"I don't believe it," I said aloud to myself. I waited, unwilling to believe what I was seeing but knowing damned well what I saw. The three figures strung out single-file grew larger, until they were upon me. The two Sherpa guides trudged by. The third figure halted and glanced at me with an expression of relief and disdain.
"It looks as though I guessed right," she said in clipped tones. "I'm going to give you another chance to cooperate with me," she added brightly.
"I'm touched," I growled.
"I knew you'd be," she said and went off after her guides. I watched her go with a mixture of anger, surprise and grudging admiration. Any girl with that much determination couldn't be all bad, I decided. She could also be a pain in the ass. But maybe she'd learned her lesson, I told myself, remembering the fright in her eyes during our last session. If not, I'd give her another one and fast. As I walked back through the village toward the Leeunghi house, I smiled as I passed Ghotak's temple and saw the three figures helping each other up the steps.
Chapter III
When I returned to the house I found the old man had been waiting for me to have tea. His information, more detailed than anything I'd heard, revealed the dangerous state of affairs that had already been reached. Khaleen, busy with housework, flitted in and out of the room, each time her eyes meeting mine in a small, private exchange. I kept remembering the softness of her hands on my body, and had to keep bringing my mind back to the old man's words.
"Over 5,000 of these immigrants have come into Nepal so far," he said. "As each one is a trained Communist agitator, versed in the ways of creating dissension among the people, this is a sizable force. Ghotak, if he forces the King to allow unrestricted further immigration, will end up ruling the country for his Chinese Communist masters."
"And the people really believe that Ghotak is guided by the spirit of Karkotek?" I asked.
"Yes," the old man answered. "In this he has been most clever, playing on every ancient superstition and ritual. The ritual tonight is an ancient custom he has revived into a means of controlling the people."
Khaleen entered with a fresh pot of tea and sat down for a moment to listen. She wore a loose black blouse and mandarin trousers and looked like a beautiful child-woman.
"But even more than the spirit of Karkotek, he has the example of how the yeti killed those who publicly opposed him," the patriarch went on.
"The yeti?" I exclaimed. "The abominable snowman? Not that old legend again."
I glanced up at the sober silence my remark had brought on. Both the old man and the girl were looking at me with deep, serious eyes.
"Surely you don't believe in the existence of such a creature, do you?" I asked, suddenly feeling that I'd already gotten my answer.
"No one who lives here doubts the existence of the yeti" the old man said. "The yeti exists. I merely believe it was a coincidence that he killed those who opposed Ghotak, and Ghotak is capitalizing on this."
"But you believe in the yeti? Both of you do?"
"But of course, my friend," he said, and Khaleen nodded in wide-eyed agreement. "There is no doubt he exists."
I backed off quickly, realizing I was treading on inviolate ground. Superstitions, at least some superstitions, were obviously not confined to the masses. But before backing away entirely, I tried one more nod in the direction of reason and logic.
"Have you considered that perhaps Ghotak had these people slain and blamed it on the yeti?" I asked.
"Only the yeti could have slain them. You would know had you seen their bodies," he replied. I dropped the point and we finished tea. The old man went back upstairs to rest and Khaleen had chores to finish. I decided on a walk, and I hadn't been out of the house five minutes when I met up with Hilary Cobb. She wore a wool suit, and I noted again how magnificently full her breasts were.
"I've just been interviewing the most fascinating man," she announced gaily. "Ghotak, High Lama of the Teeoan Temple."
"You do get around," I commented. "I'm surprised he consented to see you. I hear he's very remote."
"You'd be surprised how many doors open when you flash a press card," Hilary answered. "He said he wanted to give a Western journalist his views on increased immigration into Nepal."
"He doesn't miss a trick," I grunted.
"What does that mean?" she asked, suddenly all newshound.
"Nothing," I said quickly, but she had caught a scent and was eyeing me suspiciously.
"Don't try putting me off," she said. "Maybe I'm onto something more than I thought. Is that why Angsley was sent here, because of the Chinese immigration into Nepal? Is that why you're taking his place?"
"Why don't you go home before you get killed?" I said savagely.
"Aren't you being a bit melodramatic, old boy?" she asked flippantly. I gathered the lapels of her suit in one hand and pulled her close, relieved to see the quick flash of fear that crossed her face.
"You can't have forgotten the last time you got smart with me, honey," I growled. "I warned you then not to get smart and I'm telling you again."
"And I told you I don't scare off," she snapped back.
I let go of her and she stepped back, her blue eyes round and serious. "Why don't we call a truce?" she said. "I won't interfere with you and you don't interfere with me."
"Oh, God save us," I groaned. "You know, for a bright, determined, resourceful girl, you're an awfully stupid broad. I'm giving you good advice. This place could erupt at any time into a very ugly situation."
"And a great story," she said happily.
"Go on, get lost," I said angrily. "Just stay out of my hair." I turned and walked away from her. I had a job to do here, I reminded myself. Trying to talk some sense into overaggressive English girls wasn't part of it. Somehow, the whole damned place was beginning to give me a very uneasy feeling. I wanted to get at the heart of things, to break something open and root it out, to expose the enemy and meet him head on. But here everything moved under the surface, cloaked in strange attitudes and approaches. I decided to concentrate on Ghotak. He had moved directly twice. Maybe I could force him into the open and into a fatal mistake. I went back to the house, stretched out on the bed and tried to clear my mind of abominable snowmen and snake gods and all the other superstitions. The damned atmosphere had a way of enveloping you and making you part of it. I let my thoughts wander to Khaleen. Now there was something worth being enveloped by.
I rested till I heard the soft gong that signaled dinner and went downstairs. We ate quickly for, as the old man explained, the ritual would begin an hour past sundown. Khaleen excused herself for a moment and the old man took a few last puffs on his water-pipe. I finished the cup of sweet rice wine he had served.
"I will explain what is happening at the ritual as it takes place," he said to me. "And most of it, I daresay, will not need explaining to you. By the way, you are aware that another visitor from a Western country is here in Katmandu?"
"I'm aware," I said. "I didn't know you were."
"She stopped here," he said. "She took my house for the Traveler's Inn, and I gave her directions. She is a journalist and very easy to converse with."
"And very clever," I added. I was silently wagering that Hilary would turn up at the ritual, too. Khaleen's arrival ended our conversation. She swept into the room with a brilliant, orange silk stole wrapped about her bare shoulders. Under it she wore a brief jeweled top that ended in a bare midriff. A blue, diaphanous material fell from her waist to the ground. Her breasts, gathered inside the halter top, rose in twin mounds, sharply pointed, and her black hair shone brightly against her rose-tinted cheeks. She shimmered, a glowing, incandescent jewel come to life, breathtakingly delicate and beautiful.