The Chinese Agenda (32 page)

stared at the three men crouched with him in the rocks, sheltering from the wind. Now it all fitted together completely; the smoke marker was the key to the puzzle. Dmietriev had to be the Chinese agent; he must have called in the Migs with that marker, figuring that they would either be killed by the Migs or captured by the Chinese troops being helicoptered in. Either way, the Chinese would have had the packet of information. Those damnable markers could be seen for miles, miles which the Migs and copters could cover in minutes. And the aircraft exploding prematurely – Dmietriev had checked the explosive pack one last time before they jumped. And it would have been easy enough to change just one timer, reset it to explode a few minutes sooner than Rodek had planned. That had brought Chinese troops into the exact area hours sooner than they had expected. Jack Liu had been right after -all. Those troopers he had killed in the forest on the third night had been moving to an ambush site when they had accidentally stumbled onto them; otherwise they would have all – Jack Liu and his people included – been taken the next day. Not daring to look at Dmietriev for fear his thoughts were written too plainly on his face, he glanced down at the snow-covered ice beneath his boots. Any doubts he had about Liu's analysis were resolved now. There was no doubt in his mind that the big Russian had betrayed them all.

The western side of the pass and the line of peaks were beginning to emerge from the shroud of ice and cloud. What the hell did he do next? he wondered. What did he do about Dmietriev?

His head ached with the effects of exhaustion and altitude and he found it impossible to think clearly. And he needed to do so, needed time to think this out clearly and concisely, to be absolutely sure that he was correct.

'It's clearing off,' he said tightly. 'We can make the border tonight and we'll try and cross in the dark, after the moon rises.'

While the others murmured assent, he went on. `There's a ledge about a quarter of a mile down into

the pass. I saw it earlier. I think we would be better off waiting there than up here.'

Leycock nodded. 'With the sky clearing, they'll be desperate to get search planes in '

before dark. We heard one an hour ago.'

Stowe seemed to have regained a measure of strength during the brief rest and he flared up immediately.

'For Christ's sake, how the hell can they know where we are? There are a dozen different ways we could have gone. I say, let's get to the border as fast as possible while we have enough light to climb down.'

Gillon's patience snapped. The last thing he needed now was Stowe's continued sniping.

'You bloody bastard. How stupid do you think they are? Of course they know where we are . . . there's only one way to cross the border in this area without hiking twenty miles or more farther and that one place is through this col. They can get up here a hell of a lot faster than we did. They could have parachuted troops down onto the glacier or even into the valley here. They could very well be down there now waiting for us to come bumbling along.'

He snarled at them, 'You do what you want, all of you. If you want to try for the border now, you're welcome to. But I'm damned well going down to that ledge and wait.'

Without another word, he picked up his pack and trudged off, shrugging his shoulders into the straps. He did not look back; Leycock, ignoring the other two, followed immediately. Dmietriev and Stowe exchanged glances and Dmietriev got to his feet and started after them. Stowe watched the three of them go, and if Gillon had turned just then, he would have seen the big man's eyes narrow and his face take on an expression of suspicion, rather than anger, as he studied the departing backs of each in turn. After a moment, realizing that they could not afford to be separated at this point in the game, Stowe stood, hefted his pack over one shoulder and started after them. It took them an hour to negotiate the steep slope to reach the ledge that ,Gillon had selected. It was a rocky

outcropping some twenty feet wide, jutting from the almost vertical rear wall, which curved slightly outward to form a shelter. The ledge dropped sharply for some twenty feet before it began to decline in a more gradual manner until it reached the valley floor. Gillon and Leycock reached the ledge before Dmietriev, who had stopped to wait for Stowe.

