Raymond Benson - High Time To Kill

“Fine, James.”

Fatigue must have hit the Gurkha harder than on the previous night, for he was asleep within ten minutes. Bond, however, was wide awake. Sometimes it is difficult to sleep at high altitudes; insomnia is a common malady among mountaineers. Bond often experienced it himself, and he knew it would get worse as they kept ascending. Insomnia, however, wasn’t what was keeping him awake tonight.

His mind was racing with thoughts of Steven Harding, the Union, the dangerous mission they were undertaking . . . and Hope Kendall’s magnificent breasts.

SEVENTEEN

ELEMINATING THE COMPETITION

THE TEAM WERE in relatively good spirits when they awoke and prepared for the second day of trekking. The day’s goal was to reach Ghaiya Bai, which was at an altitude of 2,050 meters—not much of an increase, but it was a good six hours’ hike to get there. The Sherpas left early, as usual, and Bond and Chandra enjoyed a light breakfast of yogurt, known throughout the subcontinent as curd. The buffalo milk curd of Nepal was surprisingly good, Bond thought, but he also imagined that sending overweight people on a trek across Nepal for a month would be an excellent way to diet.

The team met in the center of Chirwa at eight-thirty. The sky was overcast, causing a drop in temperature. Everyone was dressed in more layers—sweaters, jackets—some were even wearing their parkas. Chandra preferred to dress in combat equipment marching order, which basically consisted of a bergen, or rucksack, topped by what he called a “grab bag.” This contained essential bits of kit that he might need in a hurry; such as a radio, small gas stove, articles of warmer clothing, and a waterproof jacket. Ever present was the Gurkha staple, the outstanding khukri knife. It was carried at his waist in a shiny black leather sheath. Two smaller knives, the sharp karta and the blunt jhi , were also part of the khukri package, and these were used to light fires and peel fruit. The larger knife, which was eighteen inches long, was made of tempered steel with a handle 0f buffalo horn.

“The boomerang-like shape symbolizes the Hindu trilogy of Rama, Vishnu, and Shiva,” Chandra explained when Bond asked him about it He pointed to a little nick in the blade near the handle. “You know what this is for? It’s to catch your enemy’s blood as it runs down the blade and keep it from reaching your hand!”

Hope Kendall barely glanced at Bond. It was as if the voyeuristic episode of the previous evening never happened. As the team set off, she began by striding beside Roland Marquis, but after an hour she had dropped back and was walking and talking with one of the Americans. Marquis seemed to be most friendly with Carl Glass, who occasionally looked at Bond as if the “Foreign Office representative” were an outsider and didn’t belong on the expedition. Bond expected a certain lack of acceptance from the other climbers, but Glass in particular looked down his nose at him.

Otto Schrenk always walked alone and rarely said much to anyone. Bond attempted to engage him in conversation, but the man was tight-lipped.

“How did they find you on such short notice?” he asked.

“In eight-thousand-meter climbing, one’s reputation is known,” Schrenk said, as if that explained everything.

A sudden downpour made the second hour into the trek less than pleasant. Everyone scrambled to put on rain parkas, but they kept moving.

Paul Baack caught up to Bond and said, “Hey, Mr. Englishman, there’s your umbrella?” He laughed loudly.

“I left it at home with my bowler hat,” Bond replied.

The rain stopped in thirty minutes, but it left the ground wet and muddy. Marquis gave the order to halt for fifteen minutes to air out the wet parkas. Magically, the sun appeared from behind the clouds and the rest of the day promised to be beautiful.

Bond sat on a rock near Hope Kendall. She was brushing her hair, which glistened in the new sunlight.

“I don’t know about you,” she said offhandedly, “but I’ll be ready for a full aftermatch function when we’re through today, providing I don’t bust my boiler getting to camp.”

“Oh, you like to drink?” Bond asked, referring to her kiwi jargon.

“I’m a doctor, I’m not supposed to drink,” she said. “But I enjoy a pint or two. When I was in college it would make me chunder all the time, but not anymore.”

“How long have you known Marquis?”

“Roland? Uhm . . . six years? I was on an expedition to Everest with him. We met again when he climbed Mount Cook in New Zealand. What about you?”

“Oh, we’re old rivals from Eton. It was a long time ago.”

“I thought there was something between you two,” she said. She began to apply sunblock to her face and other exposed skin areas. “You have to admit that he’s a good head sherang. He always goes for the doctor in everything he does. He’s a hard case.”

“Does that appeal to you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I like men who are boots and all.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, I meant that I like men who give it everything they’ve got. You haven’t been to New Zealand much, have you?”

“I’m afraid not. Once or twice.”

“Where did you go?” She finished brushing her hair and began to reorganize her pack.

“Auckland, mostly.”

“Ah, well, that’s where I live and work,” she said. “It’s the big smoke of New Zealand, isn’t it? I was born in Taupo. It’s a fairly well- to-do place. I got out of there as soon as I could. I didn’t like the snobbery.”

Bond had thought that she might have come from money. She had an aristocratic air about her that bordered on being snooty. Somehow, though, she had risen above the stereotype and seemed to be a genuinely friendly person. Perhaps it was the medical profession that had changed her.

“I lived for a while on the west coast of the south island, where everyone is basically pretty weird,” she said. “People say it’s a lot like California there. I spent some time around Mount Cook—that’s where I learned to climb.”

“What made you become a doctor?”

“That’s a long story. I was pretty wild when I was young. Hell, I’m still young. When I was younger, I should say. All I wanted to do was live in the outdoors, go camping, climb mountains, that sort of thing. And, uhm, there were men.” She shook her head, whistled, and smiled. “I had a huge men problem. I thought there was something wrong with me! I couldn’t get enough . . . hell, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I hardly know you!”

Bond laughed. “We’re spending the next few weeks together, so I wouldn’t worry about that. As a matter of fact, I sometimes think I have the same problem. With women, of course.”

“Well, I had it with women, too,” she said under her breath and rolling her eyes. “I didn’t think there could be such a thing as sex addiction, but I had it bad. When I was treated for it, I became interested in psychology, and that in turn led to medicine. I hadn’t gone to college yet, so I did a complete turnaround. The wild child became a serious student. I moved to Auckland to study to be a doctor, and now I can name every part of your body and spell it, too. I turned the interest in sex into a specialization in sexology for a while—you know, sexual dysfunction and all that—but then I became more attracted to general practice. I suppose you could say I find the human body a very interesting machine. I’m fascinated by it, the way a bloke knows how to take apart a sports car and put it back together. I like to test the body’s limits.”

That explained the rather rough physical examination he experienced the other day.