Ellis frowned in his sleep, his face scrunching up before burrowing deeper into his pillow. He tugged at the thin blanket covering him, but his feet remained uncovered, drawing a sleepy protest from his companion. Without opening his eyes, he reached out toward the bedside table, grabbed the alarm clock, and threw it with frustration across the room. Then, he nestled deeper into the pillow.
The bell persisted.
Finally, his eyes cracked open, and he realized it was the telephone ringing. He propped himself up on one elbow, staring resentfully into the darkness. Since arriving at the hotel, he had repeatedly asked Su Thet to move the phone closer to the bedside, and each time he was assured it would be done tomorrow. It had been almost a year.
With a groan, he swung his legs off the bed and padded silently across the room toward the dressing table, not bothering to turn on the light. As he picked up the receiver, he pulled the curtains aside and glanced out the window. It was still dark, with the moon waning. He estimated it was about two hours until dawn.
"Ellis," he muttered into the receiver.
"Goddamn it, what's wrong with you?" Hardy's voice came through sharply. "I've been trying to reach you for the past forty-five minutes."
"I was asleep," Ellis said, his tone dry. "I usually sleep at night. Most people do, except maybe your flight managers."
"Very funny," Hardy replied, his exhaustion evident. "Well, get your ass down here. There's a flight scheduled for dawn."
"What the hell? I just got back six hours ago. I'm exhausted!"
"Join the club, pal," Hardy responded. "This is important—a Chanair 727 made an emergency landing, and the flight inspector grounded it. The passengers are furious, and the captain and the hostess are trying to sort things out. We need to get those passengers to the coast. You know how crucial our relationship with Chanair is; if we treat them well, they might start using us as a regular feeder."
"Yeah, right," Ellis muttered. "They’ll use us when it’s an emergency, but they won’t ever put us on their regular schedule. All we’ll get is a thank you card."
"It’s worth a shot," insisted Hardy. "So get moving."
Ellis considered telling Hardy that he had already exceeded his flying hours for the month, and it was only two-thirds through. But instead, he sighed and said, "Alright, I’m coming." He knew it would be pointless to argue; for Hardy, the I.A.T.A. regulations were mere suggestions, meant to be bent if not outright broken. If he followed the rules, his struggling operation would never stay afloat.
He also knew that this was Hardy's last chance. If he lost this job, survival would be tough—too many pilots were vying for too few jobs in Asia, and Hardy's ragtag outfit was about as low as you could go. Ellis scowled, thinking, I’m stuck on a bloody escalator going the wrong way. It takes all the running I can do to stay in the same place.
He abruptly hung up the phone, then gazed once more into the night, scanning the sky. It seemed clear here, but what about the mountains? His mind always returned to those jagged, cruel peaks, their white ridges like swords pointing skyward. He’d need a good weather report from Hardy to make it through safely.
He stood, walking to the door and stepping into the corridor, which was as unlit as ever. At 11:00 p.m., all the lights in the public areas were switched off—this was that kind of hotel. For the millionth time, Ellis wondered what the hell he was doing in this dreary town, in this rundown hotel. Unconcerned by his nakedness, he walked down the hall to the bathroom. In his philosophy, if a woman had seen a naked man before, it didn’t matter. If she hadn’t, well, it was time she did. Besides, it was dark.
After a quick shower to wash off the night’s sweat, he returned to his room, flicked on the bedside lamp, and grimaced as the filament glowed faintly. The town’s electricity supply was notoriously unreliable. In the dim light, he dressed—thick woolen undergarments, a worn pair of jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and a leather jacket. By the time he finished, he was sweating in the sweltering tropical heat, but it would be cold in the mountains.
From the dressing table, he picked up a metal flask and shook it. It was half full. Frowning, he wondered if he should wake up Su Thet for a refill. But Su Thet was notoriously irritable at night, and he might ask questions about when the bill would be paid. Maybe he could find something at the airport.
Just as he was about to leave, Ellis glanced back at the bed. The sheet had slipped, revealing a dark-haired woman with a smooth, pale complexion and delicate features. Her soft, amber-toned skin seemed to shimmer in the weak light. He thought, with a mix of curiosity and resignation, that there was probably a mixture of Han and South Asian heritage in her. With a slight, rueful grimace, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a couple of bills, and tossed them onto the bedside table. Then, he quietly exited, closing the door behind him.
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When Ellis pulled his old, battered Toyota Crown into the parking lot, he couldn't help but stare at the dazzling lights of the airport, unfamiliar in their brightness. The airfield was little more than a makeshift emergency strip, but Hardy considered it his main base. A sleek Chanair Boeing 727 sat parked before the control tower, its metal glinting under the lights. Ellis watched it for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the hangar.
A Dakota was being loaded in the distance. Despite the distance, Ellis could make out the tail insignia—two intertwined "H's," designed to resemble the jagged peaks of a mountain range. A wry smile tugged at his lips. Hardy was endlessly proud of his so-called Himalayas Airlift.
He got out of the car and walked toward the terminal, his feet crunching against the gravel. The building was crowded with discontented passengers, rudely woken in the dead of night and dumped in the middle of nowhere. Pushing his way through, Ellis made his way to Hardy's office, where he could hear a disgruntled American voice rising above the noise. "This is a disgrace! I'm going to speak to Mr. Thompson when I get back to Tokyo."
Ellis pushed open the door, greeted by the sight of Hardy slouched in his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat beading on his forehead. Hardy was always sweating, especially in moments like this, when his life seemed to be in a constant state of emergency. He glanced up.
"So you finally decided to show up," Hardy muttered.
"I'm always so well-loved," Ellis said dryly.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Hardy got straight to the point. "Here's the deal. I’ve contracted with Chanair to fly ten of their passengers to Tsamphan. They're the ones with tight connections to a ship. You’re taking number one—she's being prepped now." He said the words like he was an important businessman, and Ellis could tell from the way he emphasized "contracted with Chanair" that Hardy thought of himself as some high-powered operator, despite being an aging ex-pilot scraping by with two dilapidated surplus planes.
Ellis raised an eyebrow. "Who's coming with me?"
"Gongpho."
That name made Ellis bristle. "That little snake?"
