Dedicated to The Men of the Secret Services of the United States of America.
Chapter I
I looked down and winced as the airliner flew low over the top of the world. Mountains, huge, forbidding, frightening, fantastic peaks garnished with ice and snow. Sheer sheets of ice dipped down into mist-shrouded glaciers, and the cold reached up to grab me through the plane's windows. The top of the world was a good phrase for the place. On maps it is called Nepal, a small, independent kingdom, a tiny monarchy of isolation, a paradise for mountain climbers, a stretch of land between Tibet and India, and a thumb stuck in the mouth of the Chinese dragon. I recalled how Ted Callendar, an AXE agent who'd spent some years there when it was under British domination, described Nepal: "A place where the certain is uncertain. Where the probable is improbable. It's a land where faith and superstition walk hand in hand, where delicacy and brutality share the same bed, where beauty and horror live as twins. It's no place for Western man who believes in logic, reason and probability."
Ted had been gone long ago but his words came back to me as the Nepalese airliner, an old DC-3, was carrying me to Khumbu, in the heart of the Himalayas, under the very nose of the towering Mount Everest, 29,000 feet high. By special arrangement, the airliner was going to land me at Namche Bazar where an area had been cleared for another plane that was due to pick up a man I had to see, Harry Angsley. After seeing Angsley, I'd be leaving the Khumbu area, though I felt like leaving the whole damned place right now. Even the stewardess, a well-stacked, friendly Indian girl in a trim uniform, did nothing for me. I was angry at being here, angry at Hawk, angry at the whole goddamned business. I was Agent N3, all right, chief AXE operative with the rating of Killmaster, and I was always on call, any time of the day or night. That was part of the job, and I knew it and had lived with it a long time, but every so often, I wanted to tell Hawk to go shove it. I had sure as hell felt like it twenty-four hours ago. It seemed like a month now.
Damnit, she was stark naked, waiting for me, stretching out that gorgeous, milk-white body, calling to me with every movement of her hips. It had taken me three baskets of fruit, four boxes of candy and two tickets for a hit show matinee. Not for her, for her mother. Donna had been ready and willing the first time we met at Jack Dunket's party but her mother, the dowager Philadelphia doyenne of the Roodrich clan, watched her debutante daughter like a scorpion watches a grasshopper. There wasn't going to be any ivy-league lothario screwing her choice little daughter, at least not if she could help it Of course, the old dowager never realized what Donna's gray-mist eyes told me right away, and what her lips confirmed at a later date. After various softening-up sallies with the old lady, I managed to get her and a friend off to a matinee for an afternoon. Donna and I went straight to my place, tossed off two martinis and our clothes, and I was just looking down at her eager, straining body when that goddamned blue phone began to ring in the study.
"Don't answer, Nick," she breathed huskily. Her hips were undulating and her arms were reaching to me. "I'll be right back," I said, hoping that maybe he wanted something that could be put off for a few hours. Looking out the airliner window at the ice-capped peaks, I remembered how cold I felt standing naked and arguing with Hawk on the phone.
"It's nearly three-thirty," he had started in his crisp, no-nonsense manner. "You can easily catch the six o'clock shuttle flight to Washington."
I cast around wildly for something to say, some reason that would be logical and reasonable.
"I can't, Chief," I protested. "Impossible. I… I'm painting my kitchen. I'm in the middle of it."
It was a great reason, or it would have been for anyone else. The eloquent silence at the other end of the line attested to that, and then the old fox answered, dry acid in his voice.
"N3, you may be in the middle of something but it's not house painting," he said in careful tones. "Come now, you can do better than that."
I had plunged and I had to play it out. "It was a sudden idea on my part," I said quickly. "I can't get all cleaned up, changed and get the six o'clock plane. How about the first flight tomorrow morning?"
"You'll be on your way somewhere else tomorrow morning," he said crisply. "I'll expect you by eight I suggest you zip up your paintbrush at once and get moving."
The phone clicked off and I swore out loud. The old buzzard could read me like a book. I went back to Donna. She was still on the bed, her back still arched, lips parted, waiting.
"Get dressed," I said. "I'm taking you home."
Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up at me. A cloud passed over the gray-mist eyes. She sat up.
"What are you, some kind of nut?" she asked. "Who the hell was that on the phone?"
"Your mother," I answered crossly, putting on my trousers. That shook her up but only for a moment.
"My mother?" she echoed incredulously. "Impossible. She's still at the matinee."
"Okay, so it wasn't your mother," I said. "But you're still going home." Donna got up and practically flew into her clothes, her face tightly set, her lips a grim, angry line. I didn't blame her. She knew only that I was in some kind of government work and I wasn't about to go into details. I grabbed my bag, always packed and ready to go, and dropped Donna off at her apartment building on the way to Kennedy International.
"Thanks," she said bitingly as she swung out of the car. "Say hello to your psychiatrist for me."
I found myself grinning at her. 'Thanks," I said. "He'll be touched." I paused for a moment to watch her stride furiously into the lobby, past the doorman. I promised myself I'd give her an explanation when I got back. It wasn't my angry mood alone that stopped me from giving her one now. Training, experience and strict orders all played a part in it. In this business one had damned few friends and hardly any confidants. A loose lip was a certain ticket to death, and you never knew what, where or how little bits and pieces of information found their way into the wrong hands. Embarking on a job, everybody was a stranger. You had to remove the word trust from your vocabulary. It became a word you used only when there was no other choice, an emotion you indulged only when unavoidable.
My thoughts were brought back sharply as I felt the airliner begin to set down carefully in the late afternoon sun. I could feel the wicked crosswinds tug at the plane as they whipped upwards off the mountain peaks. Our landing spot would be a narrow airstrip cleared of snow and ice. I sat back, closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander back again, this time to Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C., AXE headquarters. I had indeed made it by eight, and the usual complement of security people passed me along to the night receptionist ensconced outside Hawk's office.
"Mr. Carter," she smiled, looking up at me with wide-eyed interest She had my file out on her desk already and had obviously been reading through it. It had a lot of fascinating information in it, not only about my past work but about my other qualities, such as winning the Nationals in Star Class sailboats, being licensed to drive Formula I cars and being black belt karate. She, in turn, was a cute, round little blonde. For someone who always frowned so on my social life, the old man always seemed to get himself eye-filling dishes at the outside desk. I made a mental note to ask him about that sometime.
"Glad you made it, N3," he said as I walked into his office. His steel-blue eyes told me he damned well expected I'd make it. His spare, New England frame rose and walked over to a movie projector facing a white screen in the center of the room.
"Movies?" I commented. "What an unexpected surprise. Something avant-garde, foreign and sexy, I hope."
"Better than that," he grunted. "Candid camera. A short glimpse behind the scenes in the mysterious kingdom of Nepal, courtesy of British Intelligence."
My file-cabinet mind instantly turned to the page indexed Nepal. It was part of our training to develop such a mental filing case, full of assorted bits of information. I saw a strip of land roughly 500 by 100 miles, a land where roads were considered a luxury, a buffer state between China and Chinese-controlled Tibet, and India. Hawk turned down the lights, snapped on the projector, and my mind cut off.
