patrol. As they came closer, he recognised the sergeant from the SOF group and Xie, that idiot private they had brought with them from Lhasa.

‘If you don’t provide us with answers then all you are is dead weight,’ Zhu continued, his eyes running over René’s bulbous stomach. ‘And I have no use for dead weight. It gets cut away.’

The word ‘cut’ came out in a hiss. As Zhu signalled to the soldiers, René’s mind started reeling with fear. What did he mean, ‘cut away’? He felt his mouth go dry as the soldiers started hurrying towards them. He had seen enough already to realise that Captain Zhu had neither morals nor conscience. Ever since Zhu had first walked into his restaurant, René had been living with the terrifying realisation that this man could do whatever he wanted to him and nobody on earth would be able to stop him.

Zhu gave a few curt orders in Mandarin and without warning the two soldiers rushed towards René, grabbing him by the front of his woollen jumper. Xie was first, his ruddy cheeks and square neck only inches from his face, but René’s eyes were immediately drawn past him to the shoulder strap of the sergeant’s rucksack. Taped across the webbing, he could see the outline of a large survival knife, its metal handle faded and scratched from use. Each soldier had one and despite only being able to see an impression of the blade through the sheath, he knew enough about the sergeant to bet that it was razor-sharp.

René felt his stomach clench tight.

‘You have until tomorrow morning to find out where they went,’ he heard Zhu say from behind him. ‘After that, you are of no further use to me.’

Xie shunted René forward so that he stumbled, tripping over one of the guy ropes. A moment later he was dragged out of the camp towards the long line of the cliff edge.

Zhu ignored the Westerner’s shouts, his mind already elsewhere. Time was ticking away and he still had no results. One month. That’s what he had said to the Director General of the PSB. One month. Yet that time was already nearly up and he knew that Beijing would be waiting impatiently for his next report.

There was a rustling of fabric and Chen’s massive frame slowly unfolded itself from his tent. Reaching back inside, he grabbed his laptop, disconnecting one of the wires as he pulled it out into the open.

‘Sir, I have found something that might be of interest.’

Zhu’s eyes turned towards him.

‘I’ve just downloaded a new email that concerns a report from Cambridge, England.’

Zhu remained silent, an air of hostility surrounding his entire body. Chen cleared his throat, looking back to the computer screen as if for support.

‘The report was from four weeks ago but I am afraid I hadn’t seen it as my security clearance was temporarily revoked . . . after the incident . . . with the boy.’

Zhu waited, his patience straining.

‘I have been going back through all my files and found that the report concerns one of the men we are looking for – Luca Matthews. He purportedly spoke to an old informant about something called a beyul . The report was filed by a . . .’ he paused, double-checking the screen ‘. . . a Professor Tang.’

Zhu stared at him, his eyes suddenly alive.

‘Read the report again.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He read the brief in full, including dates and times.

‘I’ve checked twice, sir, and couldn’t find any reference to the word beyul in any of our files.’

‘That’s because it’s classified,’ Zhu snapped distractedly. He turned back towards the cliff, feeling a sudden surge of excitement. He’d been right all along. There was something up there – but could it really be one of the fabled beyuls ? Surely the last of them had been destroyed over thirty years ago? The Cultural Revolution had put paid to all that. They’d combed every river gorge, every mountain summit.

Could there really be any left?

‘Get Beijing on the line immediately. I want full satellite imagery for everything above this cliff-face. Get them to divert a satellite if necessary. And I want full-spectrum coverage to cut straight through this cloud.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And Lieutenant, ensure that no one in the bureau hears of this. Instruct the technician to delete all reference to the search once it has been emailed to you.’

Chen looked momentarily puzzled, but then quickly turned back to his tent.

After a moment, Zhu heard him rummaging through the mess of clothing and cables to retrieve one of their two GSM 900 satellite phones.

He stood for a moment, staring up at the sheer side of mountain, his eyes tracing up and down the great lines of the rock. If there really was a beyul up there, he was sure that’s where the Gelugpas would have hidden the boy. It made perfect sense. But the discovery had to remain his, and his alone. He wasn’t about to let anyone else at the bureau claim credit for such a monumental finding. The beyul would be his and that cliff was now the only thing standing between him and the final hiding place of the Panchen Lama.

Come tomorrow morning, he would start to send the soldiers up there two at a time, whether they could climb or not.

Chapter 40

There was no path so René and the two soldiers were forced to pick their way over the shrubs and bracken that clung to the mountain slopes, tripping on roots or tearing the lower parts of their trousers on the ragged thorn bushes. It was slow going. Ahead of them, the towering façade of the rock-face continued unbroken for as far as they could see.

They had been walking for six hours without rest. René was continuing with dogged determination, but could feel his thighs getting shaky with the effort. He muttered to himself, channelling his hatred on to the rapist private a few hundred yards in front. He could see the thickset neck and shuffling walk as Xie followed the SOF sergeant like a lap dog.

René stopped suddenly and peered down at some strange flowers, growing by the side of a large boulder. The flowers looked like prunes, black in colour and wrinkled on top. Short, bristly hairs stuck out in all directions.

‘ Mandragora caulescens ,’ he muttered, gently rubbing his hand over the petals. He had spent almost an entire month trying to find this particular species when he had first arrived in Tibet over eight years ago. And now here it was, right in front of him. If only the circumstances were different.

He looked up to find that the sergeant had stopped and was watching him closely. René stood up and continued walking, coming to a halt just in front of the other two men. He reached into the pocket of his corduroy trousers and pulled out a squashed packet of cigarettes. He was playing for time, thankful for the rest. Folding open the pack, he offered one to the sergeant, who shook his head impatiently. He then deliberately passed over Xie, taking one for himself, and with his other hand, reached back into his pocket for the lighter.

Xie’s quick eyes moved from the pack to René’s face. He lunged forward, trying to snatch them from René’s grasp, but missed. He went to try again but the sergeant’s hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks. The sergeant then whispered something in Mandarin and Xie quickly lowered his eyes to the ground. With a slow shake of his head, the sergeant moved off again in the direction they were headed.

‘Guess you’re not so matey with the boss after all,’ René said. Xie’s expression hardened as he caught the tone of the Westerner’s voice and his eyes followed the line of Renés mocking smile.