"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.