That night, however, they ended up in a small, clapboard bar serving thin, overpriced beer. Big Mike regaled Lourds with stories of his recent life, then as they got deeper into the beer, they talked about the time when Lourds and Lev had lived among the Uighur.
Rough men hung out in the bar with them. Mountain guides boasted of their bravery and cleverness. Pilots talked about the treacherous winds that blew through the mountains. Experienced climbers told horror stories of past expeditions to newbies in exchange for drinks and to see their audience’s eyes grow into saucers.
The scene felt good to Lourds. He sat there telling stories with Big Mike, listening to the languages, accents, and dialects swirling around him, and felt perfectly at home. This was what civilization ultimately boiled down to: people gathered and telling stories, genuine experiences as well as lies, and they used language to convey it all.
The logs in the fireplace crackled and spat and added a warm yellow glow to the rustic wood finish of the interior. A worn CD system pumped loud, raucous rock and roll throughout the room. Outside, the wind whistled through the mountains.
In the corner, however, a young woman was getting hassled by a couple of men who’d had too much to drink. She was dark and lovely, and probably in her midtwenties. Her winter clothes didn’t completely hide her trim figure. Her hair, dark as a raven’s wing, hung down into her face and brushed her shoulders. Her tanned skin was striking, smooth and unblemished.
One of the men spoke to her, then reached for her breast. The woman adroitly avoided his grasp by leaning back, but he only laughed at her and grew bolder.
By then Lourds was on his feet and crossing the floor. It wasn’t until he was standing behind the other man that he realized how large he was. The guy must have been Scandinavian from the size of him.
‘Excuse me.’ Lourds stood his ground but knew he was swaying a little. The changes in altitude and the strong native beer had bollixed his motor control a bit.
The man swiveled his head and glared at Lourds. ‘Go away.’ He spoke German.
Lourds switched to that language without even thinking about it. ‘I believe the lady has had enough of your company.’ He spoke loudly, hoping that someone — in fact, several someones — in the bar would decide to become participants instead of bystanders.
No one moved except Big Mike, who seemed to be even more inebriated than Lourds.
Lourds scowled. Some Dynamic Duo. Still, he couldn’t just walk away and leave the young woman in this situation.
‘I said go away.’ The man reached out to push Lourds.
Lourds stumbled back as the big hand shoved him in the chest, then he grabbed the man’s hand, intending to grip one of the fingers and use it to control the man. Before he could do that, the big man doubled up his other fist and smashed Lourds in the face.
Stumbling back again, Lourds tried to hang on to his senses, but they scattered like a covey of quail before a hunting dog.
Watching Thomas Lourds keel over on the floor, Miriam Abata couldn’t believe her bad luck. She’d managed to be at the Scholar’s Rock Temple for two days and remain invisible. She’d also followed Lourds and his companion down out of the mountains without being seen and had managed to arrive at Namche Bazaar slightly ahead of them once she was convinced that was where they were going. She’d even booked another plane leaving for the same destination at the same time as the professor’s.
Katsas Shavit, her superior, had provided satellite support to watch Lourds’s progress, so Miriam hadn’t been too worried about losing the American professor.
Now he was lying sprawled on the beer-stained floor of a backwater bar after trying to defend her honor. If this hadn’t been her first solo mission, she might have laughed.
But the bad news kept on coming. Instead of being chased out or even worrying the local police might come along to arrest them, the big man turned his attentions back to her. His foul breath pooled in her face, and she stopped breathing in self-defense.
‘Hey, Franz, you laid that idiot out with one punch.’ The other man slapped the first on the shoulder and grinned hugely.
Franz flexed his right arm. ‘See? I am a strong man. You would enjoy your time with me.’
Fear hummed through Miriam’s nervous system, but she remembered the old martial arts instructor who had trained her. He’d always pointed out that, when used correctly, fear was fuel for an experienced fighter. Miriam wasn’t terribly experienced in life-or-death situations, but she’d spent thousands of hours on those mats.
‘I want you to go away.’
Franz laughed at her. ‘No, you want Franz. You should know this by now. I have bought you drinks.’
‘No. I bought my own drinks.’ Miriam reached out for the beer bottle in front of her and casually twirled it.
Behind Franz, Lourds’s Uighur companion Big Mike struggled to pull the professor to his feet. Unfortunately, Lourds was out cold, and Big Mike just wasn’t sober enough for the task. Miriam had hoped that, between them, the professor and the Uighur would be able to limp back to their rented quarters.
‘Now you are calling me a liar?’ Franz glared at her.
‘Maybe your memory isn’t as good as you think it is.’ Miriam watched as Big Mike had Lourds almost to his feet, then dropped the professor again.
‘Oops.’ Big Mike rocked unsteadily for a moment, then reached down once more for Lourds.
‘Maybe I show you how I kick this guy’s ass some more.’ Franz stood up from the table and headed toward Lourds.
Miriam looked around the room. Really? No one was going to get involved? She hesitated a moment, wondering if she should let Franz beat on Lourds. The problem was that Franz was drunk enough to do some real damage before he realized what he was doing. The man was probably mean when he was sober, too.
Franz swatted Big Mike backwards and the Uighur man crashed into a table with three men. All of them went down in a heap. None of them got up to fight Franz, though. They just saved their beers and looked around for another table.
Grunting a little, an anticipatory smile on his face that made him look demonic, Franz reached for Lourds.
Miriam gripped the bottle in her hand and stepped around the table. There was still enough beer in the bottle to give it a little heft. She halted just behind the big man. ‘Hey. Franz.’
Franz turned around.
Swinging with everything she had, Miriam shattered the bottle across the big man’s nose. Franz’s head snapped back, and blood gushed from his nostrils. He didn’t fall, though. He stood there with a surprised look, then clamped his jaw tight as crimson crossed his bared teeth.
‘You shouldn’t have done that, girl.’
The fear inside Miriam grew stronger. She dropped the broken neck of the bottle and almost drew the Czech pistol she’d bought from a caravan of black market dealers going up into the mountains that day.
Franz reached for her.
Uncoiling, letting her body flow into the movements her instructor had taught her, Miriam batted the man’s arm aside with her right forearm, reaching across her body and bringing her hips around automatically to load a side kick. She fired the kick into Franz’s stomach with enough force to double him over slightly. Actually, he looked more dented than doubled.
Rotating on the ball of her left foot, Miriam lifted her right leg, loaded another kick, and swept this one across her opponent’s face. The hard collision of cheekbone against the bottom of her foot jarred her, but she kept her balance.
Moving quickly, Miriam withdrew slightly, stepped to the side, then brought her left foot down in a stamp strike to the side of Franz’s left knee. Something snapped, but she didn’t know if it was bone or cartilage. Franz’s left leg gave out under his weight, and he fell forward, landing hard on his injured knee.