The wind had stiffened to a force-eight gale by the time the four of them were safely down on the ledge. The bulk of the ridge behind them effectively cut off the pale, setting sun and although the valley floor was still light, on the ledge they were in deep shadow –

a frigid shade made more intense by the wind. Gillon emptied his pack against the ridge wall and with his knife, sliced along the top seam of the tent fabric. With pegs, he fastened one end to the ledge and the other to the cliff itself, forming a shelter against the wind. While Leycock followed his example, he, Stowe and Dmietriev each went through their packs discarding everything but canteens, ammunition and skis. They would have no further need for the snowshoes that had served them so well during the long days and it was with some regret that Gillon abandoned the lightweight polyester-strung aluminum frames.

The two tents, fastened side by side, formed an effective wind shelter and they heated and ate the last of their rations. Stowe argued that they should conserve some of the food until they were certain that the Soviets were waiting for them on the other side of the border.

Gillon laughed at him over the loud snapping of the tent fabric in the wind. 'If they aren't, we're dead.. Unless there is at least half a division of Soviet troops waiting for us, nothing will stop the Chinese from coming across after us . . . and if they do, they'll catch us. This is it, buddy. It's tonight or never ...'

He took a perverse pleasure in seeing Dmietriev nod in agreement.. He had made certain that the explosives Dmietriev had emptied from his pack had been moved to his side of the ledge. And he had not been surprised to notice that one of the smoke flare canisters was missing.

After they had eaten, he picked up his binoculars and

went out onto the ledge. He had decided on his course of action and as he studied the valley floor and the mountain slopes on the other side in the fast-fading light, he went over the plan one last time, looking for any flaws.

They had laid their collective plans for crossing while eating the last of the meager rations. Moonrise was due for midnight. Until then, they would get all the rest they could for the final dash. As soon as the moon was high enough to shed sufficient light to see by, they would ski for the border as fast as possible. There was no other choice but a direct push for the wire and hope to God the Russians were waiting for them, alerted by the Red Chinese activity in the area, and could provide any covering fire required. Gillon's plan was as simple as he could make it. Following Liu 's advice at last, he would leave an hour before moonrise, purposely leaving the others to make their way across as best they could. If the three of them made it, they could deal with Dmietriev afterward. If not, then the problem would have taken care of itself. For a moment, but a moment only, Gillon had supposed himself half-insane even to contemplate abandoning Stowe and Leycock, but savagely he had thrust the thought away. At this point in time, the morality and sanity of the situation were the least of his considerations. That packet of information was going to the Russians and nothing more was standing in his way. A few minutes later, Stowe crawled out of the shelter, binoculars in hand. Wordlessly, he joned Gillon and in strained silence they both watched the valley below. The final hour to sunset dragged on and on. Gillon watched the sky fade from gray to blue, a hard, clear blue as the sun made its final bow toward the horizon. Aircraft had appeared in the last remaining minutes of light to cruise back and forth, searching for any trace of their quarry. Gradually their sound faded as the sky turned black, leaving only the incessant wind whining around them to break the utter stillness of the mountain night.

As the evening ran sluggishly into night, the crystal clarity of the sky disappeared behind an overcast that grew steadily darker and more angry-looking by the hour. The wind had increased in velocity as well and it flapped the make-shift wind shelter they had constructed from the tent panels with vicious force. Just as the last remaining light faded from the valley, Stowe nudged Gillon and pointed across the valley to a point centered between the shallow slopes where a very thin line of barbed wire was barely discernible above the snow. A tiny black speck moved along the fence and as they watched, several others came into view.

'Which side are they on?' Gillon asked quietly.

Stowe waited a moment before answering.

On the Russian side, I think ...'

'Let's hope to hell you're right.'

'If nothing else, all the troop movements in this area would have alerted them . . . and just maybe they are smart enough to put two and two together,' Stowe muttered, half convinced.

Gillon hoped that the Russians did have sense enough to realize what was going on. Coded messages should be swarming back and forth between the border and Moscow . .

. the last thing he wanted was to be shot by Russians as he tried to cross. Far down the valley almost out of sight around a shallow bend in the mountain flank was a watchtower. They estimated its distance at twelve miles, too far away to tell if it was occupied.

