Nick Carter

Operation Snake

Dedicated to

The Men of the Secret Services

of the

United States of America.

Chapter I

I looked down and winced as the airliner flew low over the top of the world. Mountains, huge, forbidding, frightening, fantastic peaks garnished with ice and snow. Sheer sheets of ice dipped down into mist-shrouded glaciers, and the cold reached up to grab me through the plane’s windows. The top of the world was a good phrase for the place. On maps it is called Nepal, a small, independent kingdom, a tiny monarchy of isolation, a paradise for mountain climbers, a stretch of land between Tibet and India, and a thumb stuck in the mouth of the Chinese dragon. I recalled how Ted Callendar, an AXE agent who’d spent some years there when it was under British domination, described Nepal: “A place where the certain is uncertain. Where the probable is improbable. It’s a land where faith and superstition walk hand in hand, where delicacy and brutality share the same bed, where beauty and horror live as twins. It’s no place for Western man who believes in logic, reason and probability.”

Ted had been gone long ago but his words came back to me as the Nepalese airliner, an old DC-3, was carrying me to Khumbu, in the heart of the Himalayas, under the very nose of the towering Mount Everest, 29,000 feet high. By special arrangement, the airliner was going to land me at Namche Bazar where an area had been cleared for another plane that was due to pick up a man I had to see, Harry Angsley. After seeing Angsley, I’d be leaving the Khumbu area, though I felt like leaving the whole damned place right now. Even the stewardess, a well-stacked, friendly Indian girl in a trim uniform, did nothing for me. I was angry at being here, angry at Hawk, angry at the whole goddamned business. I was Agent N3, all right, chief AXE operative with the rating of Killmaster, and I was always on call, any time of the day or night. That was part of the job, and I knew it and had lived with it a long time, but every so often, I wanted to tell Hawk to go shove it. I had sure as hell felt like it twenty-four hours ago. It seemed like a month now.

Damnit, she was stark naked, waiting for me, stretching out that gorgeous, milk-white body, calling to me with every movement of her hips. It had taken me three baskets of fruit, four boxes of candy and two tickets for a hit show matinee. Not for her, for her mother. Donna had been ready and willing the first time we met at Jack Dunket’s party but her mother, the dowager Philadelphia doyenne of the Roodrich clan, watched her debutante daughter like a scorpion watches a grasshopper. There wasn’t going to be any ivy-league lothario screwing her choice little daughter, at least not if she could help it Of course, the old dowager never realized what Donna’s gray-mist eyes told me right away, and what her lips confirmed at a later date. After various softening-up sallies with the old lady, I managed to get her and a friend off to a matinee for an afternoon. Donna and I went straight to my place, tossed off two martinis and our clothes, and I was just looking down at her eager, straining body when that goddamned blue phone began to ring in the study.

“Don’t answer, Nick,” she breathed huskily. Her hips were undulating and her arms were reaching to me. “I’ll be right back,” I said, hoping that maybe he wanted something that could be put off for a few hours. Looking out the airliner window at the ice-capped peaks, I remembered how cold I felt standing naked and arguing with Hawk on the phone.

“It’s nearly three-thirty,” he had started in his crisp, no-nonsense manner. “You can easily catch the six o’clock shuttle flight to Washington.”

I cast around wildly for something to say, some reason that would be logical and reasonable.

“I can’t, Chief,” I protested. “Impossible. I... I’m painting my kitchen. I’m in the middle of it.”

It was a great reason, or it would have been for anyone else. The eloquent silence at the other end of the line attested to that, and then the old fox answered, dry acid in his voice.

“N3, you may be in the middle of something but it’s not house painting,” he said in careful tones. “Come now, you can do better than that.”

I had plunged and I had to play it out. “It was a sudden idea on my part,” I said quickly. “I can’t get all cleaned up, changed and get the six o’clock plane. How about the first flight tomorrow morning?”

“You’ll be on your way somewhere else tomorrow morning,” he said crisply. “I’ll expect you by eight I suggest you zip up your paintbrush at once and get moving.”

The phone clicked off and I swore out loud. The old buzzard could read me like a book. I went back to Donna. She was still on the bed, her back still arched, lips parted, waiting.

“Get dressed,” I said. “I’m taking you home.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up at me. A cloud passed over the gray-mist eyes. She sat up.

“What are you, some kind of nut?” she asked. “Who the hell was that on the phone?”

“Your mother,” I answered crossly, putting on my trousers. That shook her up but only for a moment.

“My mother?” she echoed incredulously. “Impossible. She’s still at the matinee.”

“Okay, so it wasn’t your mother,” I said. “But you’re still going home.” Donna got up and practically flew into her clothes, her face tightly set, her lips a grim, angry line. I didn’t blame her. She knew only that I was in some kind of government work and I wasn’t about to go into details. I grabbed my bag, always packed and ready to go, and dropped Donna off at her apartment building on the way to Kennedy International.

“Thanks,” she said bitingly as she swung out of the car. “Say hello to your psychiatrist for me.”

I found myself grinning at her. “Thanks,” I said. “He’ll be touched.” I paused for a moment to watch her stride furiously into the lobby, past the doorman. I promised myself I’d give her an explanation when I got back. It wasn’t my angry mood alone that stopped me from giving her one now. Training, experience and strict orders all played a part in it. In this business one had damned few friends and hardly any confidants. A loose lip was a certain ticket to death, and you never knew what, where or how little bits and pieces of information found their way into the wrong hands. Embarking on a job, everybody was a stranger. You had to remove the word trust from your vocabulary. It became a word you used only when there was no other choice, an emotion you indulged only when unavoidable.

My thoughts were brought back sharply as I felt the airliner begin to set down carefully in the late afternoon sun. I could feel the wicked crosswinds tug at the plane as they whipped upwards off the mountain peaks. Our landing spot would be a narrow airstrip cleared of snow and ice. I sat back, closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander back again, this time to Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C., AXE headquarters. I had indeed made it by eight, and the usual complement of security people passed me along to the night receptionist ensconced outside Hawk’s office.

“Mr. Carter,” she smiled, looking up at me with wide-eyed interest She had my file out on her desk already and had obviously been reading through it. It had a lot of fascinating information in it, not only about my past work but about my other qualities, such as winning the Nationals in Star Class sailboats, being licensed to drive Formula I cars and being black belt karate. She, in turn, was a cute, round little blonde. For someone who always frowned so on my social life, the old man always seemed to get himself eye-filling dishes at the outside desk. I made a mental note to ask him about that sometime.

“Glad you made it, N3,” he said as I walked into his office. His steel-blue eyes told me he damned well expected I’d make it. His spare, New England frame rose and walked over to a movie projector facing a white screen in the center of the room.

“Movies?” I commented. “What an unexpected surprise. Something avant-garde, foreign and sexy, I hope.”

“Better than that,” he grunted. “Candid camera. A short glimpse behind the scenes in the mysterious kingdom of Nepal, courtesy of British Intelligence.”

My file-cabinet mind instantly turned to the page indexed Nepal. It was part of our training to develop such a mental filing case, full of assorted bits of information. I saw a strip of land roughly 500 by 100 miles, a land where roads were considered a luxury, a buffer state between China and Chinese-controlled Tibet, and India. Hawk turned down the lights, snapped on the projector, and my mind cut off.