The first shot was a street scene, men and women, some robed and skirted, others wrapped in brilliant sari-like gowns, mingled with children driving yaks through the crowd. The old men had faces like ancient parchment, the younger people smooth skinned with black, fast-moving eyes. The buildings were pagoda-like in architectural style and the first impression I got was a land which hinted at many other lands. Plainly, both India and China intermingled their influences in Nepal. Genetically, the faces I saw, while reminding one of both the Indian and Chinese peoples, had a character of their own. The camera panned across the scene and picked up a tall man in the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. His head was shaven, his arms powerful and bared and his face the wide-cheeked, tight-skinned countenance of the Nepalese. But his face had nothing of the ascetic, nothing of the Holy Man in it. It was an arrogant, imperious face, impassive with an intense impatience shining through it. He walked through the people who gave way to him like a monarch not a monk. Hawk's voice cut in.
"His name is Ghotak," he said. "Memorize that face. He's a monk, developer of a separatist cult, out for personal and political power. Head of the Teeoan Temple and of the Snake Society, a strong-arm group he has assembled. Ghotak claims he is an inheritor of the spirit of Karkotek, Lord of All Snakes and an important figure in Nepalese mythology."
The camera panned across the street scene again and from the way it was handled I knew the operator was an amateur. The picture cut to a shot of a stone figure with the typically almond-eyed visage of Buddhist statuary. The figure wore an ornate headdress fashioned of hundreds of serpents, and other snakes coiled about its wrists and legs.
"A statue of Karkotek, Lord of All Snakes," Hawk explained. "In Nepal snakes are sacred, and it is forbidden to kill them except under certain clearly defined, religiously oriented circumstances. To kill a snake is to risk incurring the wrath of Karkotek."
The camera switched to two figures, a man and a woman seated on twin thrones topped by a golden nine-headed serpent.
"The King and Queen," Hawk said. "He's a good man, trying to be progressive. He's hemmed in by superstitions and by Ghotak. Tradition is that the King can never appear to be receiving help or his image will be tarnished."
"Which means?" I asked.
That to help him you have to walk on eggs," Hawk answered. The camera switched again and I was looking at an elderly man in a Nehru jacket over a white cassock-like robe. White hair formed a crown over a distinguished, thin face.
"The patriarch Leeunghi," Hawk said. "He sent these pictures. A friend of the Royal family, he's carrying the ball against Ghotak. He has surmised Ghotak's real motives and intentions. He's the one sure friend we have on the spot."
Hawk snapped off the camera. "That's the principle cast of characters," he said. "Ghotak has pretty well convinced the people that he is possessor of the spirit of Karkotek and is guided by the god's wishes. He's guided, all right, but it's by the Red Chinese. They're trying to take over Nepal by flooding in 'immigrants' as fast as they can. But further, effective migration depends on a bill before the King, opening up land to the immigrants and officially welcoming them. Once the people sign a petition to the king to this effect, hell have no choice but to sign the bill."
"And this is what Ghotak is pushing for, I take it," I interjected.
"Right," Hawk said. "The Lord of All Snakes, Karkotek, wants the newcomers admitted, Ghotak tells the people. That's persuasive enough but he backs it up with two other things, his Snake Society strong-arm boys and the legend of the yeti, the abominable snowman. The yeti slays those who oppose Ghotak."
"The abominable snowman?" I scoffed. "Is he still around?"
"He's always been a big part of Nepalese life," Hawk said. "Especially among the Sherpas, the mountain people of Nepal. Don't knock it until you can prove something different"
"No pictures of the yeti?" I asked innocently. Hawk ignored me. "Where do we fit into this?" I went on. "You mentioned British Intelligence."
"It was their chestnut but their man, Harry Angsley, took seriously ill and they called on us for help" Hawk said. "They're very short-handed as it is and, of course, they didn't need to sell State or the War Department on the strategic position of Nepal. In Chinese control, it would be a direct pathway to India. In friendly hands, it could be a very tough nut for the Chinese to crack. It's vital we keep it friendly, or at least neutral. Ghotak is exerting terrible pressure on the King to sign the immigrant decree. He's getting up a final people's petition in a matter of days."
"Which accounts for all the rush," I sighed, thinking back for a moment to Donna Roodrich. "Will I get a chance to contact Angsley?"
"He's in the Khumbu region, at Namche Bazar, waiting to be flown out and to brief you on details," Hawk said. "The flight connections for you have been cleared right through by special arrangement Military jet the first part of the way, and then you switch to commercial airliner in India. Get moving, Nick. A matter of days stand between us and the Red Chinese picking up all the marbles."
Under the left wing of the airliner I saw a cluster of houses perched on a small plateau in the midst of the towering mountains, as though a giant hand had placed them there. The plane was heading for them and I could make out the narrow strip of cleared land running alongside the edge of a cliff. Snake gods, power-mad monks, superstitions and abominable snowmen. The whole thing had the flavor of a third-rate Hollywood scenario.
When the plane landed, I went directly to the small and somewhat primitive hospital where Harry Angsley waited for the plane that would take him back to England. Propped up in bed, I saw a man who was little more than a living skeleton, a hollow-eyed, sunken-faced apparition. The nurse on duty, an Indian girl, told me that Angsley had been stricken by a very severe attack of the awahl, the malarial fever that is often fatal, and rampant in the lowland swamps of the Terai area bordering India. But, with typical British courage, he was alert and willing to tell me all that he could.
"Don't underrate the place, Carter," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "It comes at you in a hundred different ways. Ghotak holds all the cards. Frankly, I think there's bloody little chance to pull this out. He's got the people all wrapped up."
A fit of coughing interrupted him and then he turned to me again, his eyes searching my face.
"I can see you'll push on with it, though," he whispered. "Sorry I can't work with you, Carter. Heard of you. Who in this bloody business hasn't? This is the plan for you. You're to slip into Katmandu and then appear as a friend of the Leeunghi family."
"I understand I'm to start out alone, camp in the Tesi Pass where a guide will meet me tomorrow night and guide me in past Ghotak's Snake Society strong-arm squad."
"Right," Angsley agreed. "That means you'll need heavy-weather equipment. Danders Trading Store here in Khumbu is the only place you can get it. It's off-season, but I hope he can outfit you. You're bigger than most who come this way. You'll also need at least one high-powered big-game rifle."
"I'll get down there right away. I nearly froze on the way here from the airport," I said.
"One last thing," Angsley said, and I could see the man's energies were failing fast. "The Sherpas, the mountain people, are fantastic guides and mountaineers. Like all Nepalese, they are full of superstitions, but they stay open minded. Convince them, and you can win them over. I've been having most of my trouble with a countryman of mine, a journalist from England who tailed me here. You know that breed. When they smell something hot, they're bloody bird dogs. Publicity at this time would wreck everything."
"I'll handle it," I said grimly. "I'll stop by tomorrow before I leave. You lie back and take it easy now."
The visit had done nothing to erase my grim, angry mood. Danders Trading Store turned out to have little that could fit me. From bits and scraps, he rounded up enough in my size to outfit me. Yak-hide and fur-lined boots, a heavy fur-lined parka, gloves and snowshoes. He had one good gun left and I took it, a lever action Marlin 336.