In a desultory way, he and Stowe discussed the planned approach to the border. Except for drifted snow, there was no cover of any kind. They speculated that the border was probably mined up to a quarter of a mile deep on both sides and decided that the snow was deep enough to prevent the mines from exploding. As a safety precaution, Stowe suggested cutting up the remaining four pounds of gelignite into quarter-pound cubes. Using ten-second fuses, they could clear a path through the minefield with sympathetic detonations if it became necessary. It was not a plan to inspire confidence, but then, Gillon thought ruefully, nothing about this mission ever had, and in any event, after all they had been through and still expected to face, a few mines hardly seemed worth bothering about. But he agreed anyway and they both returned to the shelter. Knowing that the missiqn was drawing to a conclusion, Gillon was aware of a deepening lassitude. He could see it in the faces of the other three as well. They had done their job; the weather had worked both for and against them and now that the final task was almost complete, he dared not allow himself to become careless. When they had finished with the explosives and were slumped in various attitudes of exhaustion, Gillon' put his share of the explosive away into his almost empty pack and shoved it against the wall next to his carbine.

Òkay,' he announced, mustering as much forcefulness as possible. 'Moonrise is at midnight. By oh one hundred or so, it should be high enough to see by, and that's when we go. Until then, we are going to break into two-hour shifts . .. outside. If the Chicoms come over that pass, I want as much time as possible to get down into the valley.'

The other three groaned, but no one argued, and Gillon 'pointed to Dmietriev. 'You lead off. Stowe, you take the second, Leycock, third and I'll go last.'

Dmietriev nodded and got slowly to his feet. He picked up his carbine and paused at the entrance. He looked back at the three upturned faces, his own expression blank, then stepped out onto the ledge.

He awoke sluggishly, forcing himself out of the drugged depths of exhaustion. Leycock was prodding his arm ° with the carbine. Gillon sat up to see his haggard face peering at him, almost hidden by the low hood and the ten-day growth of heavy beard. Ìt's your turn,' Leycock said softly, then shuffled to his pack and sank down with a groan. His chin dropped. forward onto his chest and he was asleep instantly. Gillon got slowly to his feet, using his own carbine

as a cane, astounded at the variety of ways that his body could ache .. and all simultaneously. He stepped out into the wind and cold that had grown more bitter with each passing hour.

He checked his watch. Twenty minutes to make sure they were all sound asleep and he would go. In spite of his exhaustion, he could feel the tension twisting his abdominal muscles into knots. He glanced up at the sky. It had become sharp and clear as the last of the aborted storm dissipated and the Milky Way was an almost solid river of stars between the valley walls.

He swore under his breath at the cold and forced himself to pace up and down the length of the ledge. The wind whipped his parka against his back and deep into any opening it found. With the wind speed at forty to fifty miles an hour his difficulties in covering that last mile on skis would only be increased.

Gillon reached the far side of the ledge and started back. He paused for a moment to peer upward, searching for any movement along the crest of the pass. There was none and the night was quiet but for the steady whine of the wind. Reaching the center of the ledge again where it pulled away from the wall, he stopped and stared down into the valley, which had become a pale blur barely visible in the starlight. With the binoculars he searched in the direction of the watchtower but could see nothing in the starlit blackness except the dim glimmer of snow. There were no lights of any kind along the border and he knew that the Russians would be foolish to try to maintain a garrison here during the winter. Resupply would be difficult at best in the summer and impossible in the winter. Blizzards that lasted for days and the constant wind that blew for weeks at a time were effective deterrents. But he also thought he knew the Russians well enough to realize that no matter what the weather or terrain, from the Arctic to the Crimea, the Sinkiang border to Western Europe, they would never for an instant leave a single inch of frontier unguarded. There were plenty of Russian troops over there, of that he was certain, and they would be waiting for them.

Gillon paced up and down the length of the ledge

several more times until finally, the moon, much reduced from its round opulence of a few days before, began to gleam behind the eastern peaks where he could see them through the gap in the ridge. Now was the time. To delay longer would rob him of desperately needed time and he turned toward the windbreak to gather his skis and equipment.