Raymond Benson - High Time To Kill

Just when the angle was at its steepest, Bond’s crampons suddenly slipped off his boots. He lost his footing and began to plummet. He slid backward on the ice and attempted to stop himself with his ice ax, but he was unable to obtain a secure hold with it. Chandra jumped into action and held the belay rope tightly.

Bond fell thirty meters and was jerked to a halt by the rope. His back felt as if it had snapped in two. He yelled in pain as he dropped his ice ax.

“Hold on, James!” Chandra called.

Bond swung limply on the rope. The others became aware of what happened and stopped climbing.

“What happened?” Marquis called from above.

“James?” Chandra called. “Are you conscious?”

Bond lifted his hand and waved.

“Can you swing yourself to the wall and get a foothold?”

“I’ll try,” Bond called. He began to swerve and kick, gaining enough momentum to rock himself back and forth on the rope. Finally, he hit the wall of ice but couldn’t find a handhold. He kicked away once again, attempting to maneuver himself toward an anchor that had been set a few-feet to his right. After two more tries he grabbed hold of it and slowly worked his way down the rope to the ledge where Chandra was.

“What happened? Are you all right?” Chandra asked.

“Yes. Gave me a hell of a fright, though. Bloody crampons. They slipped right off my boots!”

“How could that happen?”

“Where are they? Did you see them fall?”

“I think so. Over there somewhere.” They moved carefully along the ledge and found one of them. The other had fallen into oblivion.

Bond picked it up and examined it. The ring that the straps went through was bent and had a two-millimeter gap in it. Bond removed his goggles for a moment to look at it closely.

“This ring was filed,” he said. “Look, it has serrated edges there. Someone tampered with it!”

“When was the last time you looked at them?”

“Well, last night, I suppose. But they were in my tent all night. Who could have . . . ?”

He thought a minute. “Schrenk. He was missing at the team meeting over breakfast. He could have had time to slip into our tent and do the damage.”

Chandra nodded. “It’s possible. Maybe that fire was something he set on purpose to cause a diversion.”

At that moment the two Sherpas caught up with them. Schrenk and McKee were not far behind at the rear. When they appeared on the ledge, Bond cheerfully addressed them.

“My crampons slipped off. Anyone have a spare pair?”

McKee said, “I do. I’m not sure if they’ll fit you. What happened?”

“I don’t know. They came undone somehow.” Bond looked directly at Schrenk, who averted his eyes.

McKee pulled off his backpack and dug into it. He found the two extra crampons, which were wrapped in cloth to protect the other gear from the sharp spikes. Bond tried them on. They were a little small but would do the job.

“Thanks. I’ll make sure the others bring up more when they meet us at Camp Three.”

“What the hell is going on down there?” Marquis called. He was quite some distance away.

Chandra waved the okay sign and they began to climb again.

Four hours later they reached the plateau, 6,600 meters above sea level. Everyone was coughing and attempting to take slow, deep breaths.

“What about oxygen?” McKee asked Marquis.

“We don’t need oxygen until we’re higher up. If you need it now, you’re going to use it all up. How many canisters did you bring?”

“Three, but the Sherpas have the team’s entire supply.”

Marquis nodded. “But we have to conserve it. We’ll need the oxygen at Camp Five, where the plane is. We don’t know how long we’ll be there. Try to make do without it, okay?”

McKee coughed and nodded.

Marquis looked at Bond. “What the hell happened to you down there?”

“Nothing,” Bond said. He thought it best not to alarm anyone about the tampering. “The crampons slipped off. I must not have fastened them very well. My fault.”

“Don’t let it happen again, Bond. As much as I can’t stand you, I’d hate to lose you.”

“Thanks, Roland, that’s comforting.”

Marquis walked away toward his tent. Bond and Chandra looked over at Otto Schrenk, who was helping Doug McKee erect a tent for the two of them.

Was it Schrenk? Or could it have been someone else?

At least they were safely at Camp Three, where they would spend the next week acclimatizing. The rest of the group would be joining them over the next few days.

Bond knew, though, that someone on the team definitely wanted him out of the picture.

TWENTY

HIGHER AND HIGHER

THE OTHERS FROM THE base camp began to arrive in groups the following day. Paul Baack was one of the first, carrying the lightweight laptop satellite phone with his own equipment. Hope Kendall had partnered him, and insisted on examining the Lead Team—but not until she had had a night’s sleep. Bond thought she didn’t look well, but then he remembered how he had felt on reaching Camp Three.

The next day Bond visited the doctor in her tent. They sat cross- legged opposite from each other as she examined him. Bond thought she seemed much better, but he could see that the climb was taking its toll. She wore no makeup, of course, had dark circles under her eyes, and looked thinner.

“How are you feeling, James?” she asked, listening to his breathing with a stethoscope.

“I’m fine now. When I first got to Camp Three, I felt like hell.”

“I know what you mean,” she replied. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“You should heed your own advice and get plenty of rest, then.”

“This is my job,” she said. “Cough, please.”

He did. It was a horrid, dry croup.

“That cough’s a beaut. Does your throat hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to give you some lozenges. You need to drink more water. Are you drinking water?”

“Yes.” He coughed again.

“Then drink more.” She reached into her bag and gave him a packet of vitamin C and eucalyptus lozenges. “Otherwise, you’re fit as a buck rat.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She smiled, but then rubbed her forehead and shut her eyes tightly. “Damn,” she said. “I can’t shake this headache.”

“You need to take it easy,” he said. He put a hand on the back of her neck and massaged it. That brought the smile back.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” she said. “Would you just do that for the next twenty-four hours?”

“Seriously,” he said, “are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she answered but wasn’t very convincing. “Go on, now. Send in your cuzzy.”

“My what?”

“Your cuzzy, your cousin, your brother, your mate . . .” she explained. “It’s Maori talk. Chandra. Send him in. Please.”

Bond let it go and crawled out of the tent.

It was about three hours later when he noticed Marquis rushing to Hope’s tent. Paul Baack was standing outside it, looking as if he were lost and didn’t know what to do. Bond approached him and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Baack said. “Dr. Kendall is sick.”

Bond stuck his head in the tent. Marquis was kneeling by Hope, who was lying on her sleeping bag. Carl Glass was with them.

“We have it under control, Bond, you can leave,” Marquis said rudely.

“It’s all right, he can stay,” Hope mumbled. “God, just let me die now.”

“She’s got acute altitude sickness,” Glass told Bond.

“My head feels like it’s going to explode,” she said. “Goddammit, this has never happened to me before!”

She coughed loudly and gasped when she attempted to breathe deeply.