Operation Snake

Chapter V

I'd been casually moving down toward Ghotak's temple when I caught the flash of blonde hair some distance behind me. I slowed my pace and paused at a street vendor selling rugs. A quick glance told me the blonde head had pulled behind a goat cart. I smiled and started to walk on. I was at the temple now and I walked around it, back to where the long meeting hall almost joined the temple itself. Beyond the long, low building, at the rear of the temple, I saw the windows of what appeared to be living quarters. That was what I was looking for, and I crept closer and peered in. I saw a room, fairly large, sparsely furnished in the severe setting befitting a monk. Another room led off beyond the first one. I went on quickly before someone came by, circled the temple and returned to the street I saw Hilary Cobb duck back behind the corner of a building, and I crossed the street, darted around the corner and almost fell over her as she stood pressed flat against the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I said. "Playing detective? Baby, you've got a lot to learn about tailing somebody."

"I'm not playing detective," she snapped back, relaxing. "Digging for a story, it's called." She wore a soft brown windbreaker, and the way it jutted out made me again recall the full-blown softness of her breasts. "There's no law which says I can't watch who does what or goes where in the streets," she commented, superior and smug.

"I guess not," I answered. "Speaking of watching, I saw you do a good bit of it last night."

Two faint spots of color appeared on her cheeks but she only glowered at me.

"Why didn't you let your hair down and join in the fun?" I asked mockingly. "I thought for a moment or two you were about to do so."

Her jaw clenched and she continued to glower at me.

"You didn't lose any time in participating, I noticed," she answered waspishly.

"You wouldn't believe the truth if I told you," I said.

"I know, you were saving her from a fate worse than death," she sneered. Sarcasm was dripping all over the place.

"In a way, that's just what I was doing," I replied.

She snorted. "Please," she said. "The pose just doesn't fit. You just couldn't let an opportunity go by."

"Hilary, honey," I said, 'Tour envy is showing, amongst other things."

Her blue eyes flashed lightning sparks. "I ought to slap you for that," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"You won't," I said laconically. "You know I'd no doubt hit back."

"Yes, and I know something else as of last night," she shot out. "I know I've got onto my story, and I'm not going to let go. There's no bloody reason for you to be so concerned over a little immigration if that's all there is to it."

"You know, I've been thinking about you, Hilary," I said casually. "I've decided you can't be more than a pest. Even if you got a story you couldn't send it from here. You'd have to wait till you got back to Darjeeling or Bhutan. By then I'd have a lid clamped on you by other sources."

"You just keep thinking that, Yank." She smiled coldly, turned on her heel and walked off. I watched her go, frowning after her, conscious of the attractive, long curve of her legs. What the hell did she mean by that cryptic remark? She could bluff and bluster, I knew, but something in her tone told me she wasn't doing either this time. The remark swam irritatingly in front of me. This was strictly an undercover operation, a walking on eggs, as Hawk had put it, only in between the eggs there was something deadly. It was a hush-hush affair before, during and after, especially during. We were trying to meet a clever Chinese Red move which utilized their usual combination of inside treachery and undercover infiltration. It was a sneak move, and we had to meet them on the same terms. Publicity of any kind would be sure to trigger all kinds of face-saving direct action, which was the last thing we wanted in this show.

I walked slowly back to the house with a very uneasy feeling. Hilary Cobb's remark needed further checking into, I was certain, and I made a mental note to do so. At the house, Khaleen was seated at a window, a silk robe wrapping her petite form.

"You were talking to the English journalist," she said simply, as I went over to her. "I was out at the market and passed you. She is very pretty."

She gazed at me, her deep eyes saying a lot of things, some of which I didn't dare to read. I put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned against me for a moment and then walked away.

"Father is leaving a little earlier," she said. "I will dress and be ready in a few minutes." I watched her walk to the doorless archway between the rooms. She turned, gazed back at me, and let the silken robe fall from her shoulders to stand nude, beautifully nude, a young doe poised in flight, a nymph glimpsed for a fleeting moment, and then disappeared through the doorway. She had done it so beautifully, offering me both a reminder and a promise, a gesture both powerful and subtle.