"He volunteered," Hardy snapped, clearly defensive. "Which is more than I can say for you."
Ellis was quiet for a moment, trying to suppress his frustration. "He volunteered? That doesn't mean I want him as my co-pilot. You can't trust him."
"He's a better pilot than you think," Hardy said grudgingly, but Ellis could tell he didn’t believe it. "But it doesn't matter. He’s coming. You’ll be in charge as skipper. Maybe I’ll promote him to the office if this deal goes through."
Ellis' skepticism deepened. Hardy’s delusions of grandeur were nothing new, but this seemed particularly misguided. "If you think Chanair is going to give you a regular contract, you’re insane. They’ll give you a one-time payout, thank you for your service, and that’s it."
"Leave the thinking to me," Hardy said, cutting him off. "You're paid to fly a plane."
Ellis sighed, clearly defeated. He wasn’t going to win this one.
"So what happened to the 727?" he asked.
"Fuel issue—they’re looking into it. We’re still handling a cargo crate to be serviced. Here’s the manifest." Hardy handed him a sheet of paper.
Ellis stared at the manifest, his face twisting in frustration. "Do you always overload? I just wanted a simple flight for once!"
Hardy shot him a hard look. "You’ll be fine. It’s better now than later when the sun warms the air. Get out of here. I've got work to do."
Ellis reluctantly left the office. The main hall was emptying as disgruntled passengers boarded the decrepit airport bus. A few people remained, likely those headed to Tsamphan. He paid them no mind—passengers were just cargo to him, whether in the air or on the ground.
When he glanced at the manifest again, he cursed under his breath. There were two large crates, and they were far heavier than he had expected. He clenched his fists. If he ever got an I.A.T.A. inspector here at the right time, Hardy would be in serious trouble. He tossed the manifest aside and went to check the Dakota.
Gongpho was standing near the plane, leaning against its undercarriage, looking entirely too pleased with himself. As soon as he saw Ellis, he straightened up and flicked his cigarette aside. Gongpho didn’t bother moving forward to greet him—he never did unless it was to his advantage.
"Is the cargo secure?" Ellis asked as he walked over.
"Yes, of course," Gongpho replied with a smooth smile, his voice dripping with insincerity. Ellis didn’t buy it. He knew Gongpho—everything he did was with some hidden agenda, always looking for ways to profit at someone else’s expense.
"You checked it yourself?" Ellis pressed.
"Naturally," Gongpho replied with a glint in his eye, as if to say ‘of course, and if you ask again, I might have a reason to take offense.’
Ellis narrowed his eyes. "What’s the weather look like?"
Gongpho looked up at the sky, his face unreadable. "It seems fine."
Ellis wasn’t satisfied. "An official report would be better."
Gongpho gave him a sly grin. "I’ll fetch it."
Ellis didn’t wait around. He walked toward the Dakota and began checking the cargo hold, his hands brushing over the straps securing the crates. There was a loose one—Gongpho’s negligence could be the death of them someday. His hands tightened around the strap before he moved toward the cockpit, but not before he caught Gongpho looking over at him with an expression that suggested more than simple indifference. Gongpho always had ulterior motives—whether it was to undermine him or set up some kind of trap, Ellis wasn’t sure. But he didn’t trust him.
Inside the cockpit, Ellis went over the instruments, his focus steady. The mechanic was still working on the port engine, so Ellis leaned out of the window to ask, "Is everything good?"
The mechanic spat onto the tarmac and made a throat-cutting gesture. "Cār ch̀wnj wulā h̄nụ̀nj phị līr ch̀wnj wulā h̄nụ̀nj."
Ellis nodded grimly and moved on, heading to the hangar to find Dhambhing, the chief mechanic. At least Dhambhing was reliable—if anything ever went wrong with the plane, it was his trust in Dhambhing that had kept him alive. They shared a quiet conversation, during which Ellis managed to fill his flask before leaving. He took a quick swig and returned to the Dakota just as the first light of dawn began to break.
Gongpho was already in the cockpit, fiddling with his briefcase as if the fate of the plane rested on it. "Got the weather report?" Ellis asked.
Gongpho handed him the sheet, a look of quiet satisfaction in his eyes. Ellis didn’t miss the way Gongpho was lingering, no doubt scheming some way to profit from this trip. But Ellis wasn’t about to bite. He glanced over the report—it seemed fine, no signs of trouble, but he knew better than to relax. He’d seen weather reports turn sour before.
He glanced at Gongpho, who was still eying him with that insidious smile. "Take her to the end of the strip. I’ll warm up the radio."
Without saying another word, Gongpho revved the engines, and the Dakota lumbered into the darkness, ungainly on the ground but steadily climbing into the air.
As they ascended into the cold, thin air above the Himalayas, Ellis couldn't shake the feeling that something—something about this trip—wasn't right. The passengers might have been oblivious to the risks they were facing, but Ellis knew the dangers of flying through the high mountains. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t trust Gongpho to have his back.
"Take over, Gongpho. I’m going to check on the passengers," Ellis said, his tone flat.
Gongpho shot him a look, as if surprised by the request. "Why? What is so important about the passengers?" He shrugged, smiling again. "Is this Chanair? You want to see the girl, don’t you?"
Ellis looked at him, his expression hardening. "Girl?"
"Just a woman," Gongpho said with a sly smile. "Very beautiful. I believe I’ll get to know her when we arrive in Tsamphan."
Ellis gritted his teeth. He knew better than to trust Gongpho’s motives. That man would do anything to get ahead—even at the expense of the people around him.
Ellis grunted and took the passenger manifest from his breast pocket. As he suspected, the majority of them were Americans. He went through the list rapidly. Mr. and Mrs. Yates of Danboro, Maryland---tourists; Dr. Jessie Jefferson, Loxpool, England---profession unstated; Juno Ashton of New York---businessman; Mr. and Ms. Zeshin---Japanese, profession unstated; Miss Simran Rasmussen of Morning Glory, Georgia---tourist; Dr. Hope of California; Beck Kwai----no stated nationality, profession unstated----importer; Ryan Humphrey of Miami, Florida----businessman.
He flicked his finger on the manifest and grinned at Gongpho. "Simran's a nice name---but Rasmussen? I can't see you going around with anyone named Rasmussen."