The first shot was a street scene, men and women, some robed and skirted, others wrapped in brilliant sari-like gowns, mingled with children driving yaks through the crowd. The old men had faces like ancient parchment, the younger people smooth skinned with black, fast-moving eyes. The buildings were pagoda-like in architectural style and the first impression I got was a land which hinted at many other lands. Plainly, both India and China intermingled their influences in Nepal. Genetically, the faces I saw, while reminding one of both the Indian and Chinese peoples, had a character of their own. The camera panned across the scene and picked up a tall man in the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. His head was shaven, his arms powerful and bared and his face the wide-cheeked, tight-skinned countenance of the Nepalese. But his face had nothing of the ascetic, nothing of the Holy Man in it. It was an arrogant, imperious face, impassive with an intense impatience shining through it. He walked through the people who gave way to him like a monarch not a monk. Hawk’s voice cut in.

“His name is Ghotak,” he said. “Memorize that face. He’s a monk, developer of a separatist cult, out for personal and political power. Head of the Teeoan Temple and of the Snake Society, a strong-arm group he has assembled. Ghotak claims he is an inheritor of the spirit of Karkotek, Lord of All Snakes and an important figure in Nepalese mythology.”

The camera panned across the street scene again and from the way it was handled I knew the operator was an amateur. The picture cut to a shot of a stone figure with the typically almond-eyed visage of Buddhist statuary. The figure wore an ornate headdress fashioned of hundreds of serpents, and other snakes coiled about its wrists and legs.

“A statue of Karkotek, Lord of All Snakes,” Hawk explained. “In Nepal snakes are sacred, and it is forbidden to kill them except under certain clearly defined, religiously oriented circumstances. To kill a snake is to risk incurring the wrath of Karkotek.”

The camera switched to two figures, a man and a woman seated on twin thrones topped by a golden nine-headed serpent.

“The King and Queen,” Hawk said. “He’s a good man, trying to be progressive. He’s hemmed in by superstitions and by Ghotak. Tradition is that the King can never appear to be receiving help or his image will be tarnished.”

“Which means?” I asked.

“That to help him you have to walk on eggs,” Hawk answered. The camera switched again and I was looking at an elderly man in a Nehru jacket over a white cassock-like robe. White hair formed a crown over a distinguished, thin face.

“The patriarch Leeunghi,” Hawk said. “He sent these pictures. A friend of the Royal family, he’s carrying the ball against Ghotak. He has surmised Ghotak’s real motives and intentions. He’s the one sure friend we have on the spot.”

Hawk snapped off the camera. “That’s the principle cast of characters,” he said. “Ghotak has pretty well convinced the people that he is possessor of the spirit of Karkotek and is guided by the god’s wishes. He’s guided, all right, but it’s by the Red Chinese. They’re trying to take over Nepal by flooding in ‘immigrants’ as fast as they can. But further, effective migration depends on a bill before the King, opening up land to the immigrants and officially welcoming them. Once the people sign a petition to the king to this effect, he’ll have no choice but to sign the bill.”

“And this is what Ghotak is pushing for, I take it,” I interjected.

“Right,” Hawk said. “The Lord of All Snakes, Karkotek, wants the newcomers admitted, Ghotak tells the people. That’s persuasive enough but he backs it up with two other things, his Snake Society strong-arm boys and the legend of the yeti, the abominable snowman. The yeti slays those who oppose Ghotak.”

“The abominable snowman?” I scoffed. “Is he still around?”

“He’s always been a big part of Nepalese life,” Hawk said. “Especially among the Sherpas, the mountain people of Nepal. Don’t knock it until you can prove something different”

“No pictures of the yeti?” I asked innocently. Hawk ignored me. “Where do we fit into this?” I went on. “You mentioned British Intelligence.”

“It was their chestnut but their man, Harry Angsley, took seriously ill and they called on us for help” Hawk said. “They’re very short-handed as it is and, of course, they didn’t need to sell State or the War Department on the strategic position of Nepal. In Chinese control, it would be a direct pathway to India. In friendly hands, it could be a very tough nut for the Chinese to crack. It’s vital we keep it friendly, or at least neutral. Ghotak is exerting terrible pressure on the King to sign the immigrant decree. He’s getting up a final people’s petition in a matter of days.”

“Which accounts for all the rush,” I sighed, thinking back for a moment to Donna Roodrich. “Will I get a chance to contact Angsley?”

“He’s in the Khumbu region, at Namche Bazar, waiting to be flown out and to brief you on details,” Hawk said. “The flight connections for you have been cleared right through by special arrangement Military jet the first part of the way, and then you switch to commercial airliner in India. Get moving, Nick. A matter of days stand between us and the Red Chinese picking up all the marbles.”

Under the left wing of the airliner I saw a cluster of houses perched on a small plateau in the midst of the towering mountains, as though a giant hand had placed them there. The plane was heading for them and I could make out the narrow strip of cleared land running alongside the edge of a cliff. Snake gods, power-mad monks, superstitions and abominable snowmen. The whole thing had the flavor of a third-rate Hollywood scenario.

When the plane landed, I went directly to the small and somewhat primitive hospital where Harry Angsley waited for the plane that would take him back to England. Propped up in bed, I saw a man who was little more than a living skeleton, a hollow-eyed, sunken-faced apparition. The nurse on duty, an Indian girl, told me that Angsley had been stricken by a very severe attack of the awahl, the malarial fever that is often fatal, and rampant in the lowland swamps of the Terai area bordering India. But, with typical British courage, he was alert and willing to tell me all that he could.

“Don’t underrate the place, Carter,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “It comes at you in a hundred different ways. Ghotak holds all the cards. Frankly, I think there’s bloody little chance to pull this out. He’s got the people all wrapped up.”

A fit of coughing interrupted him and then he turned to me again, his eyes searching my face.

“I can see you’ll push on with it, though,” he whispered. “Sorry I can’t work with you, Carter. Heard of you. Who in this bloody business hasn’t? This is the plan for you. You’re to slip into Katmandu and then appear as a friend of the Leeunghi family.”

“I understand I’m to start out alone, camp in the Tesi Pass where a guide will meet me tomorrow night and guide me in past Ghotak’s Snake Society strong-arm squad.”

“Right,” Angsley agreed. “That means you’ll need heavy-weather equipment. Danders Trading Store here in Khumbu is the only place you can get it. It’s off-season, but I hope he can outfit you. You’re bigger than most who come this way. You’ll also need at least one high-powered big-game rifle.”

“I’ll get down there right away. I nearly froze on the way here from the airport,” I said.

“One last thing,” Angsley said, and I could see the man’s energies were failing fast. “The Sherpas, the mountain people, are fantastic guides and mountaineers. Like all Nepalese, they are full of superstitions, but they stay open minded. Convince them, and you can win them over. I’ve been having most of my trouble with a countryman of mine, a journalist from England who tailed me here. You know that breed. When they smell something hot, they’re bloody bird dogs. Publicity at this time would wreck everything.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said grimly. “I’ll stop by tomorrow before I leave. You lie back and take it easy now.”

The visit had done nothing to erase my grim, angry mood. Danders Trading Store turned out to have little that could fit me. From bits and scraps, he rounded up enough in my size to outfit me. Yak-hide and fur-lined boots, a heavy fur-lined parka, gloves and snowshoes. He had one good gun left and I took it, a lever action Marlin 336.

“I’m getting in new stock next month,” Danders said to me. “I’m about cleaned out now, as you can see. But if you’re coming back this way next month I’ll have anything you want.”