I went to my room, found that she had repaired my torn heavy-weather parka, and dressed for the walk to the shadow of the mountains. When I went back downstairs, Khaleen was there, swathed in yards of material, looking not unlike a bundle of old clothes. Her father, dressed in heavy yak-skin jacket and boots, with fur-lined trousers, carried a small, blue pack on his back and held a long walking stick in one hand. We shook hands solemnly, or at least I was solemn. The old man was smilingly confident; he had merely to carry through the night and Ghotak was automatically discredited. We set out together for the walk to the mountains. Numerous villagers bowed in respect, their hands folded in the traditional gesture of prayer and good wishes. Outside the village, the temperature dropped noticeably as we approached the pass into the bowels of the towering peaks. As we neared the foot of the mountains, I saw Ghotak and three of his men waiting before the four Sherpas who stood in a line across the mouth of the pass. Leeunghi halted and bowed to the monk who bowed his head in return. I noticed that beneath the saffron robes, Ghotak wore heavy, snow-covered boots.

"Ghotak has been in the mountains?" I questioned, gazing at his boots.

"This morning," he answered. "I go into the mountains twice a week to meditate in solitary peace."

"It is true," I heard Khaleen whispering to me. "He has done so for years. A holy man must meditate in silence and solitude, it is written, attuned to the nature around him."

Her father brushed the girl's cheek with his lips and bowed to me. He turned to Ghotak.

Tomorrow, when I return, your evil schemes will be at an end. The people will have learned the truth."

I watched Ghotak's face as the old man strode off, but it's impassiveness told me nothing. The monk and his men watched for a while and then turned and walked off. Khaleen and I stayed to watch the small figure grow smaller and still smaller until finally it was lost to sight against the towering peaks. We walked back to the house, and it was dark when we finally arrived.

"I will come to you again tonight, Nick," Khaleen whispered. I pressed her tiny waist, half encircling it with one hand.

"I must do something, Khaleen," I said. "It may take long or it may not. Will you wait for me?"

"The English journalist?" she asked quietly. I would have smiled but there was such sadness in her voice.

"No, little one," I said. "Something else."

"I will wait," she said. "No matter how late you are."

Khaleen went to her room, and I waited for a while and then stole from the house. The Sherpas were at the pass, but I couldn't depend on that. It was very dark as I approached Ghotak's quarters in the rear of the temple. I moved along the building line and saw a light coming from the windows. It wasn't enough. Hell, anybody could leave a light on. I knew that if Ghotak was going to head for the mountains he would have to be on his way pretty soon. If he were up to something, he had to make his move before day broke, and the climb into the mountains would take hours itself.

I was about to move from the wall of the meeting hall when I saw the blue-shirted loose-sleeved guard suddenly silhouetted against the light from the window. He carried a thick length of wood and no doubt a knife somewhere on him. I crouched in the shadows and waited for him to return as he passed the window. In moments he was back, heading away from me. I moved out and nearly reached him when he heard the sound of my footsteps. He whirled, tried to bring the club up, but I got to him first with a sharp chop in the throat. He gasped, clutched at his throat. I tore the club from his hands and clouted him across the scalp with it. He collapsed in a heap and I stepped over him. It had happened so fast that I doubted whether he saw who had belted him in the dark.

I moved to the window and peered in. Ghotak was in the room, seated cross-legged on a mat on the floor. He was puffing on a water-pipe and writing on a parchment scroll. I shot a glance at the guard. He'd be out for a half hour at least, but there might be others coming. Peering in the window again I took another look, glanced at my watch and decided I had to wait around. There was still time for him to move out. I took the guard and, using his own shirt and some leaves, bound and gagged him and dragged him into some brush nearby. I settled down for a vigil outside Ghotak's window, checking in on him every half hour. He continued writing on the parchment until finally he set it aside and smoked his water-pipe in short, staccato puffs. I glanced at my watch and realized that if he were going after the patriarch he should have been on his way by now. I dropped low, passed under the window edge and started back through the darkened village.

He was there. I should have been satisfied and yet I was uneasy, with the same uneasy feeling I had had at Hilary Cobb's cryptic remark. The monk was entirely too calm. He knew, certainly as well as we did, that when the patriarch returned it would discredit the whole edifice of spiritual power he had built up for himself. Why the hell was he so calm about it all then? I wished I knew the answer to that. The house was in total darkness when I returned and I went to my room, thinking that perhaps Khaleen had gone to bed and fallen asleep. But a small, warm hand reached out from beneath the fur blanket and I quickly undressed, putting Wilhelmina and Hugo on the floor beside the bed. I slipped under the blanket with her and found her eagerly, deliciously, reaching for me, her hands reaching out to welcome my body against hers, her soft legs thirsting to open the portals of ecstasy for me.