"I'm getting in new stock next month," Danders said to me. "I'm about cleaned out now, as you can see. But if you're coming back this way next month I'll have anything you want."
"Not if I can help it," I answered, paying him and loading everything into the heavy bag he furnished. I was walking out the door when I collided with a figure in a bright green nylon parka, the kind one sees on the ski slopes of the Swiss Alps. From under a furred, Tibetan hat, two bright and active blue eyes met mine. Pink cheeks set off a straight, thin nose on a pretty, frank face.
"Hello, Yank," she said in a very British voice. "I've been looking for you. I just left our friend Harry Angsley. My name's Hilary Cobb, Manchester Journal and Record."
Angsley hadn't said his journalist nemesis was a girl and a damned attractive one, as much as I could see. She wore slacks, which can hide a multitude of sins, but her legs were long and her breasts swelled the parka, an accomplishment of sorts. I watched her eyes rove over the purchases I was lugging out of the store.
"Going mountaineering?" she smiled, falling into step beside me. "I think we'd best have a little talk, Yank. I'd like to help you if you cooperate with me."
She was, I quickly saw, one of those active, aggressive British girls who torpedo their attractiveness by their bulldog determination to be completely unfeminine. I was in no mood for anything bothersome, and I decided to set her straight fast.
"I would forget all about me, honey," I said. "Make like you never saw me."
"The name is Hilary," she said crisply.
"Okay, Hilary," I said. "See how agreeable I am. Now you be agreeable. If I get a story for you, I'll tell you when I pass back this way."
"Don't be childish," she said snappishly. "Your being here is a story already. Besides, I've been around too long to buy that land of put-off. Something big is going on here. We figured that when we learned Harry Angsley had been sent here. So don't put on that big, fierce bear routine, old boy. Hilary doesn't scare off."
There was a hostility about her that bugged me at once. I've always disliked hostile women. They were always fighting the war between the sexes, usually inventing imaginary slights to fight over.
"I strongly suggest you cooperate with me," she said, flashing a dazzling smile. She had a pretty face despite her annoying attitude.
"That sounds like a threat, doll," I commented, trudging on through the snow-covered streets.
"Advice," she smiled again. "I could get in your hair in lots of ways, and I will unless you let me in on the ground floor, as you Yanks say. I can be thoroughly disagreeable."
"You're proving that, already," I growled. "Now, I'll give you a bit of advice, doll. Get lost."
She stopped and I walked on, feeling the glare of her eyes at my back. I always felt a sense of waste when I met a girl with her face and her attitude. Under other conditions, I would have tried changing that hostility into something warmer. Here, I was too generally annoyed to bother with anything but getting a room at the local inn. Angsley had told them to have one ready and they did, a small cubby with a square window. The inn was not much more than a large, converted stable but it was warm and a place to eat as darkness fell. I put the gear in my room and went downstairs for a bite, stepping over two chickens squatting on the lower step of the wooden stairway.
A fire leaped in the large fireplace to one side of the room. I had yak steak, which left a lot to be desired, and some of the Nepalese staple, good old-fashioned potatoes. The local brew, a warmish beer called chang, did little to excite me, and I switched to tea which was at least strong. I was midway into dinner when I saw her come down the staircase and head toward me. There were about twelve rooms at the inn and I should have figured she'd be in one of them. She wore a light-blue, wool sweater which her breasts pushed up and outwards sharply, and her legs were full but well shaped. Her hair, previously hidden by the hood of the parka, was ash blonde and short. I watched her approach and let my glance take her in, unabashedly lingering on the full swell of her breasts as she halted at the table.
She waited, eyes narrowed, coolly watching me, lips pursed.
"Finished?" she finally said.
"Nice equipment" I commented, between bites of my yak steak. "Too bad it's not on some other girl."
"You mean on your kind of girl."
"What's that?" I asked, smiling up at her.
"The kind that wants to stare into your bright, blue eyes and feel your muscles and be impressed," she said. "The land that caters to your ego by being willing to fall into bed with you at the drop of a hat."
"Make that trousers," I said.
"Have you thought about what I said?" she asked coldly.
"Not for a second, Hilary, honey," I said-
"You're going to remain uncooperative, I take it."
"You take it right, sweetie," I answered.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," she said, turning and striding off.
"Hilary," I called after her. She halted instantly and turned around. "Don't talk like that," I grinned. "It scares me so I tremble. Notice?"
Her lips tightened and she stalked off. She did have good equipment, I reflected, watching her rear wiggle off. I wondered if anyone ever used it. I struggled through the rest of my yak steak, and was just finishing tea when I saw a kid enter and walk to the desk. The Nepalese there pointed in my direction and the kid came over to me. He thrust a note at me. I flipped it open quickly.
"Unexpected developments. Please get here as quickly as you can. Angsley."
I handed the kid a quarter, bundled up, and went into the night. The wind tore into me at once, and I watched a line of Sherpas moving into the village, their snow-crusted clothes evidence that they'd just come down from the mountain passes. At the hospital, the English-trained Nepalese nurse told me that Harry Angsley was asleep. I showed her the note and she frowned.
"Impossible, sir," she said. "Mr. Angsley's been asleep for hours. He's had no one here to take a message for him. In fact, the medication we give him after dinner usually sedates him through the night"
Now I was frowning, and a sinking feeling had seized the pit of my stomach. I ran all the way back to the inn, my lungs burning from the cold air as I reached my room. I flung open the door and the sinking feeling Sunk deeper. All the equipment I'd purchased was gone. Heavy parka, snow gear, boots, rifle, everything. Without it, I wouldn't stand a chance getting through Tesi Pass, where I was to meet the guide from the Leeunghi family. Without it, I wouldn't be going anywhere. Harry Angsley's words leaped up in my head. Don't underrate the place, he'd said. It comes at you in a hundred different ways. It was neat, even clever. No rough stuff, just a neat job of fencing me in. I looked at the door to my room. It was such a simple latch that a child could pry it open. Through the square little window I saw that it had started to snow. Shoving a heavy chair against the door, I went to bed. I'd pay another visit to Danders' store in the morning, but it was extremely unlikely he'd have a thing I could use, and I had to be on my way into that pass by noon. Maybe Angsley would have an idea.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep, which wasn't that hard. On the bed beside me I'd placed Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger that was a part of me, always strapped into its shoulder holster. Hugo, my pencil-thin stiletto, lay in its sheath along my right forearm. I had taken no special equipment on this job. There hadn't been time, as Hawk had said. The call from the British was urgent and entirely unexpected. On this one there would be just Wilhelmina, Hugo and me. Maybe I wouldn't need either of them. One could always hope.
I slept well. It was a trick I'd taught myself long ago. The morning sun was filtering coldly through the little window when I awakened, and I was at Danders Trading Store as he opened. As I feared, he hadn't a damned thing I could even make fit. I was on my way to the hospital to see Angsley when Hilary Cobb intercepted me. I was in no mood for more of her foolishness.
"Buzz off," I growled, brushing past her.
"Suppose I could help you," she said. "I heard you were robbed last night."
I paused, turned and gave her a long look. I had told the desk clerk at the inn, and he could have relayed it to her, but suddenly my sixth sense told me that wasn't so.