Gongpho looked shocked, then laughed convulsively. "Very well, then, you can have the fair Rasmussen----I'll stick to my woman.'
Ellis looked at the list again. "Then it must be Ms. Zeshin---unless it's Mrs. Yates."
Gongpho chuckled, his good spirits recovered. "Go find out for yourself."
"Thank you, I believe I will," said Ellis. "Take over."
He went back into the main cabin and was confronted by ten uplifted heads. He smiled genially, modelling himself on the Chanair pilots to whom public relations was as important as flying capability. Lifting his voice above the engines' roar, he said, "I suppose I should tell you that we'll be reaching the mountains in about one hour. It'll get cold, so I suggest you put on your overcoats. Mr. Hardy will surely have told you that this aircraft isn't pressurized, but we don't fly at any great height for more than one hour, so you'll be quite all right."
A burly man with a whisky complexion interjected, "Nobody told me that."
Ellis cursed Hardy under his breath and broadened his smile. "Well, not to worry, Mr.---er….."
"Humphrey, Ryan Humphrey."
"Mr. Humphrey. It'll be quite all right. There is an oxygen mouthpiece next to every seat which I will advise you to use if you feel breathing difficulties. Now, it gets a bit tiresome shouting like this above the engine noise, so I'll come around and speak to you individually." He smiled at Humphrey, who glowered back at him.
He bent to the first pair of seats on the port side. "Could I have your names, please?"
The first man said, "I'm Ashton." The other contributed, "Hope."
"Glad to have you aboard, Dr. Hope, Mr. Ashton."
Ashton said, "I didn't bargain for this, you know. I didn't think crates like this were still flying."
Ellis smiled deprecatingly. "Well, this is an emergency flight and it was laid on in a devil of a hurry. I'm sure it was an oversight that Mr. Hardy forgot to tell you that this isn't a pressurized plane." Privately he wasn't sure of any such thing.
Hope said with a smile. "I came here to study high-altitude conditions. I'm certainly starting with a bang. How high do we fly, Captain?"
"Not more than 17,000 feet," said Ellis. "We fly through the passes---we don't go over the top. You'll find the oxygen mouthpieces easy to use--all you do is suck." he smiled and turned away but then found himself held.
Humphrey was clutching his sleeve, leaning forward over the seat behind. "Hey, Skipper...."
"I'll be with you in a moment, Mr. Humphrey," said Ellis, and held Humphrey with his eye. Humphrey blinked rapidly, released his grip and subsided into his seat, and Ellis turned to starboard.
The man was elderly, with an aquiline nose and a short grey beard. With him was a young girl of startling Oriental beauty, judging by what Ellis could see of her face, which was not much because she was huddled deep into a fur coat. He said, "Mr. Zeshin?"
The man inclined his head. "Don't worry, Captain, we know what to expect." He waved a gloved hand. "You see, we are well prepared. I know the Himalayas, sir, and I know these planes. I know the Himalayas well; I have been over them on foot and by horse---during my time in the Imperial Japanese Army I climbed some of the high peaks---didn't I, Katsura ?"
" `Hai, ojisan'" she said in a flat voice. "But that was long ago. I don't know if your heart...."
He patted her on the leg. "I will be all right if I relax; is that no so, Captain?"
"Do you understand the use of this oxygen tube?" asked Ellis.
Zeshin nodded confidently, and Ellis said, "Your uncle will be quite all right, Ms. Zeshin." He waited for her to reply but she made no answer, so he passed on to the seats behind.
These couldn't be the Yates; they were too ill-assorted a pair to be American tourists, although the woman was undoubtedly American. Ellis said inquiringly. "Miss Rasmussen?"
She lifted a sharp nose and said. "I say this is all wrong, Captain. You must turn back at once."
The fixed smile on Ellis's face nearly slipped. "I fly this route regularly, Miss Rasmussen," he said. "There's nothing to worry about."
But there was naked fear on her face---air fear. Sealed in the air-conditioned silence of a modern jet-liner she could subdue it, but the primitiveness of the Dakota brought it to the surface. There was no clever décor to deceive her into thinking that she was in a drawing-room, just the stark functionalism of raw aluminum, battered and scratched, and with the plumbing showing like a dissected cadaver.
Ellis said quietly, "What do you do for a living, Miss Rasmussen?"
"I'm a school teacher back in Morning Glory," she said. "I've been teaching there for thirty years."
He judged that she was naturally garrulous and maybe this could be a method of conquering her fear. He glanced at the man, who said, "Beck Kwai, sir."
He was a racial anomaly---a German-Chinese name and German-Chinese features---straw-colored hair and slanted black eyes. German missionaries had been swarming East and Southeast Asia for many years, many marrying the local women and Mr. Kwai was clearly one of the results.
Ellis said, "Do you know the Himalayas, Mr. Beck?"
"Very well," he replied in a grating voice. He nodded ahead. "I lived in a small village up there for many years---now I am returning."
Ellis switched back to Miss Rasmussen. "Do you teach geography, Miss Rasmussen?"
She nodded. “Yes, I certainly do. That’s one of the reasons I came to Asia on my vacation. It does wonders if you can describe things first-hand.”
"Then here you have a wonderful opportunity," said Ellis with enthusiasm. "You'll see the Himalayas as you never would if you'd flown Chanair. And I'm sure that Mr. Kwai will point out the interesting sights."
Kwai nodded understandingly. "Rúguǒ, very interesting; I know it well, the mountain country."
Ellis smiled reassuringly at Miss Rasmussen, who offered him a glimmering, tremulous smile in return. He caught a twinkle in Beck's black eyes as he turned to the port side again.
The man sitting next to Humphrey was unmistakably British, so Ellis said, "Glad to have you with us, Dr. Jefferson---Mr. Humphrey."
Jefferson said, "Good to hear an English accent again, Captain, after all this time."
Humphrey broke in. "I'll be damned if I'm glad to be here, skipper. What in hell kind of an airline is this, for God's sake?"
"One run by an American, Mr. Humphrey," said Ellis calmly. "Now, as you were saying, Dr. Jefferson?"
"I never expected to see an English captain out here," said Jefferson.