We made love and held each other and made love again, almost as though we were both trying to shut out the thought of the old man out in the blackness, alone in the raging winds of snow and the towering sheets of ice. When we finally went to sleep, utterly spent and surfeited, I cradled her in my arms as one might hold a sleeping child.

In the morning when I awoke, she was still beside me. She stirred and we lingered in the shut-away world of each other's arms. When we finally rose, Khaleen made breakfast as I shaved and, as if by some silent agreement, neither of us spoke of that which was most in our thoughts. Khaleen busied herself with housekeeping chores as the morning wore on and I went outside. My eyes were inexorably drawn to the towering peaks that rimmed the village. I was filled with an angry restlessness that grew worse as the day wore on and Khaleen's father failed to appear. I'd never been on a mission where so much was going on and so little was happening. I even found myself feeling bitter about Harry Angsley and his damned fever. He ought to have been here on this thing. The English were more experienced and more fitted by nature for this kind of cat-and-mouse game. We Americans are too direct, too action-oriented for it. Of course, I couldn't know it then, but the action I craved for was building up to a fast eruption.

Hilary Cobb, looking statuesquely beautiful in a white sweater and a colorful Campbell tartan kilt, came down the sheet, saw me and headed over to where I stood.

"Has he come back yet?" she asked bluntly. Her busybody, snooping, directness only grated on my angry, apprehensive unrest.

"None of your damned business," I growled. I saw her eyebrows raise slightly and her eyes narrow immediately after.

"You're consistent, anyway," she snapped. "Always unpleasant. I take it that you've heard nothing and you're getting rather uptight about it."

I could have cheerfully wrung her neck for that bit of accurate analysis. She glanced at her watch.

"If you tell me he's had time to get back by now I'll kick your ass all the way Mount Everest," I snarled. I held her eyes in a long piercing exchange and suddenly saw them soften and change expression. She blinked, looked away a moment and then held her gaze on me.

"Do you believe in the yeti?" she asked quietly, soberly, almost like a little girl.

"You, too?" I fairly shouted. "No, goddamnit, I don't believe in good fairies, banshees or abominable snowmen." I turned on my heel and strode off, muttering to myself. Khaleen was at the window as I strode in, grabbed my heavy parka and started for the door. She didn't have to ask where I was going.

"I will go with you," she said simply.

"No," I said brusquely, and then, softening my voice, I held her for a moment. "It is best I go alone. I will take two of the Sherpas with me. I think perhaps your father may have been trapped in a snow-slide or a clogged pass. We'll bring him back."

She clung to me, kissed me quickly and stepped back. I walked out wishing I felt as confident as I'd sounded. I wasn't buying any damned abominable snowman, but I did fear that something had happened to the old man. All I could see in my mind was Ghotak's form the night before, sitting calmly, puffing on his pipe. I rounded up two Sherpas, and we struck out into the forbidding towers of snow and ice that looked down at us with such unyielding disdain. The patriarch's tracks were clear and easy to follow in the snow. As we climbed higher, and the snow on the ground grew deeper, his tracks were even easier to pick up, and we made good time. He had gone deep into the mountains and the trail grew steeper and more dangerous. I finally saw a snowcovered ridge ahead at the top of the steep ascent we were negotiating, and I pointed to it. The Sherpa nodded in agreement, and we headed for it. It seemed a likely place for him to have made camp. I reached it first and saw the remains of the campfire. The blue pack he'd brought along was scattered on the ground and the snow was trampled and roughened. I followed the ledge to where it curved around a section of the mountain, and now one of the Sherpas halted and I heard his voice, strangled and high-pitched, cry out in terror. I turned and he was pointing to the snow.