"How could you help me?" I asked quietly. She was very casual and self-controlled.
"I might have some equipment that would fit you," she said airily.
"Such as a heavy-weather parka?" I asked.
"Yes," she said casually.
"And boots that might fit me?"
"They just might," she smiled.
"Maybe you have a rifle, too?"
"I just might," she said smugly. She didn't read the deadliness in my voice. She was too busy being smug and enjoying her own cleverness. "Of course, you'd have to cooperate with me," she added cutely.
You little bitch, I said inwardly to myself. It was obvious what had happened. She'd sent the note, slipped into my room, and made off with my things. I looked at her and silently called her a host of names. Among them was the word "amateur." She was so pleased with her little caper. I decided to teach her a lesson.
"I guess I'll have to cooperate with you," I smiled. "Where do you have my… this equipment you can let me have?"
"In my room," she smiled smugly. I returned her smile and once again she failed to see the deadliness in it Amateur, I said to myself again. "Then you'll cooperate properly?" she questioned again. "Promise."
I smiled, putting some sheepishness into it. "I'll cooperate properly, I promise," I said. "Let's get the stuff. I've got to be on my way."
"We'll be on our way," she corrected, starting off for the inn. I wore a proper air of resignation mixed with reluctant admiration, and she went for it like a fish for a worm. "I guess I underestimated you," I said respectfully, watching her lap it up.
As she opened the door to her room I quickly swept the place, seeing that my stuff was all there. It was neatly piled into a corner. On the bed there was an open traveling bag, and I watched her take off her parka. She was just turning toward me when I had her by the back of the neck, holding her with one big, angry hand. I slammed her face down on the bed, yanked her sweater up and off and tied the sleeves around her, pinning her arms behind her back. She tried to scream but I turned her over and slapped her once, just hard enough to make her teeth rattle. I yanked her to her feet and then slammed her down in a chair. With a stocking I snatched from her open traveling bag, I tied her to the chair and stepped back. Her breasts spilled over the brassiere and her eyes were no longer complacent and smug but full of terror.
"What… what are you going to do?" she stammered. "Please, I… I was only trying to do my job."
I unhooked the bra and whipped it from her. She gasped as though she'd been struck, and I saw tears well up in her eyes. Her breasts were beautifully peaked, full and taut with the flat nipples of the virgin.
"You… you louse," she said through her tears, gasping out the word. "You promised you'd cooperate with me properly."
"I'm cooperating with you properly," I said. "I'm fixing it so you won't have to trudge through all that ice and snow and maybe get into more trouble."
I reached one hand down and cupped it around one breast, full and firm with smooth, youthful skin. She tried to shrink back and shivered. Tears filled her eyes again but her anger fought through them.
"I'll fix you for this, I swear it," she breathed. "You leave me alone, do you hear?"
"I hear," I said, running my thumb over her nipple. She gasped again and tried to pull away. "Now you hear. I could do anything I wanted to do with you," I said, stepping back. "I could teach you what it's like to be a girl or I could just embarrass the hell out of you. Or, I could drop you off a cliff and nobody'd much know or care here. In short, Hilary, honey, you're operating out of your league. You're playing and I'm serious. That's your first lesson. The second one is never trust anyone you've just zinged."
"Give me my clothes," she said, defiance fighting through her fright.
"No dice," I said. "You'll work yourself loose by late afternoon and you can get dressed then. All you'll have is a slight case of chillblains. And one last thing. You're lucky. I can be a much bigger louse'."
I walked out and looked back at her. Her anger had taken over, now that she was sure I wasn't going to rape her. I enjoyed watching her turn different shades of red as I lingered to explore her breasts with my eyes.
"As I said, nice equipment," I commented with a grin. "Go back to Manchester and try using it."
I closed the door, taking my gear with me. Not more than ten minutes later I was suited up and on my way. I'd been given a rough map of the Tesi Pass through the glaciers. The rest was up to me. The cluster of houses grew smaller and more inviting as I struck out down a glacial slope, pack on my back, the Marlin 336 slung over one shoulder. "Hilary Cobb," I said into the wind. "You don't know it but I've done you a helluva favor."
Chapter II
I don't think I ever felt quite so small and alone and overpowered as I made my way through the winding, ice-slick paths of the Himalayan range. I'd quickly lost sight of the village and as I trudged on, the wind tore and whipped at me like some avenging, wrathful spirit bent on destroying the stranger in its land. Behind me, I could make out the towering peak of Everest, tallest of them all, with Lhotse close beside it. To the right of them, across a terrifying series of jagged peaks, stood Makelu and to the left the heaven-scraping Cho Oyu. As I descended deeper into the range, I was surrounded by sheets of ice and vast regions of snow. Gaping crevasses, large enough to lose an army in, loomed up on all sides, and glacial slopes cut through the precariously marked path I followed. The sharp sounds of shifting ice, cracking glaciers and the rumble of snowslides, gave me a feeling of helplessness in the face of nature's awesome strength. I paused to tighten a bootstrap. My fingers stiffened in the time it took me to tighten the laces. I felt the skin of my face grow hard as the wind and the cold combined to give a mask-like texture to my features. And I was descending into the Tesi Pass. I shuddered to think what it was like climbing up toward the tops of those frightening peaks.
I paused at a cluster of ice-free rocks to take out the map and check my position. According to the simplified route traced out, I was in position. A sudden noise startled me and I swung the Marlin from my shoulder to see three tahrs, the Himalayan goats, bounding across the rocky terrain, their reddish, thick coats reflecting the rays of the setting afternoon sun. I watched them move effortlessly up the crags and started to hike on, envying them. The afternoon sun was now gone, hidden behind the towering peaks, and it would be dark very quickly. I hurried my pace and reached the mouth of the route known as Tesi Pass. It wound its way between the great mountains, a narrow ribbon amid the uncharted vastness of glacial ice, rock and snowdrifts. My instructions were to make camp anywhere within the pass and the guide, spotting my campfire, would find me. I picked a spot sheltered from the swirling wind and spent the remaining daylight hours gathering firewood. Amid the towering sentinels of unyielding rock, crowned by eternal snows, twisted, gnarled and mossy rhododendron trees somehow grew in defiance of all natural logic. As I gathered enough small twigs to start the fire and enough larger wood to keep it going, I saw musk deer and pheasant filtering through the trees. As I had enough dried meat in my pack I needed nothing further, and I lugged the wood back to the spot I'd chosen.
It was getting dark and I was starting to light the fire, using my lighter, when I was suddenly aware that I was not alone. I dropped the Marlin into my hands and whirled to face the figure standing quietly some fifty yards away. The man began to advance slowly, raising one arm in greeting, and I lowered the gun. His face, all but hidden beneath the low, furred hood of his parka, revealed weathered skin, small eyes and the flat, wide cheekbones of the Nepalese people. His legs were encased in yards of cloth, and goatskin boots covered his feet. The man walked up to me and spoke in halting English.
"You wait for guide," he said. My eyebrows went up.
"You aren't due for hours," I said.
"Me early," he answered. "You go to Leeunghi family?"
I nodded, and he motioned with a wave of his arm to follow.
"Long trip," he said. "Me come early. Make much time by night this way."