“Not if I can help it,” I answered, paying him and loading everything into the heavy bag he furnished. I was walking out the door when I collided with a figure in a bright green nylon parka, the kind one sees on the ski slopes of the Swiss Alps. From under a furred, Tibetan hat, two bright and active blue eyes met mine. Pink cheeks set off a straight, thin nose on a pretty, frank face.

“Hello, Yank,” she said in a very British voice. “I’ve been looking for you. I just left our friend Harry Angsley. My name’s Hilary Cobb, Manchester Journal and Record.”

Angsley hadn’t said his journalist nemesis was a girl and a damned attractive one, as much as I could see. She wore slacks, which can hide a multitude of sins, but her legs were long and her breasts swelled the parka, an accomplishment of sorts. I watched her eyes rove over the purchases I was lugging out of the store.

“Going mountaineering?” she smiled, falling into step beside me. “I think we’d best have a little talk, Yank. I’d like to help you if you cooperate with me.”

She was, I quickly saw, one of those active, aggressive British girls who torpedo their attractiveness by their bulldog determination to be completely unfeminine. I was in no mood for anything bothersome, and I decided to set her straight fast.

“I would forget all about me, honey,” I said. “Make like you never saw me.”

“The name is Hilary,” she said crisply.

“Okay, Hilary,” I said. “See how agreeable I am. Now you be agreeable. If I get a story for you, I’ll tell you when I pass back this way.”

“Don’t be childish,” she said snappishly. “Your being here is a story already. Besides, I’ve been around too long to buy that land of put-off. Something big is going on here. We figured that when we learned Harry Angsley had been sent here. So don’t put on that big, fierce bear routine, old boy. Hilary doesn’t scare off.”

There was a hostility about her that bugged me at once. I’ve always disliked hostile women. They were always fighting the war between the sexes, usually inventing imaginary slights to fight over.

“I strongly suggest you cooperate with me,” she said, flashing a dazzling smile. She had a pretty face despite her annoying attitude.

“That sounds like a threat, doll,” I commented, trudging on through the snow-covered streets.

“Advice,” she smiled again. “I could get in your hair in lots of ways, and I will unless you let me in on the ground floor, as you Yanks say. I can be thoroughly disagreeable.”

“You’re proving that, already,” I growled. “Now, I’ll give you a bit of advice, doll. Get lost.”

She stopped and I walked on, feeling the glare of her eyes at my back. I always felt a sense of waste when I met a girl with her face and her attitude. Under other conditions, I would have tried changing that hostility into something warmer. Here, I was too generally annoyed to bother with anything but getting a room at the local inn. Angsley had told them to have one ready and they did, a small cubby with a square window. The inn was not much more than a large, converted stable but it was warm and a place to eat as darkness fell. I put the gear in my room and went downstairs for a bite, stepping over two chickens squatting on the lower step of the wooden stairway.

A fire leaped in the large fireplace to one side of the room. I had yak steak, which left a lot to be desired, and some of the Nepalese staple, good old-fashioned potatoes. The local brew, a warmish beer called chang, did little to excite me, and I switched to tea which was at least strong. I was midway into dinner when I saw her come down the staircase and head toward me. There were about twelve rooms at the inn and I should have figured she’d be in one of them. She wore a light-blue, wool sweater which her breasts pushed up and outwards sharply, and her legs were full but well shaped. Her hair, previously hidden by the hood of the parka, was ash blonde and short. I watched her approach and let my glance take her in, unabashedly lingering on the full swell of her breasts as she halted at the table.

She waited, eyes narrowed, coolly watching me, lips pursed.

“Finished?” she finally said.

“Nice equipment” I commented, between bites of my yak steak. “Too bad it’s not on some other girl.”

“You mean on your kind of girl.”

“What’s that?” I asked, smiling up at her.

“The kind that wants to stare into your bright, blue eyes and feel your muscles and be impressed,” she said. “The land that caters to your ego by being willing to fall into bed with you at the drop of a hat.”

“Make that trousers,” I said.

“Have you thought about what I said?” she asked coldly.

“Not for a second, Hilary, honey,” I said-

“You’re going to remain uncooperative, I take it.”

“You take it right, sweetie,” I answered.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, turning and striding off.

“Hilary,” I called after her. She halted instantly and turned around. “Don’t talk like that,” I grinned. “It scares me so I tremble. Notice?”

Her lips tightened and she stalked off. She did have good equipment, I reflected, watching her rear wiggle off. I wondered if anyone ever used it. I struggled through the rest of my yak steak, and was just finishing tea when I saw a kid enter and walk to the desk. The Nepalese there pointed in my direction and the kid came over to me. He thrust a note at me. I flipped it open quickly.

“Unexpected developments. Please get here as quickly as you can. Angsley.”

I handed the kid a quarter, bundled up, and went into the night. The wind tore into me at once, and I watched a line of Sherpas moving into the village, their snow-crusted clothes evidence that they’d just come down from the mountain passes. At the hospital, the English-trained Nepalese nurse told me that Harry Angsley was asleep. I showed her the note and she frowned.

“Impossible, sir,” she said. “Mr. Angsley’s been asleep for hours. He’s had no one here to take a message for him. In fact, the medication we give him after dinner usually sedates him through the night”

Now I was frowning, and a sinking feeling had seized the pit of my stomach. I ran all the way back to the inn, my lungs burning from the cold air as I reached my room. I flung open the door and the sinking feeling Sunk deeper. All the equipment I’d purchased was gone. Heavy parka, snow gear, boots, rifle, everything. Without it, I wouldn’t stand a chance getting through Tesi Pass, where I was to meet the guide from the Leeunghi family. Without it, I wouldn’t be going anywhere. Harry Angsley’s words leaped up in my head. Don’t underrate the place, he’d said. It comes at you in a hundred different ways. It was neat, even clever. No rough stuff, just a neat job of fencing me in. I looked at the door to my room. It was such a simple latch that a child could pry it open. Through the square little window I saw that it had started to snow. Shoving a heavy chair against the door, I went to bed. I’d pay another visit to Danders’ store in the morning, but it was extremely unlikely he’d have a thing I could use, and I had to be on my way into that pass by noon. Maybe Angsley would have an idea.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep, which wasn’t that hard. On the bed beside me I’d placed Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger that was a part of me, always strapped into its shoulder holster. Hugo, my pencil-thin stiletto, lay in its sheath along my right forearm. I had taken no special equipment on this job. There hadn’t been time, as Hawk had said. The call from the British was urgent and entirely unexpected. On this one there would be just Wilhelmina, Hugo and me. Maybe I wouldn’t need either of them. One could always hope.

I slept well. It was a trick I’d taught myself long ago. The morning sun was filtering coldly through the little window when I awakened, and I was at Danders Trading Store as he opened. As I feared, he hadn’t a damned thing I could even make fit. I was on my way to the hospital to see Angsley when Hilary Cobb intercepted me. I was in no mood for more of her foolishness.

“Buzz off,” I growled, brushing past her.

“Suppose I could help you,” she said. “I heard you were robbed last night.”

I paused, turned and gave her a long look. I had told the desk clerk at the inn, and he could have relayed it to her, but suddenly my sixth sense told me that wasn’t so.

“How could you help me?” I asked quietly. She was very casual and self-controlled.

“I might have some equipment that would fit you,” she said airily.

“Such as a heavy-weather parka?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said casually.

“And boots that might fit me?”

“They just might,” she smiled.