"Yeti!" he cried, gasping out the word. "Yeti!" I followed the direction of his arm and saw the tracks in the snow, the damnedest tracks I'd ever seen. It was the print of a huge bear, I first said to myself, since claw marks were clearly visible. But instead of a pad it bore the imprint of a human sole and heel. I knelt down and looked at the imprint in the snow more closely. There were more, a number of them, and I studied each one closely. The shape and outline of a foot was clearly there, but ended in the spread pads of an animal with long claws. I'd never seen a track like it before, and the creature, whatever it was, had dragged something with it through the snow. I followed the tracks, and the Sherpas followed me. Rounding another turn, I saw the shattered, blood-stained form with a heartsick feeling. I went over to it and recognized the clothes. The shape was barely discernable as a man. The partriarch Leeunghi had been literally torn apart, huge gouges of flesh ripped away, one arm torn from its socket, the legs twisted in grotesque shape. His chest lay bare with tremendous raking strips of flesh peeled from it, and the end of a smashed rib poked out through the skin.

"The yeti," the Sherpas kept repeating in a monotone, making the word into a solemn chant.

"Nonsense," I said. "He was killed by an animal, probably some huge bear."

They shook their heads in disagreement and pointed again to the chilling tracks. I had no explanation for those weird tracks and could only surmise some land of bear peculiar to these mountains. All I knew was that there was a mutilated, torn, shredded body and there had to be some logical, reasoned explanation for it. An abominable snowman was neither logical nor reasoned. The old man had plainly been killed by a creature of great strength with claws and fangs. A giant bear was not only logical but the only probable explanation, except perhaps a form of huge snow leopard. One of the Sherpas had a large blanket in his pack, and we wrapped the bloodied, mutilated form in it and tied it securely. Then we began the slow, dangerous journey back down with our grisly burden.

Finally we reached level land and headed for the village. As we neared, others came over to ask, and the Sherpas spoke to them. I heard the word yeti repeated over and over, and the questioners ran off to spread the word. I knew that before I reached Khaleen, she would have heard it. The Sherpas directed me where to take the body to prepare it for burial. There would be a funeral pyre, of course. Finally I started back to the house. Ghotak was seemingly blessed with luck and I found out he was quick to capitalize on it. As I surmised, Khaleen had heard before I arrived, and I found her kneeling in prayer. She got up and faced me, and the tears were in her voice not in her eyes.

"The yeti has spoken," she said simply. "Ghotak will prevail It cannot be otherwise, now."

"Your father was killed by some animal, Khaleen," I said. "A bear or perhaps a snow leopard. There is no abominable snowman, Khaleen."

"It is best you leave, Nick," she said. "I am yours. I will go with you. But first I must go to the meeting hall. Ghotak has called a meeting, and the temple hall will be filled. I must go and bow to him for my father's honor."

"No," I said sharply. "Don't go. Don't give up to him."

"But I must," she said. "The challenge was accepted and Ghotak has won. It is a matter of honorable custom that I appear for my father and bow to Ghotak."

"All right, go," I said. "But tell the people that it was an animal that killed your father. It was."

Her arms crept up around my neck and she gazed up at me.

"Nick, you are so big, so strong, such a man of action," she said. "You cannot believe there are things beyond ordinary explanation. Your kind of man, whom you call a literal man, does not admit the unknown. You must seek a logical reason for everything. Here, we know better."

I bit my lips. I was up against that stone wall of ingrained beliefs again but this time I couldn't back off. This time I had to meet them head on. I'd played it their way and a good man lay dead and Ghotak was about to pick up the pieces. I'd had enough of Snake Gods and spirit transference and yetis and all the superstitious customs. I had to go in my way now.

"Come on," I said roughly. "I'll go with you to the meeting." I left with Khaleen and started for the temple hall. I could see crowds streaming to the building, and we were nearly there when Hilary Cobb caught up to us.

"I'm sorry," she said to Khaleen, and I'd never heard her voice so softly tender. "I'm terrible sorry." Her eyes flicked up at me as Khaleen nodded her grateful acceptance and clung to my arm.

"I see you've heard of Ghotak's call to the faithful," Hilary said, falling in step beside me. I nodded grimly.

"He doesn't waste any time," I commented.

"What's he up to, Yank?" she asked.

"Still digging for that story," I said. "No dice, Hilary."

"Sorry, I can't help that," she said. "It's my job. It's part of me."