I shrugged. It had been my understanding that night travel through the pass was especially dangerous, but I wasn't equipped to argue the point. Besides, I hadn't relished the idea of spending most of the night alone by the fire in the vast emptiness of the pass with only the howling wind to keep me company. That is, if I were lucky. There were no doubt wolves in this area. And, I smiled to myself, there was always the yeti, the abominable snowman. I cast a backward glance at my unlighted pyramid of wood and followed after my guide. He moved with the surefootedness of the tahrs and I found myself scrambling and slipping to stay a reasonable distance behind him. He set a path that took us out of the pass at the first cut and climbed upwards, scrambling over slippery ice-covered cliffsides and along narrow ledges. Night fell, and we continued upwards in the darkness and then, with a special magic of its own, the moon came up and reflected an ice-blue brilliance from the snow and glacial formations. The blackness of the rocks was a startling contrast to the snow, and as I looked out over the wildness it had the angularity and sharp, etched pattern of a Duchamps or a Mondrian canvas. I could see my guide clearly now, just ahead of me, and we had come to a fairly broad ledge of rock.
"We rest here," he grunted, leaning back against the ice-covered wall of rock rising up from the one side of the ledge. I knelt, set down my pack, and gazed in awe at the magnificence of the sight stretching before my eyes, an awesome beauty that not even the bitter cold could dispel.
Hawk was fond of saying that a top agent in this grim, nasty business had to have the experience of an octagenarian, the reflexes of a cat, the nerves of a trapeze artist and the psychic ability of a clairvoyant. If he wanted to stay alive, that is. The psychic part I'd always found especially true, and suddenly it came true again. The hair on the back of my neck was not too frozen to stand suddenly, and I felt it rise as I sat on my haunches looking out at the awesome panorama. I whirled just as he came at me, both arms outstretched to push me headlong over the edge. I had only one chance and I took it, diving to the ground and grabbing his leg. He toppled, falling over me, and we both narrowly missed rolling over the edge. I got one leg up enough to push myself forward and I slid out from under him. But he was, as I'd already seen, part mountain goat, and he was on his feet and atop me, driving me back with the force of his attack. I felt my footing go out from under me on a stretch of ice and I went down. His hands were reaching for my throat, strong hands with powerful arms. I got a heel into a crack in the rock and pushed. He rolled to one side as I threw him off. I crossed a right and felt it bounce harmlessly off the heavy fur edge of his hood.
I scrambled to my feet as he regained his, and now I saw him move warily toward me. The first surprise attack had sent the rifle skittering off along the ledge and Wilhelmina was buried under my parka and sweater. The tight wristlets of the parka kept me from dropping Hugo into my palm. His small eyes were but glittering pinpoints in the moonlight, and his arms held half outstretched gave no sign of what his next move would be. I shifted my glance to his feet, saw him shift his weight to his right foot, move forward and try a grab for me. I ducked to the left and swung. This time I connected and he went backwards and down, sliding hard into the stone back of the ledge. I went after him and my foot flew out from under me on a piece of ice-coated rock. I fell, grabbed at the edge and pushed myself back from it. He was on his feet again and aiming a kick at my head. I managed to avoid it, grabbed his foot and yanked, and he came down hard beside me. We grappled, and I pushed him back away from the edge, but he was wiry and fought with a deadly desperation. I tried a karate chop along the side of his neck but the thickness of his parka deadened the effect. He tore himself from my grip, whirled away and when he turned, I saw the glint of the moon on the long, curved knife blade. He came in fast and slashed down with the curved blade. It tore a gaping hole in the front of my parka that ran the entire length of the garment. I fell back as he slashed again with the blade, wickedly bringing it down in a hook, and once again I felt it slash into the bulky parka. He had ruined the parka but he'd also opened a convenient hole in it I reached through, yanked Wilhelmina out and fired. He was coming at me again when the big 9mm slugs hit him, and he stiffened, staggered backwards and collapsed. He was dead before I walked over to him.
I searched him but found nothing. His parka was too small to fit me but it would do to stuff into the gaping holes he'd slashed in mine. I stripped it from his lifeless form and stuffed it into the front of my own where the bitter wind had already found its way through.
I had little choice but to try and make my way back to where I'd started to build a fire in the pass. To go on would mean becoming hopelessly lost and risking certain death. As I began to pick my way back carefully, trying to remember the way we'd come, I wondered whether the real guide who was to meet me would eventually show up. They had gotten their assassin to reach me early, but maybe they'd also slain the real guide. I could do nothing but wait and see. I retrieved the rifle from where it had skittered away and proceeded downward once again, retracing our route with only a few minor mistakes. My little pyramid of wood was still there, undisturbed, and I managed to get the fire going quickly, reveling in its warmth. I huddled by the fire while the wind mounted in intensity as the night deepened, and I dozed off a few times. I was wakened once by the howl of a snow leopard prowling the blackness of the night.
It was past midnight when I heard the faint sound of footsteps on the snow, a soft, crunching sound. I slithered back out of the circle of light made by the fire and brought the big Marlin around, my finger on the trigger. Peering into the moonlit pass I saw the figure approaching slowly. I waited until the figure, also bundled up in furred hat and thick parka, neared the fire, and then I moved forward, rifle aimed at it.
"Stay right there," I commanded. The figure halted and I walked up to it. As I approached I saw that the newcomer was small, not much higher than my shoulder.
"What do you do here?" I asked. "Are you passing through?"
"I come to take you to my father," the answer came in a soft, liquid voice. I lowered the rifle.
"A girl?" I exclaimed in astonishment. She moved forward and I saw a small, smooth young face peering out from beneath the big, furry hat and the upturned collar of the parka. I could make out a small, pert nose and soft brown almond eyes. She sank down beside the fire wearily.
"Do not be surprised," she commented in perfect English, just the trace of a British accent in her tone. "The Sherpa women can outclimb and outwalk any of the men. I am not one of the Sherpa, but I have grown up in these mountains."
"Surprises seem to be a part of your country," I said, sinking down beside her. "I've already had one tonight." I quickly told her of the other guide who had come for me and I heard her draw her breath in sharply.
"A thousand apologies to you," she said. "My father will be heartsick to hear of this. We were afraid something like it might happen but we were helpless to prevent it. Only three days ago we found out that one of our servants who had relayed messages between my father and Mr. Angsley belonged to Ghotak's Snake Society. That is why he sent me off to meet you at once. He knew he could have trust in me."
She was warming her hands before the fire, and I put on some more wood. Even bundled up in the shapeless layers of clothing there was something petite about her, and her movements as she stretched before the flames were fluid and graceful.
"I am Khaleen," she announced simply. "Only daughter of the House of Leeunghi and, since the death of my mother, woman of my father's home."
"And I'm Nick, Nick Carter, Khaleen," I replied. "You speak perfect English. Where did you learn?"
"I studied in England as a young girl," she said. "I returned at the death of my mother. We await your coming with great hopes born of desperation. Ghotak is close to victory."
I smiled grimly. "I'll give it everything I can," I answered. "I've already got one personal score to settle with this Ghotak cat. Hired assassins sent to kill me make me more than a little annoyed."