“Maybe you have a rifle, too?”

“I just might,” she said smugly. She didn’t read the deadliness in my voice. She was too busy being smug and enjoying her own cleverness. “Of course, you’d have to cooperate with me,” she added cutely.

You little bitch, I said inwardly to myself. It was obvious what had happened. She’d sent the note, slipped into my room, and made off with my things. I looked at her and silently called her a host of names. Among them was the word “amateur.” She was so pleased with her little caper. I decided to teach her a lesson.

“I guess I’ll have to cooperate with you,” I smiled. “Where do you have my... this equipment you can let me have?”

“In my room,” she smiled smugly. I returned her smile and once again she failed to see the deadliness in it Amateur, I said to myself again. “Then you’ll cooperate properly?” she questioned again. “Promise.”

I smiled, putting some sheepishness into it. “I’ll cooperate properly, I promise,” I said. “Let’s get the stuff. I’ve got to be on my way.”

“We’ll be on our way,” she corrected, starting off for the inn. I wore a proper air of resignation mixed with reluctant admiration, and she went for it like a fish for a worm. “I guess I underestimated you,” I said respectfully, watching her lap it up.

As she opened the door to her room I quickly swept the place, seeing that my stuff was all there. It was neatly piled into a corner. On the bed there was an open traveling bag, and I watched her take off her parka. She was just turning toward me when I had her by the back of the neck, holding her with one big, angry hand. I slammed her face down on the bed, yanked her sweater up and off and tied the sleeves around her, pinning her arms behind her back. She tried to scream but I turned her over and slapped her once, just hard enough to make her teeth rattle. I yanked her to her feet and then slammed her down in a chair. With a stocking I snatched from her open traveling bag, I tied her to the chair and stepped back. Her breasts spilled over the brassiere and her eyes were no longer complacent and smug but full of terror.

“What... what are you going to do?” she stammered. “Please, I... I was only trying to do my job.”

I unhooked the bra and whipped it from her. She gasped as though she’d been struck, and I saw tears well up in her eyes. Her breasts were beautifully peaked, full and taut with the flat nipples of the virgin.

“You... you louse,” she said through her tears, gasping out the word. “You promised you’d cooperate with me properly.”

“I’m cooperating with you properly,” I said. “I’m fixing it so you won’t have to trudge through all that ice and snow and maybe get into more trouble.”

I reached one hand down and cupped it around one breast, full and firm with smooth, youthful skin. She tried to shrink back and shivered. Tears filled her eyes again but her anger fought through them.

“I’ll fix you for this, I swear it,” she breathed. “You leave me alone, do you hear?”

“I hear,” I said, running my thumb over her nipple. She gasped again and tried to pull away. “Now you hear. I could do anything I wanted to do with you,” I said, stepping back. “I could teach you what it’s like to be a girl or I could just embarrass the hell out of you. Or, I could drop you off a cliff and nobody’d much know or care here. In short, Hilary, honey, you’re operating out of your league. You’re playing and I’m serious. That’s your first lesson. The second one is never trust anyone you’ve just zinged.”

“Give me my clothes,” she said, defiance fighting through her fright.

“No dice,” I said. “You’ll work yourself loose by late afternoon and you can get dressed then. All you’ll have is a slight case of chillblains. And one last thing. You’re lucky. I can be a much bigger louse’.”

I walked out and looked back at her. Her anger had taken over, now that she was sure I wasn’t going to rape her. I enjoyed watching her turn different shades of red as I lingered to explore her breasts with my eyes.

“As I said, nice equipment,” I commented with a grin. “Go back to Manchester and try using it.”

I closed the door, taking my gear with me. Not more than ten minutes later I was suited up and on my way. I’d been given a rough map of the Tesi Pass through the glaciers. The rest was up to me. The cluster of houses grew smaller and more inviting as I struck out down a glacial slope, pack on my back, the Marlin 336 slung over one shoulder. “Hilary Cobb,” I said into the wind. “You don’t know it but I’ve done you a helluva favor.”

Chapter II

I don’t think I ever felt quite so small and alone and overpowered as I made my way through the winding, ice-slick paths of the Himalayan range. I’d quickly lost sight of the village and as I trudged on, the wind tore and whipped at me like some avenging, wrathful spirit bent on destroying the stranger in its land. Behind me, I could make out the towering peak of Everest, tallest of them all, with Lhotse close beside it. To the right of them, across a terrifying series of jagged peaks, stood Makelu and to the left the heaven-scraping Cho Oyu. As I descended deeper into the range, I was surrounded by sheets of ice and vast regions of snow. Gaping crevasses, large enough to lose an army in, loomed up on all sides, and glacial slopes cut through the precariously marked path I followed. The sharp sounds of shifting ice, cracking glaciers and the rumble of snowslides, gave me a feeling of helplessness in the face of nature’s awesome strength. I paused to tighten a bootstrap. My fingers stiffened in the time it took me to tighten the laces. I felt the skin of my face grow hard as the wind and the cold combined to give a mask-like texture to my features. And I was descending into the Tesi Pass. I shuddered to think what it was like climbing up toward the tops of those frightening peaks.

I paused at a cluster of ice-free rocks to take out the map and check my position. According to the simplified route traced out, I was in position. A sudden noise startled me and I swung the Marlin from my shoulder to see three tahrs, the Himalayan goats, bounding across the rocky terrain, their reddish, thick coats reflecting the rays of the setting afternoon sun. I watched them move effortlessly up the crags and started to hike on, envying them. The afternoon sun was now gone, hidden behind the towering peaks, and it would be dark very quickly. I hurried my pace and reached the mouth of the route known as Tesi Pass. It wound its way between the great mountains, a narrow ribbon amid the uncharted vastness of glacial ice, rock and snowdrifts. My instructions were to make camp anywhere within the pass and the guide, spotting my campfire, would find me. I picked a spot sheltered from the swirling wind and spent the remaining daylight hours gathering firewood. Amid the towering sentinels of unyielding rock, crowned by eternal snows, twisted, gnarled and mossy rhododendron trees somehow grew in defiance of all natural logic. As I gathered enough small twigs to start the fire and enough larger wood to keep it going, I saw musk deer and pheasant filtering through the trees. As I had enough dried meat in my pack I needed nothing further, and I lugged the wood back to the spot I’d chosen.

It was getting dark and I was starting to light the fire, using my lighter, when I was suddenly aware that I was not alone. I dropped the Marlin into my hands and whirled to face the figure standing quietly some fifty yards away. The man began to advance slowly, raising one arm in greeting, and I lowered the gun. His face, all but hidden beneath the low, furred hood of his parka, revealed weathered skin, small eyes and the flat, wide cheekbones of the Nepalese people. His legs were encased in yards of cloth, and goatskin boots covered his feet. The man walked up to me and spoke in halting English.

“You wait for guide,” he said. My eyebrows went up.

“You aren’t due for hours,” I said.

“Me early,” he answered. “You go to Leeunghi family?”

I nodded, and he motioned with a wave of his arm to follow.

“Long trip,” he said. “Me come early. Make much time by night this way.”