"I hope there won't be a story for you to get," I answered. "That's my job." I took the chance to sound her out again and found I didn't like the answer any better. "And, as I told you, doll, if you get it you can't do anything with it from here," I said.

"And as I told you," she answered, "don't count on it."

Between the news of what had happened and Ghotak's call, the place was filled to overflowing. Ghotak's strong-arm boys had rounded up what stray followers hadn't intended to show. He was addressing the crowd as we arrived, telling them how the events had shown conclusively that Karkotek's spirit and wishes spoke through him. I saw that his men were spread through the crowd, petitions in hand. Khaleen and I walked down the aisle toward the platform. I left her side, vaulted onto the stage and faced the crowd.

"Ghotak lies again," I shouted. "The patriarch Leeunghi was slain by an animal, some wild, fierce animal. But there is no yeti. The yeti is but an old man's tale to frighten children."

I heard the angry rumble from the crowd and saw Ghotak point his finger at me.

"The foreigner laughs at our ways," he shouted. "He scoffs at our legends and violates our sacred beliefs. Look here, each and every one of you." He clapped his hands and I turned to see two of his men appear carrying the long, rope-like form of a dead snake across their arms, letting it drape down on each side.

"The foreigner killed this snake," Ghotak shouted. "It was found by one of my men hanging from the window ledge of the room where he stays at the house of Leeunghi. He takes pleasure in mocking our knowledge and trampling on our sacred beliefs."

I felt my anger exploding. The wily bastard had had this one ready and waiting, all set up for me.

"I never saw that snake," I shouted. "Ghotak lies again."

The crowd rumbled in anger. Ghotak leaned forward toward me. "You say you are innocent of killing this snake?" he asked.

"I am entirely innocent," I answered.

"Then there is but one way to find out," he said, a glitter of triumph in his flashing, black eyes. "The test of the cobra. You will do battle with a cobra barehanded. If you live, it will mean you are innocent and Karkotek has spared your miserable life. If the cobra wins, your death will avenge your evil deed and Karkotek will be pleased."

I looked out at the crowd and then turned to Ghotak.

"It is that or I turn you over to them," he said.

"Either way I'm out of your hair," I said to him quietly.

He shrugged. "What is your decision?"

I was trapped, and the clever bastard knew it. The crowd was seething, boiling. I could feel the desire for vengeance rising up from them like an evil cloud. A little prodding from Ghotak and they'd take me apart bone by bone. But more than that, if I refused it would be an admission of guilt and at best I'd be tossed out. Certainly, they'd never listen to anything I might say, and I couldn't let that happen. I needed another chance at Ghotak, another shot at breaking up his skillfully constructed house of national treachery. I glanced at the monk and saw the thin, triumphant smile edging his lips, and his eyes, glittering in victory, bored into me. Khaleen was in the aisle, frozen in one spot, and I saw Hilary behind her, looking up at me with her blue eyes wide as saucers. Fighting a cobra barehanded sounded like a one-way ticket to the undertaker, but what the hell, maybe I'd be lucky and draw a near-sighted serpent. I turned one last possibility over in my mind. Wilhelmina lay snug against my shoulder, I could take her out, blast a hole wide enough to see Mount Everest through it in Ghotak, and try to run for it. Glancing at the crowd, I decided that my chances were better with the cobra. But more than anything else, if I could somehow survive, I'd come out innocent of Ghotak's charge and be able to take it from there. The crowd would at least hear me out then. It wasn't much but it would have to do. I smiled grimly to myself. I'd wanted direct action. I was sure as hell getting it. I grinned up at Ghotak and saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Bring on the snake, pal," I said. Ghotak turned to the crowd and I could see he was a little offstride at the casualness of my attitude. He didn't know how good an actor I was.

"The foreigner will meet the test of the cobra," he intoned. "The cobra never lies. We go to the pits."

Two of Ghotak's men flanked me and I was led outside as the crowd streamed out the other exits. I caught a glimpse of Khaleen with Hilary beside her, as I was led past the assembly hall, past an area of spare trees and rocks to where two pits had been hollowed out of the ground. Each pit was square, roughly ten by ten feet and five feet deep. The crowd had gathered on the sloping ground surrounding the pits, nudging each other for a spot to see. Some climbed into the trees for a better view. Ghotak faced me at the edge of the nearest pit.

