Raymond Benson - High Time To Kill

They reached Phurumba, a drop in altitude to 922 meters, right on schedule at one o’clock. The Sherpas had lunch ready, which again con. sisted of dhal bhat. Rumor had it that there would be chicken for dinner.

After two hours’ rest, the team pushed on toward Chirwa, which was a significantly more difficult walk, as the altitude would have I increased to 1,270 meters by the time they arrived. Because they had already trekked a fair distance that morning, it took them nearly six I hours instead of the allotted four to reach their destination.

Again, the scenery was beautiful. At one point Bond noticed a temple built high on a hill, with a single dirt road winding up to it. An old man standing at the foot of the road with a stick for a cane smiled and beckoned them forward, asking for a handout. One of the Americans gave him a few rupees.

“Right,” Marquis said as they approached Chirwa. The village looked similar to Taplejung but was smaller. “Congratulations on a good day’s trekking. I know we’re all tired. I’m certainly feeling the effects of the altitude change. Let’s get another good night’s sleep and will our bodies to acclimatize quickly! The Sherpas will have dinner ready in an hour. There are not enough lodges to go around, I’m afraid. Some of us will have to pitch tents. There is room for ten people in the lodges. We can draw straws for them, if you’d like, unless someone wants to volunteer to stay in their tents.”

“We don’t mind,” Bond said. He looked at Chandra for approval. The Gurkha shrugged.

“I’ll stay in a tent,” Hope Kendall said.

“Uhm, you don’t have to do that,” Marquis said.

“Why not? Just because I’m a woman? Stop giving me special attention, Roland. Pretty soon we’ll all be in tents for a long time. It doesn’t matter to me, really.”

Bond could see that it was Marquis who didn’t particularly want to sleep in a tent that night. Was she attempting to distance herself from him?

“Fine,” Marquis said. “We’ll do that, then.”

“I’d rather stay in my own tent tonight, if you don’t mind,” She said. It was loud enough for the entire group to hear. Marquis was noticeably embarrassed. Something unpleasant must have occurred between them during the previous night.

Marquis made light of the comment, but Bond knew he was cross that she had said something like that in front of everyone. Marquis ended up staying in a lodge.

Bond and Chandra started to erect a two-man Bibler Torre tent, which was sturdy and could withstand high winds and keep the icy chill out when completely sealed. By the time they were done, a campfire had been lit and people gathered around it. The evening developed into a beautiful mild spring night. There were thousands of stars, and the silhouettes of the peaks against them produced a skyscape that Bond had seldom seen.

Dinner was an Indian-style chicken curry that the cook, Girmi, had made less spicy than usual to accommodate the western tastes. Bond was becoming accustomed to the art of eating with his right hand. The Nepalese were experts at flicking a bite of food into the mouth with their thumb. One of the Americans brought a bottle of inexpensive red wine out of his knapsack, saying that he was saving it for Base Camp but knew that drinking alcohol at higher altitudes was not wise. There was just enough for everyone to have a little in a paper cup. Philippe Leaud produced a harmonica and began to play plaintive melodies. One by one people began to wander away from the campfire and settle in for the night.

Bond walked a short distance into the darkness to answer a call of nature. On the way back, he noticed Hope Kendall’s tent, which she had put up a good hundred feet away from the others. An oil lamp was burning inside, and he could see the outline of her figure against the canvas. As he walked past, roughly fifteen feet away from it, he’d see that the tent flap was open. The doctor was squatting on mat in the middle of the tent. She was still dressed in pants, but she had removed her sweater, exposing a white T-shirt. He paused a moment, anticipating a wave.

She didn’t see him. Instead, she took hold of the bottom of the T-shirt pulled it off over her head. She was naked underneath. Her breasts were larger than was readily apparent when she was full dressed, and the nipples were erect and extended. The areolas were also red and large, almost as if blush had been applied to them. The sight of her sitting there topless was very erotic.

Then she looked up and noticed him standing there. Rather than covering herself with a start, she simply looked at him knowingly and didn’t say a word. Without averting her eyes from his, she reached out and unsnapped the flap of the tent, letting it fall to cover the opening.

What the hell was that all about? Bond wondered. Was she Marquis’s girlfriend or not? It was almost as if she didn’t mind that he got a good look at her and was daring him to do something.

He walked back toward the rest of the camp, pondering the mysteries of the opposite sex, when he noticed Paul Baack working at a portable table. He sat on a collapsible stool, and his large frame looked comical on top of it. He was busily typing on the laptop, which was connected to a Microcom-M Global Satellite Telephone.

“How are things back in civilization?” Bond asked.

“Ah, hello,” Baack said. “This is a wonderful device. It’s the world’s smallest and lightest Inmarsat M satellite telephone. I just got a fix on a satellite and made a call to my girlfriend.”

“Where is she?”

“She lives in Utrecht. Ingrid. Nice German girl. I’m glad you came by. I just received a message for you.”

Baack punched a few more keys and brought up an e-mail written in code. “I can’t understand a word of it, but you might be able to.

Bond leaned over to look at the monitor. It was in a standard SIS code that used word associations to get its message across. Bond frowned as he read it, then said, “Thanks. You can delete it.”

Baack shrugged and said, “I hope it’s not bad news.”

“It’s good and bad,” Bond said. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Bond.”

He walked back to his own tent, where Chandra had just boiled some water with a Bibler hanging stove. It hung from the tent roof to keep the floor clear, minimizing spillage.

“Want some tea?” he asked. “It’s special herbs from Nepal. Help you sleep.”

“I normally despise tea, but I’ll have some,” Bond said. “I just got message from London.

“Oh?”

“No word on Otto Schrenk. SIS confirms that he is known to be a serious mountaineer, but they’re still doing a background check. More interesting is that Dr. Steven Harding is dead. His body was found washed up on the shore at Gibraltar. His throat was cut. There was a note in his pocket that said, ‘Your traitor has ceased to be useful. We hereby return him to you.’ It was signed The Union.’ “

Chandra gave a low whistle. “Then they are on to us, I expect.”

“Have you observed anything unusual so far?”

He shook his head. “Only that Group Captain Marquis and Dr. Kendall aren’t sleeping together tonight!” He chuckled.

Bond avoided that subject and said, “I have a sneaking suspicion that someone from the Union is here.”

“I feel that, too. If not among us, then they are nearby. Perhaps with the Chinese or the Russian expedition?”

Bond removed his boots and put on Patagonia Activist Fleece sleeveless bibs, perfect sleepwear for chilly high altitudes.

“It’s possible. Let’s just be on our guard. Maybe you and I will take a side trip and take a look at the Chinese group.”

“Okay commander.”

“Chandra?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me James.”