I shrugged. It had been my understanding that night travel through the pass was especially dangerous, but I wasn’t equipped to argue the point. Besides, I hadn’t relished the idea of spending most of the night alone by the fire in the vast emptiness of the pass with only the howling wind to keep me company. That is, if I were lucky. There were no doubt wolves in this area. And, I smiled to myself, there was always the yeti, the abominable snowman. I cast a backward glance at my unlighted pyramid of wood and followed after my guide. He moved with the surefootedness of the tahrs and I found myself scrambling and slipping to stay a reasonable distance behind him. He set a path that took us out of the pass at the first cut and climbed upwards, scrambling over slippery ice-covered cliffsides and along narrow ledges. Night fell, and we continued upwards in the darkness and then, with a special magic of its own, the moon came up and reflected an ice-blue brilliance from the snow and glacial formations. The blackness of the rocks was a startling contrast to the snow, and as I looked out over the wildness it had the angularity and sharp, etched pattern of a Duchamps or a Mondrian canvas. I could see my guide clearly now, just ahead of me, and we had come to a fairly broad ledge of rock.

“We rest here,” he grunted, leaning back against the ice-covered wall of rock rising up from the one side of the ledge. I knelt, set down my pack, and gazed in awe at the magnificence of the sight stretching before my eyes, an awesome beauty that not even the bitter cold could dispel.

Hawk was fond of saying that a top agent in this grim, nasty business had to have the experience of an octagenarian, the reflexes of a cat, the nerves of a trapeze artist and the psychic ability of a clairvoyant. If he wanted to stay alive, that is. The psychic part I’d always found especially true, and suddenly it came true again. The hair on the back of my neck was not too frozen to stand suddenly, and I felt it rise as I sat on my haunches looking out at the awesome panorama. I whirled just as he came at me, both arms outstretched to push me headlong over the edge. I had only one chance and I took it, diving to the ground and grabbing his leg. He toppled, falling over me, and we both narrowly missed rolling over the edge. I got one leg up enough to push myself forward and I slid out from under him. But he was, as I’d already seen, part mountain goat, and he was on his feet and atop me, driving me back with the force of his attack. I felt my footing go out from under me on a stretch of ice and I went down. His hands were reaching for my throat, strong hands with powerful arms. I got a heel into a crack in the rock and pushed. He rolled to one side as I threw him off. I crossed a right and felt it bounce harmlessly off the heavy fur edge of his hood.

I scrambled to my feet as he regained his, and now I saw him move warily toward me. The first surprise attack had sent the rifle skittering off along the ledge and Wilhelmina was buried under my parka and sweater. The tight wristlets of the parka kept me from dropping Hugo into my palm. His small eyes were but glittering pinpoints in the moonlight, and his arms held half outstretched gave no sign of what his next move would be. I shifted my glance to his feet, saw him shift his weight to his right foot, move forward and try a grab for me. I ducked to the left and swung. This time I connected and he went backwards and down, sliding hard into the stone back of the ledge. I went after him and my foot flew out from under me on a piece of ice-coated rock. I fell, grabbed at the edge and pushed myself back from it. He was on his feet again and aiming a kick at my head. I managed to avoid it, grabbed his foot and yanked, and he came down hard beside me. We grappled, and I pushed him back away from the edge, but he was wiry and fought with a deadly desperation. I tried a karate chop along the side of his neck but the thickness of his parka deadened the effect. He tore himself from my grip, whirled away and when he turned, I saw the glint of the moon on the long, curved knife blade. He came in fast and slashed down with the curved blade. It tore a gaping hole in the front of my parka that ran the entire length of the garment. I fell back as he slashed again with the blade, wickedly bringing it down in a hook, and once again I felt it slash into the bulky parka. He had ruined the parka but he’d also opened a convenient hole in it I reached through, yanked Wilhelmina out and fired. He was coming at me again when the big 9mm slugs hit him, and he stiffened, staggered backwards and collapsed. He was dead before I walked over to him.

I searched him but found nothing. His parka was too small to fit me but it would do to stuff into the gaping holes he’d slashed in mine. I stripped it from his lifeless form and stuffed it into the front of my own where the bitter wind had already found its way through.

I had little choice but to try and make my way back to where I’d started to build a fire in the pass. To go on would mean becoming hopelessly lost and risking certain death. As I began to pick my way back carefully, trying to remember the way we’d come, I wondered whether the real guide who was to meet me would eventually show up. They had gotten their assassin to reach me early, but maybe they’d also slain the real guide. I could do nothing but wait and see. I retrieved the rifle from where it had skittered away and proceeded downward once again, retracing our route with only a few minor mistakes. My little pyramid of wood was still there, undisturbed, and I managed to get the fire going quickly, reveling in its warmth. I huddled by the fire while the wind mounted in intensity as the night deepened, and I dozed off a few times. I was wakened once by the howl of a snow leopard prowling the blackness of the night.

It was past midnight when I heard the faint sound of footsteps on the snow, a soft, crunching sound. I slithered back out of the circle of light made by the fire and brought the big Marlin around, my finger on the trigger. Peering into the moonlit pass I saw the figure approaching slowly. I waited until the figure, also bundled up in furred hat and thick parka, neared the fire, and then I moved forward, rifle aimed at it.

“Stay right there,” I commanded. The figure halted and I walked up to it. As I approached I saw that the newcomer was small, not much higher than my shoulder.

“What do you do here?” I asked. “Are you passing through?”

“I come to take you to my father,” the answer came in a soft, liquid voice. I lowered the rifle.

“A girl?” I exclaimed in astonishment. She moved forward and I saw a small, smooth young face peering out from beneath the big, furry hat and the upturned collar of the parka. I could make out a small, pert nose and soft brown almond eyes. She sank down beside the fire wearily.

“Do not be surprised,” she commented in perfect English, just the trace of a British accent in her tone. “The Sherpa women can outclimb and outwalk any of the men. I am not one of the Sherpa, but I have grown up in these mountains.”

“Surprises seem to be a part of your country,” I said, sinking down beside her. “I’ve already had one tonight.” I quickly told her of the other guide who had come for me and I heard her draw her breath in sharply.

“A thousand apologies to you,” she said. “My father will be heartsick to hear of this. We were afraid something like it might happen but we were helpless to prevent it. Only three days ago we found out that one of our servants who had relayed messages between my father and Mr. Angsley belonged to Ghotak’s Snake Society. That is why he sent me off to meet you at once. He knew he could have trust in me.”

She was warming her hands before the fire, and I put on some more wood. Even bundled up in the shapeless layers of clothing there was something petite about her, and her movements as she stretched before the flames were fluid and graceful.

“I am Khaleen,” she announced simply. “Only daughter of the House of Leeunghi and, since the death of my mother, woman of my father’s home.”

“And I’m Nick, Nick Carter, Khaleen,” I replied. “You speak perfect English. Where did you learn?”

“I studied in England as a young girl,” she said. “I returned at the death of my mother. We await your coming with great hopes born of desperation. Ghotak is close to victory.”

I smiled grimly. “I’ll give it everything I can,” I answered. “I’ve already got one personal score to settle with this Ghotak cat. Hired assassins sent to kill me make me more than a little annoyed.”

Khaleen smiled, her teeth beautifully even and white. She was studying me with a wisdom in her eyes that was born not of experience but of heritage.

“I think that if there is still time, you will find a way to help us, Mr. Carter,” she said slowly.

“Nick,” I corrected her. She smiled again and moved closer to me. I wished I could see more of her than the tiny piece of her face showing through the layers of clothing.

“We will rest a few hours by the fire before starting the trip back,” she said. “We will lie close together for added warmth.” She lay down in front of the fire and gently pulled me down beside her. Turning on her side so that we lay back to back, she immediately fell into a sound sleep. As I lay awake a while longer I realized the truth of her actions. Even through the heavy clothing, I could feel the warmth of her body against mine. I fell asleep shortly after, the rifle cradled in my arms.