Khaleen smiled, her teeth beautifully even and white. She was studying me with a wisdom in her eyes that was born not of experience but of heritage.
"I think that if there is still time, you will find a way to help us, Mr. Carter," she said slowly.
"Nick," I corrected her. She smiled again and moved closer to me. I wished I could see more of her than the tiny piece of her face showing through the layers of clothing.
"We will rest a few hours by the fire before starting the trip back," she said. "We will lie close together for added warmth." She lay down in front of the fire and gently pulled me down beside her. Turning on her side so that we lay back to back, she immediately fell into a sound sleep. As I lay awake a while longer I realized the truth of her actions. Even through the heavy clothing, I could feel the warmth of her body against mine. I fell asleep shortly after, the rifle cradled in my arms.
It was still dark when I felt her stir and I awoke.
"We will start back now," she said. "It is a long and hard trip." We threw some snow on the fire and I found myself following her at an amazing pace. Her small form moved gracefully and easily through the pass, down steep ridges and along rocky ledges so narrow we had to progress inch by inch, each step an invitation to sudden death. When night came again, we were lower down in the mountains, and I saw greenery. The temperature had abated somewhat. The fire was still welcome, however, and we ate the dried meat in my pack. We had spoken very little during the trip, conserving our breath and our energies. When we finally encamped, we were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep, and in the morning we were off to an early start again. Khaleen had timed things so that we slipped into Katmandu by night, and she skirted around quiet, dark streets to bring me finally to the door of a big wooden house with the traditional pagoda-like roof supported by strong timbers. She opened the door and beckoned for me to follow. Inside, she called out in her native tongue. I heard sounds from an adjoining room, and through the doorless archway I saw the man whose picture I'd seen on the film. He walked in with brisk steps and bowed briefly. I did the best I could in my bulky outfit.
He helped me off with my things while Khaleen spoke quickly to him, and when she'd finished he looked up at me with deep, round eyes. "I apologize that your introduction to our land was one of death," he said. His eyes roved up and down my frame, towering and appearing even bigger in the low-roofed room.
"You are an impressive man, Mr. Carter," he said. "It is good. The people are easily led, easily impressed. Come, let us go in and sit down. We have much to discuss."
I noticed that Khaleen had disappeared as I followed the patriarch into a warm room with dark wood paneling and a stone stove set in one wall, a blazing fireplace in the other. Gleaming copper and brass urns, trays and pots were set into wooden niches, and a thick rug lay casually across the floor. We sat on low, blanket-covered stools and benches and the patriarch poured tea into pewter mugs.
"Tomorrow night there is to be a Spirit Meeting to Karkotek at Ghotak's temple hall," the old man said. "I fear it will be more than your eyes have witnessed, young man."
"These eyes have witnessed a helluva lot," I commented.
"During such a meeting, Ghotak inflames the people to mass eroticism," Leeunghi went on. "When they are in the throes of their erotic sensations he will encourage more and more of this mass psychological phenomenon until the people are spent and exhausted. Then his Snake Society men will pass the petition to the king among them to sign and of course they will do so."
"You have a plan to prevent this, I take it?"
"The only possible one at the moment," the old man said. "I will introduce you as an old friend when the gathering assembles, one who comes from a far-away land with news of Karkotek. The Spirit of Karkotek roams across the face of the earth, according to legend."
"And I'll tell the people that Karkotek has given no sign that he favors Ghotak's position," I chimed in.
"Precisely," Leeunghi agreed. "Ghotak will argue and threaten. I do not know exactly what he will come up with but he will fight hard, you may be sure. The important thing is that we maneuver him into a position where he cannot get his petition signed at the end of the ritual."
"I've got it," I said. "Hell hold the ritual in any case, right?"
"That is correct," the patriarch said. "He cannot deny the people the ritual. But we must deny him his objective, whatever the price."
"Do you think they will really pay any attention to me?" I asked. "After all, I'm a total stranger to them."
"They will listen to you because first, you come as my friend and I am respected here," he answered. "And then, because you, having heard of Ghotak's claim, have come all this distance to speak out against it."
I smiled. I was beginning to see the intricate, wily twists and turns of the old man's mind, plainly learned and wise in the ways of his people. He stood up abruptly.
"Your room is upstairs and a bath is waiting for you there," he smiled. "The Western-style bathtub is a convenience I became used to during my days in the British army. I think my home is perhaps one of the very few in all this region with such conveniences, outside of the Royal Palace."
"Speaking of Royal Palaces," I said, "where does the King fit into this?"
"He prays for our success, but he must remain in the background," Leeunghi said. "If we fail to stop Ghotak, he will be forced to accede to his demands."
The old man and I exchanged bows and I went into my room which was small but comfortable, with a wide bed covered by a thick blanket of goat's fur. The bath was in a tiny cubicle adjoining the room, really only large enough to hold the bathtub itself and a towel rack. The water was already in the tub and I let the warmth relax my aching muscles. I'd just dried myself off and was stretched out under the goat's fur blanket when there was a knock at my door and Khaleen entered. I sat up in surprise. She wore a light blue robe of filmy material and her hair hung loose in black cascades down to her shoulders. Her face, freed of the parka, was ivory smooth with high, wide cheekbones set off by the delicately shaped almonds of her eyes. Her lips, wet and moist now, glistened in loveliness. Though small, her breasts thrust out sharply through the robe and she stood before me, a jewel-like, shimmering delicacy radiating from her. She sat down beside me on the wide bed and I could see she wore nothing beneath the robe. The tips of her breasts were pinpoints of provocativeness though she was seemingly unaware of this.
She placed her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back onto the bed. "Please turn over," she said. I did so and she began to massage my back and neck and shoulders with a touch that combined delicacy and strength.
"Is this a custom?" I asked in curiosity.
"To those guests who have journeyed far and long to visit us," she remarked. I lay quietly, relaxing and enjoying the sensuous touch of her hands as she massaged my body. I'd been massaged before but Khaleen's hands caressed as well as massaged, and I wondered if she knew it. I turned my head to watch her and she smiled at me as she kept on with her task. She drew the fur blanket down and her hands smoothed the skin at the base of my spine, pressing soothingly down on the nerve endings clustered there. Then, gently, she turned me over and rubbed my chest while I watched the dancing light from the flickering oil lamp play on her intent face. Finally, finished, she drew the blanket up over my chest. I caught her wrist and she sat quietly, making no movement to pull away.
"You're a very beautiful creature, Khaleen," I said. "Do you know that?" She smiled, a wise, Asiatic smile, and I had my answer. Like all women everywhere, she knew her charms all too well. She drew both hands softly across the top of my chest, up to my neck and then down again.
"You have a beautiful body," she said softly. She got up, smiled, blew a kiss at me and was gone on soft, soundless steps. I fell asleep instantly and slept like a baby.
When morning came I was surprised at how warm the day was in the valley. I needed only a shirt and a light windbreaker as I went for a walk through the streets. The old man had breakfasted with me, and I'd caught glimpses of Khaleen flitting silently through the house. After breakfast I went out to get some local color. I'd walked only a few blocks when I came to the imposing temple and the long, low assembly hall behind it. Ghotak, looking as he had on the films I saw in Hawk's office, came down the steps accompanied by three fairly tall, bare-armed men in royal blue balloon-sleeved shirts, open down to the waist. I had the impression he'd been waiting inside the door for me to come along. His timing was too good. He came directly at me and his imperious face was cold and set. He nodded, disdaining the usual bow.