"Actually, I'm an Irishman, and we tend to get about," said Ellis. "I'd put on some warm clothing if I were you. You, too, Mr. Humphrey."
Humphrey laughed and suddenly burst into song. "I've got my love to keep me warm." He produced a hip flask and waved it. "This is as good as a top-coat."
For a moment Ellis saw himself in Humphrey and was shocked and afraid. "As you wish," he said bleakly, and passed on to the final pair of seats opposite the luggage racks.
The Yates were an elderly couple, very Ma and Pa Kettlish. He must have been pushing seventy and she was not far behind, but there was a hint of youth about their eyes, good-humored and with a zest for life. Ellis said, "Are you all right, Mrs. Yates?"
"Fine," she said. "Aren't we, Brem?"
"Sure," said Yates, and looked up at Ellis. "Will we be passing through the Vale of Lhota?"
"That's right," said Ellis. "Do you know this part of Asia?"
Yates laughed. "Last time I was around here was in 1913. I've just come down to show my wife where I spent my misspent youth." He turned to her. "It took me two weeks to get back across in 1911, and here we are doing in an hour, maybe two. Isn't it amazing?"
"Yes, it is," Mrs. Yates replied comfortably.
There was nothing wrong with the Yates, decided Ellis, so after a few more words he went back to the cockpit. Gongpho still had the plane on automatic pilot and was sitting relaxed, gazing forward at the mountains. Ellis sat down and looked intently at the oncoming mountain wall. He checked the course and said, "Keep taking a bearing on Soutama and let me know when it's 200 and 10 degrees true bearing. You know the drill."
He stared down at the ground looking for landmarks and nodded with satisfaction as he saw the sinuous, twisting course of the Guhusoght River and the railway bridge that crossed it. Flying this route by day and for so long he knew the ground by heart and knew immediately whether he was on time. He judged that the northwest wind predicted by the meteorologists was a little stronger than they had predicted and altered course accordingly, then he jacked the autopilot again and relaxed. All would be quiet until Gongpho came up with the needed bearing on Soutama. He sat in repose and watched the ground slide away behind---the dun and olive foothills, craggy bare rock, and then the shining snow-covered peaks. Presently he munched on the sandwiches he took from his briefcase. He thought of washing them down with a drink from his flask but then he thought of Humphrey's whisky-logged face. Something inside him seemed to break and he found that he didn't need a drink after all.
Gongpho suddenly put down the bearing compass. "30 seconds," he said.
Ellis looked at the wilderness of high peaks before him, a familiar wilderness. Some of these mountains were his friends, like Soutama; they pointed out his route. Others were his mortal enemies---devils and demons lurked among them compounded of down draughts, driving snow and fogs. But he was not afraid because it was all familiar and he knew and understood the perils and how to get out of them.
Gongpho said, "Now!" and Ellis swung the control column gently, experience telling him the right turn. His feet automatically moved in conjunction with his hands and the Dakota swept to port in a wide, easy curve, heading for a gap in the towering wall ahead.
Gongpho said softly, "Oh, Mr. Ellis."
"Can't you see I'm busy?" Ellis snapped. "Don't bug me now!"
"Be that as it may, I have no choice," said Gongpho, and there was a little metallic snap.
Ellis looked at him out of the side of his eye and stiffened as he saw that Gongpho was pointing a firearm at him----a compact automatic pistol, in fact.
He jerked his head, his eyes widening in shock. "What is this? Some kind of a joke?"
Gongpho's evil smile widened. "No joke," he said indifferently. "We are not going through the Vale of Lhota this trip, Mr. Ellis." His voice hardened. "You will now steer course one-eight-four on a true bearing---if you want to live!"
Ellis took a deep breath and held his course. "You're insane," he said. "Okay, put the gun down, Gongpho, and maybe we'll forget this. I guess I have been a little too hard on you these days, but that's no reason to threaten me with a gun. Put it away and we'll straighten things out when we get to Tsamphan."
Gongho's teeth flashed. "You are a stupid man, Ellis; do you presume that I do this for personal reasons? But since you mention it, you said not long ago that sitting in the captain's seat gave you authority." He lifted the gun slightly. "You were wrong--this gives authority; all the authority there is. Now change course or I'll blow your white head off. I can fly this aircraft too, remember."
"They'd hear you inside," said Ellis.
"I've locked the door; they can do nothing. They wouldn't dare take the controls from the only pilot. But that would make no difference to you, Ellis---you'd be a dead man."
Ellis saw his finger tighten on the trigger and bit his lip before swinging the control column. The Dakota turned to fly south, parallel to the main backbone of the Himalayas. Gongpho was right, damn him; there was no point in getting himself killed. But what the hell was he up to?
He settled on the bearing given by Gongpho and reached forward to the auto pilot control. Gongpho jerked the gun. "No, Mr. Ellis; you fly this plane---it will give you something to do."
Ellis drew back his hand slowly and grasped the wheel. He looked out to starboard past Gongpho at the high peaks drifting by. "Where are we going?" he asked grimly.
"That is not important," said Gongpho. "But it is not very far. We will land at an airstrip in five minutes."
Ellis thought about that. He knew of no airstrips this course. That's because there were no airstrips at all this high in the mountains except for the military strips, and some belonged to the Red Chinese while others belonged to the still-free Asian countries on the other side of the Himalayan Range. He would have to wait and see.
His eyes flickered to the microphone set on its hook close to his left hand. He looked at Gongpho and saw that he was not wearing his earphones. If the microphone was switched on then any loud conversation would go on the air and Gongpho would not be aware of it. It was definitely worth a try!
He said to Gongpho. “There aren't any airstrips on this course.” His left hand strayed from the wheel.
“You don’t know everything, Ellis.”
His fingers touched the microphone and he leaned over to block Gongpho's vision as much as he could, pretending to study the instruments. His fingers found the switch and he snapped it over and then he leaned back and relaxed. In a loud voice he said, "You'll never get away with this, Gongpho; you can steal a whole airplane so just like that. When this Dakota is overdue at Tsamphan they'll lay on a search---you know that as well as I do."
Gongpho laughed. "You're a smart one, Ellis---but I was smarter. The radio is not working, I'm sorry to say. I removed the tubes while you were talking to the passengers."