"You have weapons?" he asked. "Please give them to me." I glanced about and saw Khaleen and Hilary nearby. I went over to Khaleen and handed her the Luger and the stiletto. Her eyes were deep and sad.

"I am praying for you, Nick," she murmured.

I debated whether to tell her to blow the snake's head off if it was getting to me, but I knew at once it was a foolish thought. She'd never hit the thing, and if I had to use the weapon I'd lose at the same time I won. I was about to turn away when Hilary's voice cut through the air.

"You gone absolutely balmy?" she asked crisply. "Whatever it is you think you're doing, call it off at once. You'll bloody well get yourself killed, that's all."

I saw her eyes were deep and concerned, her brow furrowed.

"For the first time, I like you, Hilary, honey," I grinned at her. "But once again I've got to tell you to butt out."

"Butt out my ruddy ass," she exploded. "Don't be a bloody fool, Yank. It's suicide. You're no damned mongoose."

"You never know, doll," I grinned. "And being a bloody fool's part of my job."

I turned, strode to the pit and jumped down into it just as two of Ghotak's men arrived carrying a wicker basket with a cover. They took off the cover and dumped the basket's contents into the pit. I saw the cobra come out and hit the ground, hissing furiously. He was big, some nine feet, I guessed. He was up in an instant, his hood spreading ominously. I moved slowly, circling to the right. The cobra's darting eyes followed me, his tongue flicking out almost too quickly to see. I saw him stretching up higher. I knew what it meant. A snake can strike the full distance of his length uncoiled in the air. He was rearing up to get as much distance as he could in his strike. I stayed on the balls of my feet, bending my body to the right, then the left as he swayed back and forth. I knew he would have me if I let him strike first. I had to draw his strike in order to have any chance of avoiding it. I lifted my right hand slowly, shot it out and the snake struck, lunging through the air with a lightning-like move. I flung myself to the left and felt his fangs snap the air. I landed on my side, rolled over against the wall of the pit and regained my feet. The cobra was rising upward again, that damned evil hood flattened out. I moved forward and he struck again, a whip lashing out, and I fell backwards to avoid his fangs. I felt the sleeve of my shirt rip open as one fang caught the fabric.

The cobra had hit the gorund after the strike and this time, instead of rising up instantly, he snaked his way across the pit with amazing speed. I dodged to one side and the snake lunged again but this time he was not ready for a proper strike, and the blow fell short. He curled and rose up again and I faced him from the other side. I thought about trying to feint him out of position and then dive in to seize him by the neck. A half-hearted attempt at a feint drew a lunge so swift it was little more than a blur and once again I twisted away and leaped backwards, crashing into the wall of the pit. His fangs had ripped the back of my shirt open as though a razor had cut it.

I circled again, feinted, and the snake struck out with that lunging motion. This time his fangs caught the surface of my skin, enough to leave a mark though not enough to break the skin, but I saw one thing; he was coming closer each time. My reaction time was bound to slow, and it would do so faster than his strikes would slow. It would be just a matter of time unless I came up with something better. He was weaving again, lining me up for another strike. I was near the wall of the pit with precious little maneuvering room. I began to dodge from one side to the other but I knew all I was doing wouldn't do much to distract his aim. He poised straight up for an instant and then struck again. I was really lucky this time because I was drawing away as he lunged and once more the deadly fangs ripped into the sleeve of my shirt. The snake recoiled at once and rose up again to strike. I knew one thing. I couldn't stay still. To stay in one spot was to make death a certainty. I couldn't give him time to line up. As he swayed, that evil tongue flicking out in lightning-like motion, I began to leap from one side to the other, careening off each wall in a kind of three-sided ballet step. The cobra lunged and lunged again and each time he missed my body with fractions of an inch to spare.

