The Cloud Maker

for — Luca Matthews. He purportedly spoke to an old informant about something called a beyul. The report was filed by a…’ he paused, double-checking the screen ‘…a Professor Tang.’

Zhu stared at him, his eyes suddenly alive.

‘Read the report again.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He read the brief in full, including dates and times.

‘I’ve checked twice, sir, and couldn’t find any reference to the word beyul in any of our files.’

‘That’s because it’s classified,’ Zhu snapped distractedly. He turned back towards the cliff, feeling a sudden surge of excitement. He’d been right all along. There was something up there — but could it really be one of the fabled beyuls? Surely the last of them had been destroyed over thirty years ago? The Cultural Revolution had put paid to all that. They’d combed every river gorge, every mountain summit.

Could there really be any left?

‘Get Beijing on the line immediately. I want full satellite imagery for everything above this cliff-face. Get them to divert a satellite if necessary. And I want full-spectrum coverage to cut straight through this cloud.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And Lieutenant, ensure that no one in the bureau hears of this. Instruct the technician to delete all reference to the search once it has been emailed to you.’

Chen looked momentarily puzzled, but then quickly turned back to his tent.

After a moment, Zhu heard him rummaging through the mess of clothing and cables to retrieve one of their two GSM 900 satellite phones.

He stood for a moment, staring up at the sheer side of mountain, his eyes tracing up and down the great lines of the rock. If there really was a beyul up there, he was sure that’s where the Gelugpas would have hidden the boy. It made perfect sense. But the discovery had to remain his, and his alone. He wasn’t about to let anyone else at the bureau claim credit for such a monumental finding. The beyul would be his and that cliff was now the only thing standing between him and the final hiding place of the Panchen Lama.

Come tomorrow morning, he would start to send the soldiers up there two at a time, whether they could climb or not.

Chapter 40

There was no path so Rene and the two soldiers were forced to pick their way over the shrubs and bracken that clung to the mountain slopes, tripping on roots or tearing the lower parts of their trousers on the ragged thorn bushes. It was slow going. Ahead of them, the towering facade of the rock-face continued unbroken for as far as they could see.

They had been walking for six hours without rest. Rene was continuing with dogged determination, but could feel his thighs getting shaky with the effort. He muttered to himself, channelling his hatred on to the rapist private a few hundred yards in front. He could see the thickset neck and shuffling walk as Xie followed the SOF sergeant like a lap dog.

Rene stopped suddenly and peered down at some strange flowers, growing by the side of a large boulder. The flowers looked like prunes, black in colour and wrinkled on top. Short, bristly hairs stuck out in all directions.

‘Mandragora caulescens,’ he muttered, gently rubbing his hand over the petals. He had spent almost an entire month trying to find this particular species when he had first arrived in Tibet over eight years ago. And now here it was, right in front of him. If only the circumstances were different.

He looked up to find that the sergeant had stopped and was watching him closely. Rene stood up and continued walking, coming to a halt just in front of the other two men. He reached into the pocket of his corduroy trousers and pulled out a squashed packet of cigarettes. He was playing for time, thankful for the rest. Folding open the pack, he offered one to the sergeant, who shook his head impatiently. He then deliberately passed over Xie, taking one for himself, and with his other hand, reached back into his pocket for the lighter.

Xie’s quick eyes moved from the pack to Rene’s face. He lunged forward, trying to snatch them from Rene’s grasp, but missed. He went to try again but the sergeant’s hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks. The sergeant then whispered something in Mandarin and Xie quickly lowered his eyes to the ground. With a slow shake of his head, the sergeant moved off again in the direction they were headed.

‘Guess you’re not so matey with the boss after all,’ Rene said. Xie’s expression hardened as he caught the tone of the Westerner’s voice and his eyes followed the line of Renes mocking smile.

As Rene was about to walk off, Xie suddenly made a soft moaning sound. It was quiet enough for the sergeant not to hear and, as Rene stared quizzically at him, Xie closed his eyes and licked his lips in a horrible parody of pleasure. He moaned again, high-pitched, like a girl.

‘You son of a bitch!’ Rene hissed. ‘She was just a child…’

Xie gave a leering smile and then swaggered off, content that the Westerner had understood. For a moment Rene just stared after him, his cheeks flushing red while his titanic body seemed to swell, belly clenching in and barrel chest lifting. Then his huge frame listed forward and he staggered into a run, reaching full speed in just a few strides.

With his shoulder hunched, he crashed into Xie’s back at full force, the impact resounding with a dull thump. Xie was thrown forward, his body twisting horizontally in mid-air before landing heavily on his chest and face. Rene came crashing down beside him on the wet heather but used his hands to break his fall, rolling away and panting from the effort.

Xie lay on the ground, arms flailing as he tried to recover from the shock of the impact and raise himself on to all fours. A strangled wheezing came from his chest and he lifted his head, panicked eyes staring directly at Rene. He was so badly winded that for a few seconds the only sound was his laboured gasping for air.

Rene watched him, a broad smile spreading over his face until, suddenly, his massive head jolted to one side and he dropped to the ground with a thud.

The sergeant stood over him, rifle butt clasped in his hands. He stared down expressionlessly and then slowly shook his head as Rene lolled on to his back unconscious.

Rene stumbled on, feeling as if the pain would crack his head in two. They were on their way back to camp. He moved as fast as he could, but the effort was almost unbearable.

Xie walked twenty or so paces behind him in silence, staring like a petulant child at the back of Rene’s shoulders. Further back still was the sergeant. His rifle was held in his hands rather than slung over his shoulder and he was watching them both carefully. The safety was on, but Rene had heard the metallic crack of the bolt being pulled back. A round was now loaded in the chamber of his rifle.

As they finally crested the brow of a hill to look down on the green, rip-stop nylon tents of the campsite, Rene immediately sensed something was amiss. The soldier’s clockwork routine had changed — everyone was in camp and they seemed to be busy. Men were running from tent to tent with a purposeful air about them.

As they drew closer, Rene could see three of the soldiers were packing rucksacks. High-calorific ration packs and aluminium cooking pots had already been laid out on the grass by the main tent. Two other men were measuring coils of rope, paying them out in metre sections as they counted. Nearer to the fire, the remaining soldiers had spread out nylon covers. On top of them were the entire patrol’s rifles. Each had been recently oiled and hardened plastic caps had been fixed over the sights to protect them from the drizzling rain, while magazines of ammunition lay stacked in piles by each stock.

Their small group walked into the centre of camp and stopped by the fire. Running his eyes anxiously over the weapons on the ground, Rene looked up just as Captain Zhu approached the fire. The yak’s blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders and he smoked a cigarette, but for the first time since they had set off from Lhasa, he looked alive.