Ellis felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He looked a the jumble of peaks ahead and felt frightened. This was unknown country to him and there would be dangers he couldn't recognize. He felt afraid for himself and for his passengers.865Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlXrvVzvuPd
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It was cold in the passenger cabin and the air was thin. Mr. Zeshin had blue lips and his face had turned gray. He sucked on the oxygen tube and his niece fumbled in her bag and produced a small bottle of pills. He smiled painfully and put a pill in his mouth, letting it dissolve on his tongue. Slowly some color returned to his face; not a whole lot, but he looked better than he had before taking the pill.
In the seat behind, Miss Rasmussen's teeth were chattering, not with cold but with chatter. Already Beck Kwai had learned much of her life history, in which he had not the slightest interest although he didn't show it. He let her talk, prompting her sometimes, and all the time he regarded the back of Zeshin's head with lively black eyes. At a question from Miss Rasmussen he looked out of the window and suddenly frowned.
The Yates were also looking out of the window. Mr. Yates said, "I could've sworn we were going to head that way--through that pass. But we suddenly changed course south.
"It all looks the same to me," said Mrs. Yates. "Just a lot of mountains and snow."
Yates said, "From what I remember, the Vale of Lhota is back there."
"Oh, Brem, I'm sure you don't really remember. It's nearly 50 years since you were here---and you never saw it from an airplane."
"Maybe," he said, unconvinced. "But it sure is funny."
"Now, Brem, the pilot knows what he's doing. He looked like a nice efficient young fellow to me."
Yates went on looking out the window. He said nothing else.
Jessie Jefferson of Loxpool, England, was becoming very bored with Ryan Humphrey of Miami, Florida. The man was an absolute menace! Already he'd drunk half the contents of his flask, which seemed to be an unusually large one, and he was getting irredeemably drunk. "Whaddya think of the nerve of that goddam flyboy, chokin' me off like that?" he demanded. "Actin' high an' mighty jus' like the goddam limey he is."
Jefferson smiled gently. "Have you forgotten than I happen to be a 'goddam limey' myself, sir?" he asked.
"Well, jeez, presen' comp'ny excepted," said Humphrey. "That's always the rule, ain't it? I ain't got nothin' against you limeys really, excep' you keep draggin' us into your wars."
"Oh, an avid reader of the Miami Herald, are you?" said Jefferson solemnly.
Ashton and Hope didn't talk much---they had nothing in common. Hope had produced a large book as soon as they exhausted their small talk and to Ashton it looked heavy in all senses of the word, being mainly mathematical.
Ashton had nothing to do. In front of him was an aluminum bulkhead on which an axe and a first-aid kit were mounted. There was no point in looking at that and consequently his eyes frequently strayed across the aisle to Mr. Zeshin. His lips tightened as he noted the bad color of Zeshin's face and he looked at the first-aid kit reflectively.865Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbn1v6Gh8S7
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"We have arrived," said Gongpho. "You will land over there."
Ellis straightened up and looked over the Dakota's nose. Dead ahead, amid a jumble of rocks and snow was a short airstrip, a mere track cut on a ledge of a mountain. He had time for the briefest glimpse before it was gone behind them.
Gongpho waved the gun. "Circle it," he said.
Ellis eased the plane into an orbit around the strip and looked down at it. There were buildings down there, rough yurts in a scattered group, and there was a road leading down the mountain, twisting and turning like a snake. Someone had thoughtfully cleared the airstrip of snow, but there was no sign of life.
He judged his distance from the ground and glanced at the altimeter. "You're nuts, Gongpho, " he said. "I can't land this plane on a strip like that."
"Yes, you can," admonished Gongpho."
"Like hell I will. This plane's overloaded and that strip's at an altitude of 17,000 feet. It would need to be three times as long for this crate to land safely. The air's too thin to hold us up at a stow landing speed---we'll hit the ground at one hell of a lick and we won't be able to pull up. We'll shoot off the other end of the strip and crash on the side of that mountain."
"Land!"
"Go to hell and burn!" said Ellis.
Gongpho lifted his gun. "Very well, I'll do it," he said. "But I'll have to kill you first."
Ellis looked at the black hole staring at him like an evil eye. He could see the rifling inside the muzzle and it looked as big as a howitzer. Despite the cold, he was sweating and could feel rivulets of perspiration running down his back. He turned away from Gongpho and studied the strip again. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.
'You would not know if I told you," said Gonghpo," said Gongpho. "You would not understand---you are a Westerner."
Ellis sighed. It was going to be very dicey; he might be able to get the Dakota down in approximately one piece, but Gongpho wouldn't have a chance---he'd wreck it for sure. He said. "All right---warn the passengers; get them to the rear of the cabin."
"Never mind them," said Gongpho flatly. "Do you really expect me to leave this cockpit?"
Ellis said, "All right, you're calling the shots, but I warn you---don't touch the controls by as much as one finger. You're not a pilot's backside---and you know it! There can be only one man flying a plane."
"Get on with it," said Gongpho shortly.
"I'll take my own time," said Ellis. "I want a good luck before I do one damn thing."
He circled the airstrip four more times, watching as it spun crazily beneath the Dakota. The passengers should know there was something wrong by this time, he thought. No ordinary airliner stood on its wingtip and twitched about like this. Maybe they'd get frightened and someone would try to do something about it---that might give him a chance to get at Gongpho. But what could the passengers do? That was the problem.
The strip was too short; it was also very narrow and made for a much smaller class of aircraft. He would have to land on the extreme edge, his wingtip brushing at a rock wall. Then there was the question of wind direction. He looked down at the yurts, hoping to detect a wisp of smoke from their makeshift chimneys, but there was nothing.
"I'm going to go in closer---over the strip," he said. "But I'm not landing this time."
He began to circle more widely in order to come in for a final landing approach. He lined up the Dakota's nose with the strip like a gunsight and the plane came in, fast and level. There was a blur of rock and snow to starboard and Ellis held his breath. If the wingtip touched the rock wall it'd all be over. Ahead, the strip wound underneath, as if it was being swallowed by the Dakota. There was nothing as the strip ended---just a deep valley and the blue sky. He hauled on the stick and the plane shot skyward.
The passengers will know damn well there’s something wrong now, he thought. To Grivas he said,. “We’re not going to get this aircraft down in one piece.”