Finally, I had to stop. I was in a cold sweat and my breath was coming in gasps. I paused, and the damned cobra struck again. I fell backwards and felt its fangs sink into the fabric of my trousers. They ripped down as I fell away. It was no use, I saw, scrambling to my feet. My reflexes were going as I tired, and the cobra was as lightning-fast as ever. He moved forward on the ground and I backed away, pushed off one wall and found a little added room as he turned and rose into the air. The shredded sleeve of my shirt hung loosely from my arm and as it blew against my skin I suddenly had a thought, a desperate, last-chance kind of thought. I backed against the wall, out of range for a moment, and ripped off my shirt. Holding it out before me as a bullfighter holds out his red muleta to the bull, I advanced slowly. The cobra swayed higher, his hood spread out to its fullest. I shifted the shirt back and forth. He waited a moment and then struck, his fangs tearing into the shirt. For a brief moment, hardly more than a second, his fangs were entangled in the fabric. I leaped forward, wrapping both sleeves of the shirt around the snake's head, twisting the fabric around the death-dealing mouth and head. The cobra twisted and writhed in the air, lashing his tail out in fury. I seized the tail end of the snake and started to whirl the serpent in a wide arc, letting centrifugal force keep his body stretched out almost in a straight line. Even then, he was ripping his way through the fabric around his head. I swung hard and slammed him against one wall. The shirt wrapped around his head deadened the impact but it was nonetheless enough to momentarily stun him. I swung the snake again, this time slamming him into the ground. I dropped the tail end and brought my foot down, as hard as I could, on the cobra's head, now almost free of the shirt.

Fear and anger surged inside me as I stomped on the snake's head, crushing it into the ground, stomping and grinding until the soil was stained red. I finally halted. The deadly killer still twitched in post-death nerve spasms, but I was taking no chances. Carefully, using the toe of my shoe, I rolled the serpent over and saw that its head was truly ground into a flattened, lifeless object. I looked up and there was silence and a multitude of faces staring down at me. It was over, and I was alive. I felt my hands quivering. Moving backwards, I leaned against the wall of the pit as a cold sweat suddenly enveloped my body. Hands were reaching down to me. I grabbed two and was pulled out of the pit. Death, horrible death, had flashed by me, and I looked down at the lifeless body of the cobra. My stomach was suddenly in knots and the little pit was a place I'd long remember. But I wasn't finished yet I looked around and found Ghotak standing a few feet away, his face impassive, though I could read the fury behind it. Yet angry as he was, he was smooth enough to carry through.

"Karkotek has spoken," he intoned, spreading out his arms. "The foreigner spoke the truth. He did not kill the snake."

"And I'll tell you more," I cut in, shouting to the crowd. "I shall go into the mountains this night. I shall do what the patriarch Leeunghi did and I shall return. I will prove to you there is no yeti and that Ghotak does not speak for the spirit of Karkotek. Karkotek does not want you to open your land to the newcomers. When I return you shall know the truth."

Ghotak shot me a frown. I'd taken him offstride again. This time it was he who had to go along.

"The temple bells will summon you tomorrow," he said to the crowd. "Once more Ghotak's word has been challenged and once more the spirit of Karkotek must answer. The snows in the mountains will run red again, mark my words."

I walked away and the crowd began to slowly disperse. Khaleen handed Wilhelmina and Hugo back to me, and Hilary Cobb stood by watching Khaleen press herself against my side. I caught her quick glance.

"That was bloody well done," she said. "Why are you pressing your luck?"

"Meaning exactly what?" I asked.

"Meaning why go into the mountains tonight?" she asked. "Despite what I just saw, you're not invincible. Nobody is."

"She is right, Nick," Khaleen said. "I am afraid for you. Do not go."

"I must," I replied. "First of all, he took up the challenge and I can't back down now. But more important, it may force him into a direct, open move. I've got to come to grips with him. We're running out of time. I've got to get to him before he gets to me."

"The yeti will kill you as he killed my father," she said tonelessly. I exchanged glances with Hilary over Khaleen's head.

"Forget the yeti, Khaleen," I said. "He won't lay a hand on me. Or should I say paw?" I grinned down at her and she turned aside, — serious and unsmiling.

"Yeti or no yeti," Hilary cut in, "you're setting yourself up as a sitting duck. I don't like it at all."

There was real deep concern clouding her blue eyes and I grinned at her. "Careful, Hilary," I laughed. "You're sounding positively sentimental."

"Do you have to joke about everything?" she snapped at me, her eyes mirroring a sudden hurt.

"It helps," I said, and I held her eyes with mine. "But thanks, anyway," I added, softly. "I appreciate your concern. It shows that beneath the never-say-die journalist there might be a girl."

"Go to hell," she snapped and walked away. I laughed and went on with Khaleen.