It was still dark when I felt her stir and I awoke.

“We will start back now,” she said. “It is a long and hard trip.” We threw some snow on the fire and I found myself following her at an amazing pace. Her small form moved gracefully and easily through the pass, down steep ridges and along rocky ledges so narrow we had to progress inch by inch, each step an invitation to sudden death. When night came again, we were lower down in the mountains, and I saw greenery. The temperature had abated somewhat. The fire was still welcome, however, and we ate the dried meat in my pack. We had spoken very little during the trip, conserving our breath and our energies. When we finally encamped, we were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep, and in the morning we were off to an early start again. Khaleen had timed things so that we slipped into Katmandu by night, and she skirted around quiet, dark streets to bring me finally to the door of a big wooden house with the traditional pagoda-like roof supported by strong timbers. She opened the door and beckoned for me to follow. Inside, she called out in her native tongue. I heard sounds from an adjoining room, and through the doorless archway I saw the man whose picture I’d seen on the film. He walked in with brisk steps and bowed briefly. I did the best I could in my bulky outfit.

He helped me off with my things while Khaleen spoke quickly to him, and when she’d finished he looked up at me with deep, round eyes. “I apologize that your introduction to our land was one of death,” he said. His eyes roved up and down my frame, towering and appearing even bigger in the low-roofed room.

“You are an impressive man, Mr. Carter,” he said. “It is good. The people are easily led, easily impressed. Come, let us go in and sit down. We have much to discuss.”

I noticed that Khaleen had disappeared as I followed the patriarch into a warm room with dark wood paneling and a stone stove set in one wall, a blazing fireplace in the other. Gleaming copper and brass urns, trays and pots were set into wooden niches, and a thick rug lay casually across the floor. We sat on low, blanket-covered stools and benches and the patriarch poured tea into pewter mugs.

“Tomorrow night there is to be a Spirit Meeting to Karkotek at Ghotak’s temple hall,” the old man said. “I fear it will be more than your eyes have witnessed, young man.”

“These eyes have witnessed a helluva lot,” I commented.

“During such a meeting, Ghotak inflames the people to mass eroticism,” Leeunghi went on. “When they are in the throes of their erotic sensations he will encourage more and more of this mass psychological phenomenon until the people are spent and exhausted. Then his Snake Society men will pass the petition to the king among them to sign and of course they will do so.”

“You have a plan to prevent this, I take it?”

“The only possible one at the moment,” the old man said. “I will introduce you as an old friend when the gathering assembles, one who comes from a far-away land with news of Karkotek. The Spirit of Karkotek roams across the face of the earth, according to legend.”

“And I’ll tell the people that Karkotek has given no sign that he favors Ghotak’s position,” I chimed in.

“Precisely,” Leeunghi agreed. “Ghotak will argue and threaten. I do not know exactly what he will come up with but he will fight hard, you may be sure. The important thing is that we maneuver him into a position where he cannot get his petition signed at the end of the ritual.”

“I’ve got it,” I said. “Hell hold the ritual in any case, right?”

“That is correct,” the patriarch said. “He cannot deny the people the ritual. But we must deny him his objective, whatever the price.”

“Do you think they will really pay any attention to me?” I asked. “After all, I’m a total stranger to them.”

“They will listen to you because first, you come as my friend and I am respected here,” he answered. “And then, because you, having heard of Ghotak’s claim, have come all this distance to speak out against it.”

I smiled. I was beginning to see the intricate, wily twists and turns of the old man’s mind, plainly learned and wise in the ways of his people. He stood up abruptly.

“Your room is upstairs and a bath is waiting for you there,” he smiled. “The Western-style bathtub is a convenience I became used to during my days in the British army. I think my home is perhaps one of the very few in all this region with such conveniences, outside of the Royal Palace.”

“Speaking of Royal Palaces,” I said, “where does the King fit into this?”

“He prays for our success, but he must remain in the background,” Leeunghi said. “If we fail to stop Ghotak, he will be forced to accede to his demands.”

The old man and I exchanged bows and I went into my room which was small but comfortable, with a wide bed covered by a thick blanket of goat’s fur. The bath was in a tiny cubicle adjoining the room, really only large enough to hold the bathtub itself and a towel rack. The water was already in the tub and I let the warmth relax my aching muscles. I’d just dried myself off and was stretched out under the goat’s fur blanket when there was a knock at my door and Khaleen entered. I sat up in surprise. She wore a light blue robe of filmy material and her hair hung loose in black cascades down to her shoulders. Her face, freed of the parka, was ivory smooth with high, wide cheekbones set off by the delicately shaped almonds of her eyes. Her lips, wet and moist now, glistened in loveliness. Though small, her breasts thrust out sharply through the robe and she stood before me, a jewel-like, shimmering delicacy radiating from her. She sat down beside me on the wide bed and I could see she wore nothing beneath the robe. The tips of her breasts were pinpoints of provocativeness though she was seemingly unaware of this.

She placed her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back onto the bed. “Please turn over,” she said. I did so and she began to massage my back and neck and shoulders with a touch that combined delicacy and strength.

“Is this a custom?” I asked in curiosity.

“To those guests who have journeyed far and long to visit us,” she remarked. I lay quietly, relaxing and enjoying the sensuous touch of her hands as she massaged my body. I’d been massaged before but Khaleen’s hands caressed as well as massaged, and I wondered if she knew it. I turned my head to watch her and she smiled at me as she kept on with her task. She drew the fur blanket down and her hands smoothed the skin at the base of my spine, pressing soothingly down on the nerve endings clustered there. Then, gently, she turned me over and rubbed my chest while I watched the dancing light from the flickering oil lamp play on her intent face. Finally, finished, she drew the blanket up over my chest. I caught her wrist and she sat quietly, making no movement to pull away.

“You’re a very beautiful creature, Khaleen,” I said. “Do you know that?” She smiled, a wise, Asiatic smile, and I had my answer. Like all women everywhere, she knew her charms all too well. She drew both hands softly across the top of my chest, up to my neck and then down again.

“You have a beautiful body,” she said softly. She got up, smiled, blew a kiss at me and was gone on soft, soundless steps. I fell asleep instantly and slept like a baby.

When morning came I was surprised at how warm the day was in the valley. I needed only a shirt and a light windbreaker as I went for a walk through the streets. The old man had breakfasted with me, and I’d caught glimpses of Khaleen flitting silently through the house. After breakfast I went out to get some local color. I’d walked only a few blocks when I came to the imposing temple and the long, low assembly hall behind it. Ghotak, looking as he had on the films I saw in Hawk’s office, came down the steps accompanied by three fairly tall, bare-armed men in royal blue balloon-sleeved shirts, open down to the waist. I had the impression he’d been waiting inside the door for me to come along. His timing was too good. He came directly at me and his imperious face was cold and set. He nodded, disdaining the usual bow.

“The friend of the Leeunghi House has come,” he said, a sneer on his lips. “We were expecting you.”

“Really?” I said. “Somehow, I got the idea you weren’t.”

His eyes moved slightly but his face remained impassive.

“You would be well advised not to interfere with affairs that are not your concern,” he said. He, too, had obviously learned his English in the British schools that once dotted the land. Peering into his cold, deep eyes, I saw at once that there was no chance of this man being anything but an enemy, so I decided to play it straight.