"I am the only one who matters," said Gongpho. "Just get me down safely."
Ellis grinned tightly. "I don't give a damn about you."
"Think of your own neck, then," said Gongpho. "That will take care of mine as well."
But Ellis was thinking of the ten lives in the passenger cabin. He circled widely again to make another approach and argued with himself about the best way to do this. Should he come in with the undercarriage up or down? A belly-landing would be rough at that speed, but the plane would slow down faster due to the increased friction. The question was: could he hold her straight. On the other hand if he came in with the undercarriage down he would lose airspeed before hitting the deck---that was an advantages too.
He smiled grimly and decided he would do both. For the first time he blessed Hardy and his stinky airplanes. He knew like the back of his hand how much stress the undercarriage would take; thus his problem had been that of putting the Dakota down gently. This time he would come in with the undercarriage down, losing speed, then slam her down hard enough to break off the weakened struts like matchsticks. That would give him his belly-landing, too.
He sighted the nose of the Dakota on the strip again. "Here goes," he said. "Flaps down; undercarriage down."
As the plane lost airspeed the controls felt like soft mud under his hands. He set his teeth and concentrated as he'd never concentrated before.865Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgC2swa0nss
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As the plane tipped wing down and began to orbit the airstrip Jefferson was tossed violently against Humphrey. Humphrey was in the act of taking another mouthful of whisky and the neck of the flask suddenly jammed against his teeth. He spluttered and yelled incoherently and thrust hard against Jefferson.
Kwai was thrown out of his seat and found himself sitting in the aisle, together with Yates and Zeshin. He struggled to his feet, shaking his head violently, then he bent to help Zeshin, speaking quick Japanese. Mrs. Yates helped her husband back to his seat.
Hope had been making a note in the margin of his book and the point of his pencil broke as Ashton lurched against him. Hope made no attempt to regain his position but looked incredulously out of the window, ignoring Hope's feeble protests at being squashed. Ashton was a big man.
The whole cabin was a babel of sound in English and several Asian languages, dominated by the sharp and scratchy voice of Miss Rasmussen as she querulously complained. "I knew it!" she screamed. "I knew it was all wrong." She started laughing hysterically and Kwai turned from Zeshin and slapped her with a heavy hand. She looked at him in shock and suddenly burst into tears.
Humphrey shouted, "What in goddamn hell is that limey doing now?" He stared out of the window at the airstrip. "The bastard's going to land here!?"
Kwai spoke rapidly to Zeshin, who seemed so shaken he was apathetic. There was a quick exchange between Kwai and the girl, but in neither Chinese nor Japanese but a strange Asian language nobody recognized. Kwai pointed to the door leading to the cockpit. She nodded violently and he stood up.
Mrs. Yates was leaning forward in her seat, comforting Miss Rasmussen. "Nothing's going to happen, sweetheart," she kept saying. "Everything's going to be all right.
Meanwhile, the airplane straightened as Ellis came in for his first approach run. Kwai leaned over Humphrey and looked through the window, but turned as Miss Rasmussen screamed in terror, looking at the blur of rock whizzing past the starboard window and seeing the wingtip brushing it so closely. Then Kwai lost his balance again as Ellis pulled the Dakota into a climb.
It was Ashton who made the first constructive move. He was closest to the door leading to the cockpit and he grabbed the door handle, turned and pushed. Nothing happened. He put his shoulder to the door but was thrown away as the plane turned rapidly. Ellis was going into his final landing approach.
Ashton grabbed the axe from its clips on the bulkhead and raised it to strike, but his arm was caught by Kwai. "This is faster," said Kwai, and lifted a heavy pistol in his other hand. He stepped in front of Ashton and fired three quick shots at the lock of the door.865Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh8CaJxZ9CL
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Ellis heard the shots one fraction of a second before the Dakota touched down. Not only did he hear them but he saw the altimeter and the turn-and-climb indicator burst into fragments as the bullets crashed into the instrument panel. But he had no time to see what was happening behind him because just then the heavily overloaded Dakota settled soggily at the extreme end of the strip, moving at high speed.
There was a sickening crunch and the whole airframe shuddered as the undercarriage buckled and the plane sank onto its belly and slid with a ripping, rending sound towards the far end of the strip. Ellis fought the controls frantically as they kicked against his hands and feet in an attempt to keep the airplane sliding in a straight line.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gongpho turn to the door, his gun raised. Ellis took a chance, lifted one hand from the stick and struck out blindly at Gongpho. He just had time for one blow and luckily it connected somewhere; he felt the edge of his hand hit home and then he was too busy to see if he had indeed overpowered Gongpho.
The Dakota was still moving too fast. Already it was more than halfway down the strip and Ellis could see the emptiness ahead where the strip stopped at the valley's lip. In desperation he swung the rudder hard over and the Dakota swerved with a loud grating sound.
He braced himself for the crash.
The starboard wingtip hit the rock wall and the Dakota spun sharply to the right. Ellis kept the rudder forced right over and saw the rock wall coming right at him. The nose of the plane hit rock and crumpled and the safety glass in the windscreens shivered into opacity. Then something hit him squarely on the head and he lost consciousness.865Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDwRt3GtUA3
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He came to because someone was slapping his face. His head rocked to and fro and he wanted them to stop because it was so good to be asleep. The slapping went on and on and he moaned and tried to tell them to stop. But the slapping didn't stop so he opened his eyes.
It was Ashton who was administering the punishment, and, as Ellis opened his eyes, he turned to Kwai who was standing behind him and said. “Keep your gun on him.”
Kwai smiled. Yes, his gun was in his hand but it was hanging slackly and pointing to the floor. He made no effort to bring it up. Ashton said. “Time for an explanation, buddy.”
Ellis painfully lifted his arm to his head. He had a bump on his head the size of an egg. He said weakly, “Where’s Gongpho?”
“Who's Gongpho?”
“My co-pilot.”
“He’s here, but he's in a bad way."
“I hope the bloody bastard dies,” said Ellis bitterly. “He pulled a gun on me.”
“You were at the controls,” said Ashton, giving him a hard look. “You put this plane down here.....Why?!
"I--I had no choice. Gongpho forced me to do it."
