‘I’m fine.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘Is there any point admitting I’m in pain?’
King thought about it, and said, ‘That’s true, actually. But I need to know if you’re on the verge of collapse.’
‘No.’
‘Good. Then I don’t need to know anything else.’
Because he understood. Slater had seen King deal with the ankle with a sealed mouth and a relentless mindset, and now he was attempting to do the same. The less they talked, the better. But now King wasn’t so focused on his ankle, and Slater could see his attention turning to the matters of immediate concern.
‘Who was that guy?’ he said to nobody in particular.
‘Just a civilian,’ Slater said. ‘But there must be word spreading down the pipeline of our presence. Someone wants us out of the equation fast. I’m assuming there’s a price on our heads.’
‘And you think Oscar Perry is really coordinating this with a network of rebels?’
‘Yes, actually,’ Slater said.
King didn’t respond.
Slater said, ‘Think about it. The only thing you’re taking into consideration is the language barrier, as if that somehow prevents Perry from being able to do this. But he can work his way around that fairly easily. I’d have to say that the only way this could be the porter is if it was a spur-of-the-moment kidnapping. The guy would have sensed an opportunity and gathered together some of his buddies and gone for it. But someone like that isn’t going to have connections with an entire guerrilla insurgency. Who do you think is more likely to have the smarts to coordinate with a Maoist splinter group — a bodyguard in the world of black operations, or a porter working for less than minimum wage?’
‘You might have a point.’
‘I do have a point.’
‘Do we know how well-trained Perry is?’
‘If I had to guess, I’d say he’s pretty good. You have to be to reach this level.’
King grimaced. ‘Actually, that’s making more and more sense. Perry has the knowledge of how this works. He’d be able to put out a hit with the right connections, even if he had to get past the language barrier.’
‘Let’s try not to debate it,’ Slater said. ‘Truth is, it could be one or the other.’
‘We should be prepared for it to be Perry.’
‘I agree.’
‘But you don’t have an arm, and I don’t have a foot.’
‘Nothing’s broken. They’re mostly superficial injuries. It shouldn’t impede us in the heat of combat. Adrenaline is a wonder drug.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ King said.
Looking down at his foot.
Slater froze. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s getting worse.’
Slater suppressed a curse, and looked at his watch. ‘I’d say we’ve got an hour to go. We make it to Phakding and you can sleep twelve hours straight. Okay?’
‘Yeah,’ King said, but his voice was barely above a whisper.
He kept moving.
But each step brought a wince to the surface, creasing his features, contorting his mouth and eyes.
Slater worried about himself, but couldn’t help concern creeping in about his comrade and closest friend.
38
They crossed a gargantuan suspension bridge swaying over a glacial blue river with caution and reached the town of Phakding at three-thirty in the afternoon.
Utterly exhausted, yet determined to persevere, King trudged into the first teahouse they spotted in a trance-like state. It was a few dozen feet off the main trail, tucked away in the shadows of Phakding’s laneways, and they both wordlessly seemed to agree that it was better suited to their needs than the commercial enterprises right out in the open.
They were up past Lukla now, and there were hordes more foreign hikers on the trail that had flown in to start their expeditions, all heading toward Namche Bazaar and then up to Everest or Gokyo Ri or the Cho-La Pass. Phakding was incredibly popular amongst trekkers, a world away from the rural trails they’d been slaving their way along for the better part of two days.
As they pulled to a halt inside the teahouse’s entrance, King struggled to comprehend how much distance they’d covered in total. Roughly twenty-eight miles, he figured. An endurance feat to be rivalled, especially with the sort of terrain they’d dealt with. It was either straight up or straight down, with an almost entire absence of flat stretches. Besides the injuries sustained along the way, everything ached. His legs, his chest, even his shoulders from carrying all their gear on their backs. It was gruelling, back-breaking work — but someone had to do it.
King limped into the main area and found a thirty-something Nepali man practically standing at attention. It seemed they were the only customers in the building — they’d come after the lunch rush, but before most of the trekkers made it to Phakding in the late afternoon.
King stared straight at the guy and said, ‘Do you speak English?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Do you have a room for us?’
‘Just the two of you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of course.’
‘Are we going to have any problems?’
‘I’m sorry, sir?’
‘You heard me.’
‘Why would we have a problem?’
King jabbed a finger at Slater, and then back at himself. ‘The two of us are on someone’s shit list. That means there are people around here actively trying to hurt us. Would you know anything about that?’
The Nepali man shook his head sincerely. ‘I don’t concern myself with gossip. Whatever problems you have, you’re safe here for the night. As long as you pay for the room, of course.’
‘What if someone else offers to pay you more?’
‘Then I will politely decline and tell them to go harass someone else.’
‘How’s that likely to work out for you?’
‘It might cause me some problems. But I am loyal to a fault. You were here first, so you get my loyalty.’
‘I appreciate that. I’ll be very angry if you go back on your word.’
‘That is not something I have ever done, sir.’
Frankly, King didn’t have the capacity to press the issue any further. He didn’t have the energy to try and be intimidating. The circumstances of the trek were less than ideal — he was hurting everywhere, his bones and muscles and
