The Pulse of Danger. Jon Cleary
Marquis remarked the nervousness in Nimchu’s voice and at once his own apprehension increased. He cursed, and stood thinking while the wind whetted its blade against his cheek. He could hear it coming down the narrow valley, its sound drowning the hiss and rumble of the river; the trees creaked and keened under its scything, leaves whipping through the darkness like bats. Up in the high peaks he knew that a blizzard must be blowing, the snow whirling through the passes in thick blinding clouds. He wondered why the Chinese should be down the valley, below the camp; then guessed they might be from another post farther west, who had got the word that one of their generals had been captured and had come down one of the side valleys. It didn’t matter where they had come from. What mattered was where they were, down there at the bottom of the valley, oiling the bolts on their rifles, chanting some Red propaganda to keep themselves warm, just waiting for daylight to come marching up the valley.
‘Could it have been one of the Chinese who tried to kill the general?’ Tom Breck said.
‘Why would they want to do that?’ Marquis turned away for a moment, told Nimchu to have Tsering come up to the kitchen tent and start preparing breakfast; then he turned back to Breck and the other men. ‘They wouldn’t travel at night in one of these valleys. Too easy to get lost—’
‘Then it must have been one of the porters,’ said Wilkins.
‘Could be.’ Marquis glanced across at Nancy Breck, still standing in the doorway of her tent. The morning had lightened enough now for him to see more clearly; beneath the blanket she had wrapped round her he could see she was wearing trousers and boots. She was fully dressed and her boots were laced up. He looked at Tom Breck, but the latter looked as innocent as ever. Then he turned to Singh. ‘But I’m not going to start questioning the porters, Colonel. I’ve got other things on my mind right now.’
‘Such as?’
I’m going to give myself a hernia, trying to control my temper with this bastard. ‘Such as trying to work out what we can do to get out of this spot we’re in. You look after your prisoner, Colonel. We’ll look after ourselves. If we don’t, we might all be dead by to-night.’ He heard Tom Breck gasp; Wilkins made a noise that sounded like a snort. ‘Better start packing, Tom. You too, Nick.’ He looked at Singh again, felt suddenly too tired to be angry at the man; the danger of a hernia passed. ‘All these bloody mountains to get lost in, and you had to choose this valley!’
‘It’ll work out all right, Jack.’ Tom Breck rubbed his beard. ‘Nick and I have got confidence in you, haven’t we, Nick? Whatever you say, we’re right with you, aren’t we, Nick?’
That’s what’s going to give me the hernia: Tom is going to overload me with trust. He looked at Breck, who nodded his head in encouragement: one almost expected him to shout rah, rah, rah. Then Marquis looked at Wilkins, who grimaced sourly. And at that moment he felt more affection for Wilkins than he did for Breck.
‘Whatever you say, Jack,’ said Tom Breck. ‘Anything you decide, we’re with you all the way.’
‘Thanks, Tom,’ said Marquis, and wondered how many men had killed their friends for burdening them with too much devotion.
Then he walked on towards his own tent, looking up towards the east. It would be full light in another hour, a cold dawn that would show new snow on the peaks and perhaps even on the lower slopes. Something cold brushed against his cheek, a leaf, a snowflake: whatever it was, it was cold, chill as the finger of fate. He felt suddenly depressed; the fire in him was beginning to turn to ashes; if they cut him open now they would find he had a clinker for a heart. Eve had been right: they should have left for home a week ago.
She was waiting for him in the tent, still wrapped in her anorak and blanket. ‘Was that Chungma I saw?’
‘Get dressed, love. Properly dressed, put on your warmest things. Looks like we’re in for a long hike over the hills.’ He took off his outer clothing, slid out of his pyjamas, then dressed again, substituting a wool shirt for his pyjama-top and walking boots for the old desert boots. ‘There are fifty or so Chows camped down the valley. Chungma ran into them, thinks they are coming this way.’
She shivered, as much with shock as with cold. Half-dressed, she looked up at him. ‘Are we in any danger?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, but he knew he was not being honest with her. ‘I’m not going to take any risks, though.’
She recognised his restraint towards her, that he was trying not to frighten her. She was not given easily to panic, but because it had never really been severely tested she was not sure of the extent of her own courage. There had been moments of danger on expeditions in the past, but she had survived them; mainly, she thought, because they had only been moments and she had reacted by instinct. Real courage, she knew, was more than a matter of reflexes.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘We’re getting out of here as fast as we can.’
Five minutes later he was telling the rest of the camp the same thing. ‘I could tell Colonel Singh to get out of here with his prisoner, but I don’t for a moment think that would give us any guarantee of being left alone if the Chinese come up this way. The mere fact that they’ve come this far down into Bhutan shows they’re either desperate or they don’t care. Either way I wouldn’t like to have five bob on our chances.’
‘What’s your plan, then?’ Wilkins asked.
‘We’ll have breakfast, then as soon as it’s daylight we’ll be on our way.’
‘Where?’ Eve said.
To New Guinea, to Kensington, anywhere at all; even the rose garden in Buckinghamshire looked an attractive destination now. He sipped from the hot mug of tea he held. He stared down into the fire round which they all stood; then looked up at the faces all turned towards him. This was different from anything that had ever confronted him before: the problems of a cricket or a rugger captain suddenly became a joke. People stood waiting on him to be responsible for them: he looked at Tom Breck, who gave him the old nod of encouragement.
‘We’ll go over the mountains,’ he said at last, and tried to sound decisive. ‘We’ll go with Colonel Singh and his prisoner.’
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the moan of the wind. Then Wilkins said, ‘What if some of us think that isn’t a good idea? It could be damned rough, trying to get over those peaks in this weather. What about Eve and Nancy?’
Marquis looked at Nancy, but she just stared at him as if she didn’t see him. Then he looked at Eve. He felt a weakness run through him when at last she said, ‘I’ll depend on Jack.’
Then Nancy fumbled in the pocket of her anorak, put on her glasses as if she were going to read some proposition before she agreed to it. Then: ‘I’ll go with Jack.’
‘So will I,’ said Tom Breck, tugging on his beard as if to give emphasis to what he said.
Wilkins hesitated. The seven months here in the mountains had almost exhausted him mentally and physically; he had not even been looking forward to the comparatively easy walk out down the long valley to Thimbu. At last he shrugged. ‘Majority rules, I guess.’
Singh had said nothing during this short debate. Li Bu-fang stood beside him, silent, contemptuous in his lack of interest. Singh glanced at him, as if wanting to goad him into some remark; then he looked back at the others, knowing now that he was as involved with them as much as with his prisoner. For all his outward self-assurance he had not felt comfortable since entering the camp; not because he felt unwelcome, although that had disturbed him, too, but because he knew that his and Li’s presence had at once placed a premium on the safety of Marquis and the others. But apology, even diffidence, came hard to him; he still lived in the memory of a day when such an attitude, on the part of a prince, had been a sign of weakness. In certain ways he was still tongue-tied by inheritance; Oxford had educated him in Western ways, but it had not entirely eradicated the East from him. He looked at Marquis as the latter