“The honorable captain is right,” said Kwai. “This man Gongpho was going to shoot me and the honorable captain hit him.” He bowed stiffly. “Xièxiè.”
Ashton swung around to look at Kwai and then beyond him to Gongpho. “Is he conscious?”
Ellis looked across the cockpit. The fuselage's side was caved in and a blunt spike of rock had hit Gongpho in the chest, stoving in his rib cage. It looked as if he wasn’t going to make it, after all. But, yes, he was conscious; his eyes were open and he looked at them all with raw hate in them.
Ellis could hear a woman screaming endlessly in the passenger cabin and someone else was moaning monotonously. “My God, what happened back there?”
Nobody answered because Gongpho began to speak. He mumbled in a low whisper even as thick blood frothed around his mouth. “My comrades will get you,” he said. “They’ll be here any minute now.” His lips parted in a gruesome smile. “I’ll be just fine; their medics will heal me. But you fools — you’ll …” He broke off in a coughing fit and then continued. “… they’ll kill all of you imperialist pigs!” He lifted up his arm, curling his fingers into a fist. “Haillen…. .”
Suddenly the arm dropped flaccidly and the look of hate in his eyes transmogrified into surprise — surprise that he was dead.
Kwai grabbed him by the wrist and held it for a moment. "He's no longer with us," he said.
"He was a lunatic," said Ellis. "Stark, raving mad!"
The woman was still screaming and Ashton said. “For God’s sake, let’s get everybody out of here!”
Just then the Dakota gave a sickening lurch and the whole cockpit rose into the air. There was a ripping sound as the spike of rock that had killed Gongpho ripped away the aluminum sheathing of the fuselage. Ellis had a sudden and terrible intuition of what was happening. “Nobody move,” he shouted. “Everyone just stay still.”
He turned to Ashton. “Break those windows.”
Ashton looked in surprise at the axe he was still holding as if he had forgotten it, then he raised it and struck at the opaque windshield. The plastic filling in the glass sandwich was unable to withstand his assault and he made a hole big enough for a man to climb through.
Ellis said, "I'll go through — I think I know what I’ll find. Don’t either of you go back there, not yet. And call through and tell anybody who's able to move to come up front.”
He squeezed through the narrow gap and was shocked to discover that the nose of the Dakota was missing. He twisted then crawled out on to the top of the fuselage and looked aft. The tail and one wing now hung in space over the valley where the runway ended. The whole airplane was precariously balanced and even as he looked the tail tipped a little and an awful tearing sound issued from the cockpit..
He twisted on to his stomach and wriggled so that he could look into the cockpit, his head upside-down. “We’re caught in a rock and a hard place,” he said to Ashton. “We’re hanging over a 200-foot drop, and the only thing that’s keeping the whole damn plane from thumping over is that bit of rock over there.” He pointed to the rock projection driven into the side of the cockpit.
He said. “If anybody goes back there the extra weight will thump us over because we’re balanced the way a see-saw's balanced.”
Ashton turned his head and bellowed, “Anyone who can move, come up here.”
There was a movement and Hope staggered through the door, his head bloody. Ashton shouted, “Anybody else?”
Ms. Zeshin called urgently. “Please help my uncle — oh, please.”
Kwai drew Hope out of the way and stepped through the door. Ashton said sharply. “Don’t go in too far.”
Kwai did not even so much as look at him, but bent to pick up Zeshin who was lying by the door. He half carried, half dragged him into the cockpit and Ms. Zeshin followed.
Ashton looked up at Ellis. “It’s getting mighty crowded in here. I think it'd be a good idea if we started getting people outside.”
“First we get them on top,” said Ellis. “The more weight we have at this end, the better. Let the young lady come first”
She shook her head. “My uncle first.”
“Dammit, girl, he's unconscious,” said Ashton. “All right, you go out — I’ll look after him.”
She shook her head stubbornly and Ellis broke in without patience. “All right, Hope, get your ass on up here; let’s not waste time.” His head ached and he was panting in the thin air; he was no inclination to waste precious time over silly girls.
He helped Hope through the shattered windshield and saw him settle on top of the fuselage. When he peered into the cockpit again it was quite evident that the girl had changed her mind. Kwai was talking quietly but emphatically to her and she crossed over and Ellis assisted with her exit.
Next came Jefferson, having made his own way to the cockpit. He said, “It’s a bloody disaster area back there. The old man in the back seat is dead and his wife is pretty badly hurt. I wouldn't advising moving her.”
“What about Humphrey?”
“The luggage was thrown forward on to both of us. He’s half buried under it. I tried to get him free but I couldn’t.”
Ellis passed this on to Ashton. Kwai was kneeling by Zeshin, trying to bring him around. Ashton hesitated, then he said. “Now that we’ve got some weight at this end it might be safe for me to go back.”
Ellis said, “Just don't forget to tread gently.”
Ashton gave a mirthless grin and went back through the door. He looked at Miss Rasmussen, who was sitting rigid, her arms clutched tightly about her, her eyes staring unblinkingly at nothing. He ignored her and started to heave suitcases from the top of Humphrey, being careful to stow them in the front seats. Humphrey stirred and Ashton shook him into consciousness and as soon as he seemed to be able to understand, said: "Go to the cockpit---the cockpit, you understand?"
Humphrey nodded blearily and Ashton stepped a little farther aft. "Good Lord!" he whispered, shocked by what he saw.
Yates was a bloody pulp. The cargo had shifted in the crash and had come forward, crushing the two back seats. Mrs. Yates was (fortunately) still alive but both her legs had been cut off just below the knee. It was only because she had been leaning forward to comfort Miss Rasmussen that she hadn’t been killed the way her husband was.
Ashton felt something touch his back and turned around. It was Humphrey moving aft. “I said the cockpit, you idiot,” shouted Ashton.
“I wanna get outta here,” mumbled Humphrey. “I wanna get out. The door’s back there.”
Ashton wasted no time in argument. Abruptly he jabbed at Humphrey's stomach and then brought down his clenched at the nape of his neck as he bent over gasping, knocking him out cold. He dragged him forward to the door and said to Kwai, "Take care of this asshole if he causes trouble, knock him on the head."
He went back and took Miss Rasmussen by the arm. "Let's go," he said gently.
