ground, but each was steep and covered in loose scree. As the sun passed across the sky, warming the mountainsides, rocks come clattering down the face. Hemmed in by the walls of the gullies, they smacked into the lower slopes with terrifying speed and regularity. The noise echoed across to where they stood motionless, listening to the reverberations. Jigmi and Soa would mutter darkly to each other, but neither Bill nor Luca said a word — each rockfall a constant reminder of the dangers that lay ahead.
While Luca grew ever more agitated, Bill withdrew into himself, keeping to the back of the caravan. He seldom looked up at the mountains, keeping his focus locked on the pathway where he took the journey a step at a time. Only around the campfire in the evening did the two friends engage in any real conversation, with Luca complaining about the lack of possible routes while Bill tried to stifle his own growing sense of apprehension.
At the last village they’d passed, Luca had used his phrase book and limited Tibetan to try and get some more information from the locals. After a somewhat torturous exchange, punctuated by hand movements and confused silences, it became apparent that the locals had never crossed the mountains and knew of no paths that did, either in winter or summer. When Luca pointed to the summits and gestured as to whether they had ever been climbed, the farmer questioned had only given a confused smile, as if querying why anyone should want to go to the top of a mountain anyway.
But as they began to move off towards the next village, he’d grabbed Jigmi by the shoulder, his face creased in worry. They spoke for some time, with Soa soon becoming embroiled in the conversation. Both of the herders looked equally disturbed.
Eventually Luca broke in, signalling to Jigmi to explain to him. He tried, speaking slowly with hand gestures, while Luca struggled to make some sense of it all with the aid of his phrase book.
‘What’s he on about?’ Bill asked.
Luca thumbed swiftly through the pages. ‘Not sure, but that farmer is obviously putting the fear of God into him.’
Finding the right page, Luca looked for a word and repeated it slowly to Jigmi who nodded vigorously, looking relieved.
‘They’re saying there is an illness up in the next village,’ Luca explained. ‘I’m not sure what.’
Bill frowned. ‘If the farmer’s reaction is anything to go by, it could be pretty serious.’
Luca repeated the word again. All three men nodded, with the farmer pointing down the path for extra emphasis. After a pause, Luca turned back to Bill and shrugged.
‘Look, these people are very superstitious,’ he said. ‘They probably think it’s some kind of sign. It doesn’t mean the illness is deadly or anything.’
‘You reckon? Take a look at the man,’ Bill replied, his own eyes fixed on the farmer’s face. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m not walking right into the middle of a disease-ridden village if I can help it.’
Luca sighed, looking out past the few shacks to the mountains beyond. His eyes followed their jagged outlines meeting the horizon.
‘I’ve seen no route through in all the time we’ve been following this path. We’ve got to go on to see if there’s a way up past the next village. Every range has a chink in its armour somewhere, and I bet you this one is just around the corner.’
Bill shook his head.
‘Haven’t you been listening to what this guy is trying to tell us? It’s not safe.’
‘So what are our choices? We either press on and hope everyone’s had their ’flu jab, or we cancel the whole damn’ trip. I don’t know about you, mate, but I for one have come way too far to turn back now.’
As Luca started to shoulder his rucksack, avoiding eye contact, Bill remained fixed in thought, his expression tense. Then his shoulders seemed to relax and he looked up at Luca with a resigned smile.
‘Screw it,’ he said softly. ‘You’re right, we can’t turn back now. We’ve come too far.’
They both turned to see the herders still engrossed in conversation with the farmer who seemed to be even more panicked than before. He gestured erratically with his hands, his voice raised. Jigmi and Soa looked on, their worried eyes following his every movement.
Bill watched them for a moment before turning back to Luca.
‘I’m in. But I think they’re going to be less of a pushover.’
Chapter 21
A fax rolled off the coffee-stained machine and on to the floor of the Public Security Bureau’s headquarters in Lhasa. Less than a minute later the blurry printout was retrieved, placed into a standard, government-issue file and set before the eyes of Captain Zhu.
He read the missive then leaned back in his chair, using his left hand only to light a thin cigarette. As he inhaled the smoke, letting the remainder curl up into the sunlight, he smoothed the side parting of his hair. His eyes ranged over the small, smoke-stained office he had requisitioned before resting on a faded poster taped to the far wall. Snow-clad mountains were wrapped round in a panoramic display with the morning light just touching the summit of each one. There were other pictures like this around the office — peasants leading yaks through the ploughed terraces, nomads camped on the edge of crystal blue lakes. Hard to believe, but that was what the rest of Tibet was really like. It was like something out of the Dark Ages.
On the way back from Drapchi Prison their convoy had passed rows and rows of diggers and cranes. All around them, men and machines hammered away in construction sites with clouds of dust clinging to the sides of iron girders and scaffolding rigs. New mobile phone towers had shot up and there was a frenetic energy to the now sprawling city of Lhasa. It was hard to imagine that barely a mile out of the city everything changed. The wide highways faded into dust tracks and the mighty new glass buildings were little more than empty shells, lit only by sporadic electricity.
Zhu had insisted on driving back through the Tibetan quarter. On receiving the order, Chen immediately radioed ahead and two armoured cars were sent to meet them near the entrance to the Jokhang. As they approached, the atmosphere had immediately changed inside the jeeps. The soldiers straightened in their seats, pulling the magazines off their AK-47 rifles to check the first round.
As they beeped their horns, edging through the narrow streets thick with people, Zhu watched hundreds of Tibetans going about their day. The market was brimming with activity: hawkers calling their prices, old men playing dice on the side of the road, and the endless procession of devotees circumnavigating the holy Temple. Each turned to stare as the Chinese vehicles pushed their way through, the soldier in the passenger seat leaning right out of the rolled-down window and shouting for them to make way.
Through the thin glass, Chen and Zhu absorbed the undisguised hatred in the onlookers’ stares. As their car passed, silence spread through the market. Some vendors stood still, their chins raised defiantly, while others craned their necks, hoping to get a better view of their oppressors.
‘In the riot last week they burned the local police station by the Potala,’ Chen whispered. ‘The crowds are still pretty worked up about our reprisals.’
‘Interesting,’ murmured Zhu.
From the maps, he knew that they were trespassing on the last enclave of Tibetan culture in Lhasa. The rest had been bulldozed to make way for new buildings, but the kilometre square area around the Jokhang was the last of the old city. And, judging by the grim determination on their faces, the Tibetans obviously meant to keep it.
Zhu smiled before leaning back in his seat. He had wanted to see it for himself — that simmering rage. He wanted to know what would happen if news of the threat to the Panchen Lama ever got out into the open. Now he knew how thin the famous philosophy of peace was stretched in his opponent. This fight was going to be more interesting than he had thought.
Catching his smile, Chen shivered. He had seen enough of his new boss by now to guess what was giving him pleasure.
They had been working side by side for only forty-eight hours, yet Chen was already starting to understand more than he would have liked about him. He knew enough not to speak unless spoken to and would spent long hours in silence, simply waiting for the next order.
Now he stood in front of Zhu’s desk back at headquarters, watching those pale, blank features knitted in