“You’re telling me to mind my own business,” I said.

He shrugged. “Put it more crudely, if you wish,” he said. “You of the Western world seem obsessed with crudity.”

“And you of the Eastern world seem obsessed with power,” I replied. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll remember to forget it.”

He couldn’t keep the flash of anger from flaring in his eyes as he turned and walked back into the temple. He spoke to his three aides and they turned to me.

“You will come with us,” the tallest one said, his voice low and tense. “If you do not come quietly we will let it be known that you have insulted the lama. In minutes, a crowd will gather to tear you limb from limb.”

I weighed the threat and decided there was probably something to it. But I was more interested in finding out what they had in mind. I fell in beside them. One led the way while the other two flanked me. I was led alongside the low meeting house, around the back of it and into a small, tree-shrouded clearing.

“Ghotak has decided that you have come to make trouble,” the tallest one said, facing me. “It becomes necessary to make you realize how wrong you will be to do this. Ghotak is sorry he must teach you so severe a lesson.”

I smiled inwardly. It was a different approach but I knew the tactics would be the same. They intended to give me a good going-over. Almost as one, they reached inside their loose shirts and each one drew out a narrow length of cured bamboo, about the thickness of a riding quirt. The leader of the trio raised his hand and came down with it. I heard it whistle as it went through the air, turned away and raised my arm in defense. I felt the painful slash as it struck and felt the immediate trickle of blood on my arm. I moved back and smiled. Silent but nasty little weapons, I saw. The tallest one moved in again and now the other two were about to start slashing with their rods.

“Wait a minute,” I said. They stopped dutifully. Maybe Ghotak thought his assassin had missed connections with me, but he was about to learn differently. Maybe these three were bully-boys in Nepal but compared to the kind I was used to handling, they were strictly bush-league. I had to smile as I saw them standing there, waiting for what I was going to say.

I sighed and then, with the speed of a cat, I whirled and hit the one on the right with a tremendous solar-plexus blow. I saw his eyes bulge as he grabbed at his stomach and doubled over. Without stopping my motion I whirled, dived and caught the leader of the trio around the knees. I yanked hard and he went over backwards. The third one had recovered enough to slash at me with his bamboo wand. I took the slash on my shoulder, grabbed his arm and twisted. He yelped and half turned around as I applied pressure. I let go long enough to chop him alongside the neck and he collapsed. The tallest one had regained his feet now, minus his little weapon. He came at me and twisted to kick high and out. The blow caught me on the hip as I turned my body. When he got his leg down on the ground he was off balance. I connected with a roundhouse right and felt his jaw crack. He sailed backwards into a tree and shuddered his way to the ground against the trunk. The one I’d gotten in the solar plexus was on his knees, just starting to regain some breath. I grabbed him, yanked him to his feet and gave him a punch that split his cheek open. The blood spurted from the wound as he hit the ground. I dragged the third one over to where the first two lay almost side by side. The tallest one was dazed but conscious. I yanked his head up by the hair.

“Be sure and tell your boss that I’m sorry I had to educate you this way,” I said. “He’ll understand, I’m sure.”

I walked off and returned to the main street, pleased with the way things had gone. Ghotak was no fool. His kind of man understood power and ruthlessness. Though I doubted it, the display of those qualities might just slow him down.

I continued sauntering through the streets, observing the people, pausing at street vendors, and eventually found myself at the edge of the village. I was just about to turn back for the Leeunghi house when, looking toward the mountains towering just beyond the village, I saw three figures coming out of the mountains. The first two were Sherpa guides, I recognized from their dress. The third one wore a bright green nylon ski jacket.

“I don’t believe it,” I said aloud to myself. I waited, unwilling to believe what I was seeing but knowing damned well what I saw. The three figures strung out single-file grew larger, until they were upon me. The two Sherpa guides trudged by. The third figure halted and glanced at me with an expression of relief and disdain.

“It looks as though I guessed right,” she said in clipped tones. “I’m going to give you another chance to cooperate with me,” she added brightly.

“I’m touched,” I growled.

“I knew you’d be,” she said and went off after her guides. I watched her go with a mixture of anger, surprise and grudging admiration. Any girl with that much determination couldn’t be all bad, I decided. She could also be a pain in the ass. But maybe she’d learned her lesson, I told myself, remembering the fright in her eyes during our last session. If not, I’d give her another one and fast. As I walked back through the village toward the Leeunghi house, I smiled as I passed Ghotak’s temple and saw the three figures helping each other up the steps.

Chapter III

When I returned to the house I found the old man had been waiting for me to have tea. His information, more detailed than anything I’d heard, revealed the dangerous state of affairs that had already been reached. Khaleen, busy with housework, flitted in and out of the room, each time her eyes meeting mine in a small, private exchange. I kept remembering the softness of her hands on my body, and had to keep bringing my mind back to the old man’s words.

“Over 5,000 of these immigrants have come into Nepal so far,” he said. “As each one is a trained Communist agitator, versed in the ways of creating dissension among the people, this is a sizable force. Ghotak, if he forces the King to allow unrestricted further immigration, will end up ruling the country for his Chinese Communist masters.”

“And the people really believe that Ghotak is guided by the spirit of Karkotek?” I asked.

“Yes,” the old man answered. “In this he has been most clever, playing on every ancient superstition and ritual. The ritual tonight is an ancient custom he has revived into a means of controlling the people.”

Khaleen entered with a fresh pot of tea and sat down for a moment to listen. She wore a loose black blouse and mandarin trousers and looked like a beautiful child-woman.

“But even more than the spirit of Karkotek, he has the example of how the yeti killed those who publicly opposed him,” the patriarch went on.

“The yeti?” I exclaimed. “The abominable snowman? Not that old legend again.”

I glanced up at the sober silence my remark had brought on. Both the old man and the girl were looking at me with deep, serious eyes.

“Surely you don’t believe in the existence of such a creature, do you?” I asked, suddenly feeling that I’d already gotten my answer.

“No one who lives here doubts the existence of the yeti,” the old man said. “The yeti exists. I merely believe it was a coincidence that he killed those who opposed Ghotak, and Ghotak is capitalizing on this.”

“But you believe in the yeti? Both of you do?”

“But of course, my friend,” he said, and Khaleen nodded in wide-eyed agreement. “There is no doubt he exists.”

I backed off quickly, realizing I was treading on inviolate ground. Superstitions, at least some superstitions, were obviously not confined to the masses. But before backing away entirely, I tried one more nod in the direction of reason and logic.

“Have you considered that perhaps Ghotak had these people slain and blamed it on the yeti?” I asked.

“Only the yeti could have slain them. You would know had you seen their bodies,” he replied. I dropped the point and we finished tea. The old man went back upstairs to rest and Khaleen had chores to finish. I decided on a walk, and I hadn’t been out of the house five minutes when I met up with Hilary Cobb. She wore a wool suit, and I noted again how magnificently full her breasts were.

“I’ve just been interviewing the most fascinating man,” she announced gaily. “Ghotak, High Lama of the Teeoan Temple.”

“You do get around,” I commented. “I’m surprised he consented to see you. I hear he’s very remote.”

“You’d be surprised how many doors open when you flash a press card,” Hilary answered. “He said he wanted to give a Western journalist his views on increased immigration into Nepal.”

“He doesn’t miss a trick,” I grunted.