She rose and followed him like a sleepwalker and he led her right into the cockpit, then delivered her to Ellis. Zeshin was now conscious and would be ready to move soon.
As soon as Ellis reappeared Ashton said, "I don't think the old lady back there is gonna make it."
"Get her out," said Ellis tightly. "For Chrissake, just GET HER OUT!!!"
And Ashton went back. He didn't know whether or not Mrs. Yates was still alive; her body was still warm, however, so he picked her up in his arms. Blood was still spurting from her ruined legs, and when he stepped into the cockpit Kwai drew in his breath with a wicked hiss. "On the seat," he said. "She needs tourniquets now---right now!"
He took off his jacket and then his shirt and started ripping the shirt into strips, saying to Ashton curtly, "Get the old fella out."
He took off his jacket and then his shirt and began to rip the shirt into strips, saying to Forester curtly. “Get the old man out.”
Ashton and Ellis helped Zeshin through the windshield and then Ashton turned and regarded Kwai, taking note of the goose-pimples on his back. "Clothing," he said to Ellis. "We've got to have warm clothing. It'll be bad up here by nightfall."
“Hell!” said Ellis. “That adds to the risk. I won’t “
“He is right,” Kwai said without turning his head. "If we do not have clothing we will all be dead by dawn."
“Okay,” said Ellis. “Do you really want to take the chance?"
“Yes, I do,” said Ashton.
“Let me get these people on the ground first," said Ellis. "But while you're at it get the maps. There are some air charts of the area in that pocket next to my seat."
Kwai grunted. “I’ll get them.”
Ellis got the people from the top of the fuselage to the ground and Ashton started to bring their suitcases into the cockpit. Unceremoniously he shoved Humphrey through the windshield and, with equal carelessness Ellis dropped him to the ground, where he lay sprawling. Then Kwai handed through the unconscious Mrs. Yates and Ellis was shocked by her lightness. Kwai climbed out and, taking her in his arms, jumped to the ground, cushioning the shock for her.
Ashton began to pass out suitcases and Ellis tossed them here and there. Some of them broke open, but most of the suitcases survived the fall intact.
Suddenly, the wrecked Dakota lurched.
“Ashton,” screamed Ellis. “Get out!”
“There’s still more people here!”
“Dammit, get out of there!” Ellis bawled. “She’ll go soon!”
He grabbed Ashton’s arms then hauled him out bodily and allowed him to go thumping to the ground. Then he jumped himself and, while he did so, the nose rose straight into the air and the plane slid over the edge of the cliff with a grinding noise and a cloud of dust. It crashed down two hundred feet. There was a long dying rumble, then silence.
Ellis looked at the silent people surrounding him, and then turned his eyes to the brutal and wild mountains surrounding them. He shivered with cold as he felt the strong wind which blew in from the snowfields, and then shivered for a completely different reason as he locked eyes with Ashton. They both knew the odds against survival were great and that it was likely that the escape from the doomed Dakota was just the prelude to a more horrible death.865Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGFT4W2S0wI
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“Now, Mr. Ellis, I think we'd all like to hear this from the beginning,” said Forester.
They had relocated to the nearest of the yurts. It was bare but at least it was weatherproof, and there was a fireplace in which Jefferson had built a fire, using wood which Hope had stolen from another yurt. Zeshin was lying down in a corner being taken care of by his niece, and Humphrey was nursing a hangover and throwing daggers from his eyes at Ashton.
Miss Rasmussen had recovered remarkably from the rigidity of terror. When she had been dropped to the ground she had collapsed, digging her fingers into the frozen soil in an orgy of relief. Ellis judged she would never have the courage to board an airplane for, likely, the rest of her life. But now she was showing remarkable skill for sick nursing, helping Kwai to care for Mrs. Yates.
Now there was a character, thought Ellis; Kwai was a man of unsuspected depths. Though not a doctor, he possessed a good working knowledge of basic medicine which was now invaluable. Ellis had immediately turned to Hope for help with Mrs. Yates, but Hope had said, "Sorry, I'm a physicist, not a physician."
"Dr. Jefferson?" Ellis had appealed.
Regretfully Jefferson had also shaken his head. "I'm a historian."
So Kwai had taken over----the non-doctor with the medical background---and the man with the gun.
Ellis turned his attention to Ashton. "All right," he said. "This is how it all went down."
He told them everything that had happened, right back from the takeoff in Nilaka, dredging from his memory everything Gongpho had said. "I think he lost his bloomin' mind," he concluded.
"No, he didn't; this was planned," Ashton contradicted. "Lunacy's not planned. Gongpho knew this airstrip and he knew the course to take. You say he was at Nilaka airfield when the Chanair plane was grounded?"
"Yes, that's right---I thought it was a bit odd at the time. I mean, it was out of character for Gongpho to be haunting the field in the middle of the night---he didn't take his job that seriously."
"Which means he knew that the Chanair Boeing was going to have engine trouble," commented Hope.
Ashton looked up quickly and Hope said, "It's the only logical answer---he didn't just steal a plane, he stole the contents; and the contents of the plane were the people from the Boeing. Ellis says those big crates contain just everyday mining machinery and I don't think Gongpho would be interested in that."
"That implies sabotage of the Boeing," said Ashton. "If Gongpho was expecting the Boeing to land at Nilaka, it also implies a sizeable organization backing him up."
"We already know that," said Ellis. "Gongpho was expecting a reception committee here. He said his 'comrades' will be here any minute. But where are they?"
"More important, who are they?" asked Ashton.
Ellis thought of something else Gongpho had said: ".....they’ll kill all of you imperialist pigs!" He kept quiet about that and asked instead: "Remember the last thing he said---'Haillen'? It doesn't make sense to me. It sounds vaguely Oriental, maybe Chinese, but it's no word I ever heard."
“I know a lot of Asian languages,” said Ashton deliberately. “I can tell you right now that there's no such word in any of them.” He slapped the side of his leg irritably. “I’d give a lot to know what’s been going on and who’s responsible for all this,”
A weak voice came from across the room. “Unfortunately, gentlemen, I am the one responsible."
Everyone in the room, all except Mrs. Yates, turned to look at Mr. Zeshin.
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