The Doomsday Testament

XLIII

Bob Sumner saw Sarah watching him from across the square as he dialled his boss to discuss the new terms. He smiled and waved as he spoke.

‘Our German friend has a photocopy of the journal through his sources in the local police department. Apparently Saintclair became careless after discovering the bunker. I’m signing them up as you advised, but we have a problem.’ He described Jamie’s ultimatum and was surprised by the rich laughter at the other end of the line.

‘Make sure your man hands over the photocopies and get them to me right away. It’s perfect. We need to get Saintclair off the scene and out of Frederick’s reach until we evaluate what we have. I couldn’t have planned it better. If there’s anything in the diary Saintclair can help us with, we’ll bring him back. If not… well, that’s too bad.’

Sumner discussed the details for a few minutes before returning to the table. He spread his hands. ‘Sounds crazy to me, but my boss, he loves it and the riskier the better. Following in the footsteps of Nazi treasure hunters. Battling against the elements, the terrain and the might of the Communist Chinese in a search to uncover the secret behind the Raphael bunker. We’ll have cameras on you all the way and record every drop of sweat and squeal of terror. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Mr Saintclair.’

A week later as he sat in the co-pilot’s seat of the Bell Long Ranger which normally inspected Vanderbilt Corporation pipelines, Jamie had cause to remember the executive’s words.

‘We’ll get you as close to the border as we can, maybe twenty miles.’ The pilot’s distorted metallic voice rang in his earphones above the clatter of the helicopter’s engine and the rhythmic thump of the rotor blades.

‘Why can’t you take us all the way?’

‘Because any closer and we’d be flying in a restricted zone and if one of the good old People’s Republic fighter jets didn’t shoot us down, one of friendly India’s attack helicopters would. It’s that kind of place.’

‘Thanks.’

The chopper pilot, a prematurely grey-haired young Texan, grinned behind his sunglasses. Sarah leaned forward from the rear seats and tapped him on the shoulder.

‘What happens when we get there?’ she asked.

‘I flew the camera team in to Joshimath two days ago. They’re in touch with a group of Tibetan dissidents. You’ll be going in over an old smugglers’ route across the Mana Pass, then up towards Ngari, way up there.’ He pointed ahead, where a wall of white dominated the horizon.

Sarah looked out of the helicopter window at the hostile terrain a couple of thousand feet below and felt a shiver run through her. They were still fifty miles short of the Tibetan border and the mountains soared to either side, craggy green-flanked slabs which fell away sheer to rock-strewn river valleys that twinkled deceptively. The snow-capped peaks to their front must be three times as high.

‘This isn’t going to be a picnic, then?’

‘Ma’am,’ the pilot said seriously, ‘I hope somebody explained to you that you are going into the most inhospitable place on the planet. You can die of thirst in the Sahara or freeze to death in the Arctic, up here you’ll get the chance to do both while little slanty-eyed men with automatic weapons shoot at you. The Chinese have been here since nineteen fifty and they have the place sewn up real tight. The only way to enter Tibet legally is through Lhasa. You need a permit to do that and your movements are carefully controlled while you’re there. So to get wherever you’re going to make this here film, you need to go in illegally, which means on your hind legs. There are no physical barriers, because both sides rely on the terrain, but you’ll have to sneak past army garrisons who like nothing better than hunting human meat and harmless-looking shepherd boys who’ll turn you in for less than a dollar a head. The air is so thin even the birds have to walk and the only thing to drink is yak butter tea that tastes like sediment from the Hudson River. Now, you look in pretty good shape, I see you’ve got the best of equipment and they’d fire me for saying this, but you and your young fella would be advised to tell that documentary director to go to hell and Vanderbilt to stick their money up their ass and head right on back to Meerut. We could be having a beer on the deck by sunset?’

Jamie turned to Sarah. ‘Maybe he’s right. You stay with the helicopter and I’ll go?’

She gave him the kind of stare she usually reserved for overly persistent door-to-door salesmen. ‘No thank you.’

The pilot laughed. ‘Thought not. You don’t look like a quitter. Here we go.’ He twisted the helicopter down towards an insignificant settlement in the valley away to their right. ‘Thank you for flying Pelican Airways and have a nice day, y’all.’