"The friend of the Leeunghi House has come," he said, a sneer on his lips. "We were expecting you."
"Really?" I said. "Somehow, I got the idea you weren't."
His eyes moved slightly but his face remained impassive.
"You would be well advised not to interfere with affairs that are not your concern," he said. He, too, had obviously learned his English in the British schools that once dotted the land. Peering into his cold, deep eyes, I saw at once that there was no chance of this man being anything but an enemy, so I decided to play it straight.
"You're telling me to mind my own business," I said.
He shrugged. "Put it more crudely, if you wish," he said. "You of the Western world seem obsessed with crudity."
"And you of the Eastern world seem obsessed with power," I replied. "Thanks for the advice. I'll remember to forget it."
He couldn't keep the flash of anger from flaring in his eyes as he turned and walked back into the temple. He spoke to his three aides and they turned to me.
"You will come with us," the tallest one said, his voice low and tense. "If you do not come quietly we will let it be known that you have insulted the lama. In minutes, a crowd will gather to tear you limb from limb."
I weighed the threat and decided there was probably something to it. But I was more interested in finding out what they had in mind. I fell in beside them. One led the way while the other two flanked me. I was led alongside the low meeting house, around the back of it and into a small, tree-shrouded clearing.
"Ghotak has decided that you have come to make trouble," the tallest one said, facing me. "It becomes necessary to make you realize how wrong you will be to do this. Ghotak is sorry he must teach you so severe a lesson."
I smiled inwardly. It was a different approach but I knew the tactics would be the same. They intended to give me a good going-over. Almost as one, they reached inside their loose shirts and each one drew out a narrow length of cured bamboo, about the thickness of a riding quirt. The leader of the trio raised his hand and came down with it. I heard it whistle as it went through the air, turned away and raised my arm in defense. I felt the painful slash as it struck and felt the immediate trickle of blood on my arm. I moved back and smiled. Silent but nasty little weapons, I saw. The tallest one moved in again and now the other two were about to start slashing with their rods.
"Wait a minute " I said. They stopped dutifully. Maybe Ghotak thought his assassin had missed connections with me, but he was about to learn differently. Maybe these three were bully-boys in Nepal but compared to the kind I was used to handling, they were strictly bush-league. I had to smile as I saw them standing there, waiting for what I was going to say.
I sighed and then, with the speed of a cat, I whirled and hit the one on the right with a tremendous solar-plexus blow. I saw his eyes bulge as he grabbed at his stomach and doubled over. Without stopping my motion I whirled, dived and caught the leader of the trio around the knees. I yanked hard and he went over backwards. The third one had recovered enough to slash at me with his bamboo wand. I took the slash on my shoulder, grabbed his arm and twisted. He yelped and half turned around as I applied pressure. I let go long enough to chop him alongside the neck and he collapsed. The tallest one had regained his feet now, minus his little weapon. He came at me and twisted to kick high and out. The blow caught me on the hip as I turned my body. When he got his leg down on the ground he was off balance. I connected with a roundhouse right and felt his jaw crack. He sailed backwards into a tree and shuddered his way to the ground against the trunk. The one I'd gotten in the solar plexus was on his knees, just starting to regain some breath. I grabbed him, yanked him to his feet and gave him a punch that split his cheek open. The blood spurted from the wound as he hit the ground. I dragged the third one over to where the first two lay almost side by side. The tallest one was dazed but conscious. I yanked his head up by the hair.
"Be sure and tell your boss that I'm sorry I had to educate you this way," I said. "He'll understand, I'm sure."
I walked off and returned to the main street, pleased with the way things had gone. Ghotak was no fool. His kind of man understood power and ruthlessness. Though I doubted it, the display of those qualities might just slow him down.
I continued sauntering through the streets, observing the people, pausing at street vendors, and eventually found myself at the edge of the village. I was just about to turn back for the Leeunghi house when, looking toward the mountains towering just beyond the village, I saw three figures coming out of the mountains. The first two were Sherpa guides, I recognized from their dress. The third one wore a bright green nylon ski jacket.
"I don't believe it," I said aloud to myself. I waited, unwilling to believe what I was seeing but knowing damned well what I saw. The three figures strung out single-file grew larger, until they were upon me. The two Sherpa guides trudged by. The third figure halted and glanced at me with an expression of relief and disdain.
"It looks as though I guessed right," she said in clipped tones. "I'm going to give you another chance to cooperate with me," she added brightly.
"I'm touched," I growled.
"I knew you'd be," she said and went off after her guides. I watched her go with a mixture of anger, surprise and grudging admiration. Any girl with that much determination couldn't be all bad, I decided. She could also be a pain in the ass. But maybe she'd learned her lesson, I told myself, remembering the fright in her eyes during our last session. If not, I'd give her another one and fast. As I walked back through the village toward the Leeunghi house, I smiled as I passed Ghotak's temple and saw the three figures helping each other up the steps.
Chapter III
When I returned to the house I found the old man had been waiting for me to have tea. His information, more detailed than anything I'd heard, revealed the dangerous state of affairs that had already been reached. Khaleen, busy with housework, flitted in and out of the room, each time her eyes meeting mine in a small, private exchange. I kept remembering the softness of her hands on my body, and had to keep bringing my mind back to the old man's words.
"Over 5,000 of these immigrants have come into Nepal so far," he said. "As each one is a trained Communist agitator, versed in the ways of creating dissension among the people, this is a sizable force. Ghotak, if he forces the King to allow unrestricted further immigration, will end up ruling the country for his Chinese Communist masters."
"And the people really believe that Ghotak is guided by the spirit of Karkotek?" I asked.
"Yes," the old man answered. "In this he has been most clever, playing on every ancient superstition and ritual. The ritual tonight is an ancient custom he has revived into a means of controlling the people."
Khaleen entered with a fresh pot of tea and sat down for a moment to listen. She wore a loose black blouse and mandarin trousers and looked like a beautiful child-woman.
"But even more than the spirit of Karkotek, he has the example of how the yeti killed those who publicly opposed him," the patriarch went on.
"The yeti?" I exclaimed. "The abominable snowman? Not that old legend again."
I glanced up at the sober silence my remark had brought on. Both the old man and the girl were looking at me with deep, serious eyes.
"Surely you don't believe in the existence of such a creature, do you?" I asked, suddenly feeling that I'd already gotten my answer.
"No one who lives here doubts the existence of the yeti" the old man said. "The yeti exists. I merely believe it was a coincidence that he killed those who opposed Ghotak, and Ghotak is capitalizing on this."
"But you believe in the yeti? Both of you do?"
"But of course, my friend," he said, and Khaleen nodded in wide-eyed agreement. "There is no doubt he exists."
I backed off quickly, realizing I was treading on inviolate ground. Superstitions, at least some superstitions, were obviously not confined to the masses. But before backing away entirely, I tried one more nod in the direction of reason and logic.
"Have you considered that perhaps Ghotak had these people slain and blamed it on the yeti?" I asked.
