‘Some.’
‘Where’d you learn that, Byron?’ inquired Boyd.
‘In Vietnam. For a while I was in Special Forces. Interrogating prisoners, that kind of thing.’
‘No kidding,’ said Boyd. ‘Torture any?’
Cody snorted a contemptuous sort of laugh and shook his head.
‘Special Forces. Wow. Did they say what kind of meteorology they were doing?’
‘No. But I said we’d go back sometime. Bring them some cigarettes and whisky. We could maybe find out what they were up to?’
‘Maybe we could.’
‘I’d be very surprised if they were still there when we went back,’ said Tsering. ‘I’d be very surprised if they didn’t just pack up and leave the minute we left their camp.’
‘You know your trouble, Tsering?’ said Boyd. ‘You have no faith in your fellow men.’
ENCAMPMENT IN THE AREA, 83°75 EAST OF GREENWICH, 28°45 NORTH. ONE OF OUR SHERPAS BELIEVES THAT THEY MAY BE DESERTERS. ON THE OTHER HAND THEY MAY BE A PARTY OF HOSTILES INTENT ON TREADING UPON OUR TOES. MY OWN INCLINATION IS TO ASSUME THE LATTER AND TAKE THEM OUT OF THE PICTURE STRAIGHTAWAY. PLEASE ADVISE. YOURS, CASTORP.
Jack took a deep breath and knelt down at the edge of the crevasse. He felt as if he should have prayed. He wanted to confess his sins, ask for courage, and seek guidance as to some other way of rescuing Swift, all at the same time. He badly did not want to do what he was about to do. His stomach felt as sour as if he had swallowed vinegar, while his heart was beating so quickly he thought he must be on the edge of a cardiac arrest.
Come on. Get a grip on yourself. She’ll freeze to death if you leave her down there.
He twisted around carefully and chopped at the ice with each ice axe. Only when he was entirely satisfied with the holds did he complete the turn, lower his legs into the crevasse like a man slipping into a swimming pool, and then hack at the wall beneath him with the double-front points of his crampons.
It wasn’t the first time he had made a free climb on an ice wall and Jack was aware of all of the hazards, which were mostly dependent on the ice quality. Toe points could pull out. The ice could split. Even worse, ice could shatter under the blow of an axe and the whole shard could carry you on a one-way toboggan ride. It was fortunate that the picks on the two ice axes were slim enough to permit easy penetration and yet sharp enough along their top edges to help extraction. Hardest of all was the technique of ice axe climbing in reverse. Having found a couple of good handholds, you had first to pull out of the ice one toe and then one pick, lower your body until your hand was at the very end of the fixed axe shaft, and then hammer in with the other axe and kick in with the other toe. It was as nerve-racking a way of coming down a wall as any human being could have devised.
Nine metres was not so far. Except that if he did fall off the blue-green wall of the ice-encrusted rock Jack knew it would be fatal. He knew his weight and the angle of his body would carry him over the edge of the shelf and into the depths of the crevasse. With such a climb there was no margin for error.
Bryan Perkins sat down at his desk, glanced at the Post, and then threw it into the bin. He preferred the City Paper, a free alternative weekly with better gossip and arts coverage. Perrins liked going to the movies, and the Post — not so much resting on its laurels as sleeping under them — never seemed to have the same amount of movie reviews as the City. He switched on his computer and stared out the window at the Potomac River, wondering if he might get a chance to go to the American Film Institute over the weekend and see something from the early Hitchcock season they were running. Vertigo, maybe — one of his favourites. The thought of vertiginous heights made him think of the Himalayas, and he called up HUSTLEr’s e-mail and checked to see if there was something in the tray from CASTORP.
The news that there was a Chinese army encampment in the Anna-puma Sanctuary did not particularly surprise him. The Agency had been expecting something of the kind from the Chinese. What surprised Perrins more was the alacrity with which CASTORP offered to dispose of the Chinese, without any attempt to verify his own suggestion that there was a possibility that the Chinese were actually deserters. Perrins saw little point in authorizing a surgical strike unless it was necessary and immediately e-mailed CASTORP to do nothing until the Agency had organized an aerial surveillance of the Chinese position. Then he contacted the NRO and Reichhardt, who agreed to arrange an overflight by a U2R from an air force base in Saudi Arabia. The U2r’s onboard computers would be able to gather the signals picked up from the site of the Chinese camp twenty-seven thousand metres below on the Annapurna Sanctuary, and then beam them via satellite back to Langley. The signals could then be analyzed and evaluated before being passed up to Perrins with a recommendation.
Swift shone the Maglite up the wall as Jack descended into darkness, uttering only the odd word of encouragement so as not to distract him. But when, about halfway down, he stopped moving altogether, she realized that something had gone wrong.
‘Jack? Are you okay?’
He was motionless, looking like a statue high on the wall of some strange cathedral chapel, a saint or an angel, frozen in the act of some weird benediction.
That was it. He was frozen with fear.
‘Jack?’
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up.’
Swift heard the panic in the echoing voice from above, and with no pleasure she knew she must be right.
‘Jack, listen to me. Listen. You’re more than halfway down. Just take your time.’
He did not move. He said nothing. All she could hear was the sound of his breathing, as fast as if he were running a marathon.
She paused, wondering what to say next. If he didn’t make it, she wouldn’t make it either. Things were that simple. Whatever words she said to him now, they would probably be the most important things she would ever say.
‘Jack? I don’t know if this is the right time or place. Maybe if we get out of this, we’ll laugh about it afterwards. But we’ll both know this was still the truth. What I said. What I’m saying. I love you. Jack. In my way I always have. After this is all over I don’t want us ever to be apart again. This is a little like a balcony scene from Shakespeare, except that it’s me who should be up there, and you down here. But I mean what I’m saying. Jack. So you can’t stop now. You just can’t. You have to climb down here so that you can tell me you love me and so that we can go on with the rest of our lives. Do you understand?’
Swift stopped speaking and waited a long moment. Then, slowly, like something that was dead coming to life again — a mummy from a Pharaoh’s tomb — he moved first his arm, then his leg, and resumed his descent.
When he reached the shelf at last, they held each other in silence for as long as Jack perceived that their situation allowed.
‘Thanks,’ he said, releasing her from his strong embrace. ‘I really lost it up there. You were pretty good, the way you talked me down.’
‘I meant every word of it.’
He nodded, picked up the rope, and began to tie it around his waist. ‘I know you did,’ he said. ‘If I’d had any doubt about that, I’d probably still be up there.’ He glanced up at the deepening blue pennant of sky that flagged the entrance to the crevasse. ‘Be easier going up than coming down, I guess.’
‘All the same, I think you’d better take this with you.’ She kissed him hard on the mouth. ‘Just in case you should start to slow down.’
Jack turned to the wall and got ready to climb again.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘You haven’t told me you loved me yet.’
‘No?’ He grinned back at her. ‘Well, get ready to watch a man in love climb this wall.’