"Only the yeti could have slain them. You would know had you seen their bodies," he replied. I dropped the point and we finished tea. The old man went back upstairs to rest and Khaleen had chores to finish. I decided on a walk, and I hadn't been out of the house five minutes when I met up with Hilary Cobb. She wore a wool suit, and I noted again how magnificently full her breasts were.
"I've just been interviewing the most fascinating man," she announced gaily. "Ghotak, High Lama of the Teeoan Temple."
"You do get around," I commented. "I'm surprised he consented to see you. I hear he's very remote."
"You'd be surprised how many doors open when you flash a press card," Hilary answered. "He said he wanted to give a Western journalist his views on increased immigration into Nepal."
"He doesn't miss a trick," I grunted.
"What does that mean?" she asked, suddenly all newshound.
"Nothing," I said quickly, but she had caught a scent and was eyeing me suspiciously.
"Don't try putting me off," she said. "Maybe I'm onto something more than I thought. Is that why Angsley was sent here, because of the Chinese immigration into Nepal? Is that why you're taking his place?"
"Why don't you go home before you get killed?" I said savagely.
"Aren't you being a bit melodramatic, old boy?" she asked flippantly. I gathered the lapels of her suit in one hand and pulled her close, relieved to see the quick flash of fear that crossed her face.
"You can't have forgotten the last time you got smart with me, honey," I growled. "I warned you then not to get smart and I'm telling you again."
"And I told you I don't scare off," she snapped back.
I let go of her and she stepped back, her blue eyes round and serious. "Why don't we call a truce?" she said. "I won't interfere with you and you don't interfere with me."
"Oh, God save us," I groaned. "You know, for a bright, determined, resourceful girl, you're an awfully stupid broad. I'm giving you good advice. This place could erupt at any time into a very ugly situation."
"And a great story," she said happily.
"Go on, get lost," I said angrily. "Just stay out of my hair." I turned and walked away from her. I had a job to do here, I reminded myself. Trying to talk some sense into overaggressive English girls wasn't part of it. Somehow, the whole damned place was beginning to give me a very uneasy feeling. I wanted to get at the heart of things, to break something open and root it out, to expose the enemy and meet him head on. But here everything moved under the surface, cloaked in strange attitudes and approaches. I decided to concentrate on Ghotak. He had moved directly twice. Maybe I could force him into the open and into a fatal mistake. I went back to the house, stretched out on the bed and tried to clear my mind of abominable snowmen and snake gods and all the other superstitions. The damned atmosphere had a way of enveloping you and making you part of it. I let my thoughts wander to Khaleen. Now there was something worth being enveloped by.
I rested till I heard the soft gong that signaled dinner and went downstairs. We ate quickly for, as the old man explained, the ritual would begin an hour past sundown. Khaleen excused herself for a moment and the old man took a few last puffs on his water-pipe. I finished the cup of sweet rice wine he had served.
"I will explain what is happening at the ritual as it takes place," he said to me. "And most of it, I daresay, will not need explaining to you. By the way, you are aware that another visitor from a Western country is here in Katmandu?"
"I'm aware," I said. "I didn't know you were."
"She stopped here," he said. "She took my house for the Traveler's Inn, and I gave her directions. She is a journalist and very easy to converse with."
"And very clever," I added. I was silently wagering that Hilary would turn up at the ritual, too. Khaleen's arrival ended our conversation. She swept into the room with a brilliant, orange silk stole wrapped about her bare shoulders. Under it she wore a brief jeweled top that ended in a bare midriff. A blue, diaphanous material fell from her waist to the ground. Her breasts, gathered inside the halter top, rose in twin mounds, sharply pointed, and her black hair shone brightly against her rose-tinted cheeks. She shimmered, a glowing, incandescent jewel come to life, breathtakingly delicate and beautiful.
She walked between her father and me, and when we reached the low-roofed, long building behind the temple it was already jammed with people. I followed the old man as he made his way down to the front. There were no chairs, and everyone sat upon the wood floor. A raised platform, a land of stage, took up the front of the hall and I saw Ghotak seated alone on it. A number of his blue-shirted Snake Society boys were among the crowd. I noticed my three friends from the afternoon were missing and I smiled quietly. Large incense burners hung from the walls and sat on the stage, filling the hall with a sweet, cloying odor. Various statues and carvings of Karkotek adorned the back of the stage, and three musicians sat to one side, two of them softly strumming on long-necked sitars, the third one softly stroking a drum. Smoke from lighted butter lamps clouded the hall and added to the semi-darkness of the huge room. Suddenly more musicians came out and sat down beside the first three, and I heard the eerie music of copper trumpet and conch shell join the drum and sitars.
The old man had sat down on one side of me and Khaleen on the other, and as I glanced down at her I could see the soft rise of her breasts under the jeweled top. They would be like the rest of her, I thought, small but perfect I glanced over the crowd, searching for an ash-blonde head and finally I spotted it, directly across from where I sat. Hilary Cobb was against the wall, statuesque beside the Nepalese women who stood near her. I looked at the platform to see Ghotak rise and advance to the edge. A silence immediately fell over the audience. He lifted his arms, the voluminous saffron sleeves of his robe falling loosely, and began a series of incantations. The crowd murmured along with him. Finally he finished, lowered his arms and surveyed the audience, his face imperiously arrogant.
"Tonight, we rejoice in the fertility of the Spirit of Karkotek," he intoned. "Tonight, Karkotek, Lord of All Serpents, helps us to free ourselves, to enjoy our bodies, to become one of his own. But first, he sends us a message. His wish is that I tell you that the time has come to ask our revered ruler, descendent of Vishnu the Preserver, to welcome all those who would live in our holy land under the Spirit of Karkotek."
A murmur of approval went through the crowd.
"When the ritual is over," Ghotak went on, "you will show that you have heard the wishes of Karkotek as given to you from my humble lips, by signing the great scroll to be sent to the King, exalted Descendent of Vishnu the Preserver."
Once again the crowd murmured its understanding.
"As is written in the Holy Books," Ghotak added, "let he would defy the wishes of Karkotek speak up or forever remain silent."
I felt my hands tense as the old man got to his feet, surveyed the crowd and looked up at Ghotak.
"Karkotek does not speak through the lips of Ghotak," he said, and an audible gasp arose from the crowd. "I have said this before, and I say it to you now once again. But tonight, I have another who would speak to you. He comes from a land many thousands of miles away. He has journeyed these miles because he would speak to you. His heart is disturbed by what he has heard so very far away."
The patriarch turned to me, and I took the cue. I got up, ignored Ghotak's burning glance and faced the crowd.
"The patriarch Leeunghi speaks the truth," I said, casting a fast glance at the sea of listening, silent figures in the semi-darkened, smoky hall. "Those who would enter your country do not come as friends. I have heard the Spirit of Karkotek in my land, and his voice asked me to journey from my home to tell you this. It would be a sign to you, I was told."
Ghotak's voice cut in as he went into action.
"The old man is senile, and the foreigner lies," he boomed out. "Listen to them and the Spirit of Karkotek will be angered and visit evil upon you. You seek signs? Think of how the yeti has slain those who spoke against Ghotak."