“What does that mean?” she asked, suddenly all newshound.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, but she had caught a scent and was eyeing me suspiciously.

“Don’t try putting me off,” she said. “Maybe I’m onto something more than I thought. Is that why Angsley was sent here, because of the Chinese immigration into Nepal? Is that why you’re taking his place?”

“Why don’t you go home before you get killed?” I said savagely.

“Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic, old boy?” she asked flippantly. I gathered the lapels of her suit in one hand and pulled her close, relieved to see the quick flash of fear that crossed her face.

“You can’t have forgotten the last time you got smart with me, honey,” I growled. “I warned you then not to get smart and I’m telling you again.”

“And I told you I don’t scare off,” she snapped back.

I let go of her and she stepped back, her blue eyes round and serious. “Why don’t we call a truce?” she said. “I won’t interfere with you and you don’t interfere with me.”

“Oh, God save us,” I groaned. “You know, for a bright, determined, resourceful girl, you’re an awfully stupid broad. I’m giving you good advice. This place could erupt at any time into a very ugly situation.”

“And a great story,” she said happily.

“Go on, get lost,” I said angrily. “Just stay out of my hair.” I turned and walked away from her. I had a job to do here, I reminded myself. Trying to talk some sense into overaggressive English girls wasn’t part of it. Somehow, the whole damned place was beginning to give me a very uneasy feeling. I wanted to get at the heart of things, to break something open and root it out, to expose the enemy and meet him head on. But here everything moved under the surface, cloaked in strange attitudes and approaches. I decided to concentrate on Ghotak. He had moved directly twice. Maybe I could force him into the open and into a fatal mistake. I went back to the house, stretched out on the bed and tried to clear my mind of abominable snowmen and snake gods and all the other superstitions. The damned atmosphere had a way of enveloping you and making you part of it. I let my thoughts wander to Khaleen. Now there was something worth being enveloped by.

I rested till I heard the soft gong that signaled dinner and went downstairs. We ate quickly for, as the old man explained, the ritual would begin an hour past sundown. Khaleen excused herself for a moment and the old man took a few last puffs on his water-pipe. I finished the cup of sweet rice wine he had served.

“I will explain what is happening at the ritual as it takes place,” he said to me. “And most of it, I daresay, will not need explaining to you. By the way, you are aware that another visitor from a Western country is here in Katmandu?”

“I’m aware,” I said. “I didn’t know you were.”

“She stopped here,” he said. “She took my house for the Traveler’s Inn, and I gave her directions. She is a journalist and very easy to converse with.”

“And very clever,” I added. I was silently wagering that Hilary would turn up at the ritual, too. Khaleen’s arrival ended our conversation. She swept into the room with a brilliant, orange silk stole wrapped about her bare shoulders. Under it she wore a brief jeweled top that ended in a bare midriff. A blue, diaphanous material fell from her waist to the ground. Her breasts, gathered inside the halter top, rose in twin mounds, sharply pointed, and her black hair shone brightly against her rose-tinted cheeks. She shimmered, a glowing, incandescent jewel come to life, breathtakingly delicate and beautiful.

She walked between her father and me, and when we reached the low-roofed, long building behind the temple it was already jammed with people. I followed the old man as he made his way down to the front. There were no chairs, and everyone sat upon the wood floor. A raised platform, a land of stage, took up the front of the hall and I saw Ghotak seated alone on it. A number of his blue-shirted Snake Society boys were among the crowd. I noticed my three friends from the afternoon were missing and I smiled quietly. Large incense burners hung from the walls and sat on the stage, filling the hall with a sweet, cloying odor. Various statues and carvings of Karkotek adorned the back of the stage, and three musicians sat to one side, two of them softly strumming on long-necked sitars, the third one softly stroking a drum. Smoke from lighted butter lamps clouded the hall and added to the semi-darkness of the huge room. Suddenly more musicians came out and sat down beside the first three, and I heard the eerie music of copper trumpet and conch shell join the drum and sitars.

The old man had sat down on one side of me and Khaleen on the other, and as I glanced down at her I could see the soft rise of her breasts under the jeweled top. They would be like the rest of her, I thought, small but perfect I glanced over the crowd, searching for an ash-blonde head and finally I spotted it, directly across from where I sat. Hilary Cobb was against the wall, statuesque beside the Nepalese women who stood near her. I looked at the platform to see Ghotak rise and advance to the edge. A silence immediately fell over the audience. He lifted his arms, the voluminous saffron sleeves of his robe falling loosely, and began a series of incantations. The crowd murmured along with him. Finally he finished, lowered his arms and surveyed the audience, his face imperiously arrogant.

“Tonight, we rejoice in the fertility of the Spirit of Karkotek,” he intoned. “Tonight, Karkotek, Lord of All Serpents, helps us to free ourselves, to enjoy our bodies, to become one of his own. But first, he sends us a message. His wish is that I tell you that the time has come to ask our revered ruler, descendent of Vishnu the Preserver, to welcome all those who would live in our holy land under the Spirit of Karkotek.”

A murmur of approval went through the crowd.

“When the ritual is over,” Ghotak went on, “you will show that you have heard the wishes of Karkotek as given to you from my humble lips, by signing the great scroll to be sent to the King, exalted Descendent of Vishnu the Preserver.”

Once again the crowd murmured its understanding.

“As is written in the Holy Books,” Ghotak added, “let he would defy the wishes of Karkotek speak up or forever remain silent.”

I felt my hands tense as the old man got to his feet, surveyed the crowd and looked up at Ghotak.

“Karkotek does not speak through the lips of Ghotak,” he said, and an audible gasp arose from the crowd. “I have said this before, and I say it to you now once again. But tonight, I have another who would speak to you. He comes from a land many thousands of miles away. He has journeyed these miles because he would speak to you. His heart is disturbed by what he has heard so very far away.”

The patriarch turned to me, and I took the cue. I got up, ignored Ghotak’s burning glance and faced the crowd.

“The patriarch Leeunghi speaks the truth,” I said, casting a fast glance at the sea of listening, silent figures in the semi-darkened, smoky hall. “Those who would enter your country do not come as friends. I have heard the Spirit of Karkotek in my land, and his voice asked me to journey from my home to tell you this. It would be a sign to you, I was told.”

Ghotak’s voice cut in as he went into action.

“The old man is senile, and the foreigner lies,” he boomed out. “Listen to them and the Spirit of Karkotek will be angered and visit evil upon you. You seek signs? Think of how the yeti has slain those who spoke against Ghotak.”

“The yeti will harm no one else,” I shouted. I almost said that the yeti was a damned hoax but I caught myself.

“Has the yeti slain those who spoke against Ghotak?” the monk shouted, and the crowd roared their answer.

“Has not Karkotek given you a sign by this?” he asked, and again the crowd roared. Ghotak turned and pointed a finger at Leeunghi.

“Go into the mountains, old man, and return untouched by the yeti,” he shouted. “If you can do that, Ghotak will know that the Spirit of Karkotek does not speak through his lips and that you and the foreigner do not lie.”

I saw a thin smile appear on the patriarch’s lips.

“I accept the challenge,” he said. “The scroll will bear no names until the challenge is met.”

The crowd gasped, a great hissing sound that spewed from them, and then they clapped. Leeunghi sat down, pulling me beside him.

“He trapped himself,” the old man said excitedly. “I realized it and took advantage at once.”

“But you believe in the yeti,” I said.

“Of course, but not that he kills for Ghotak. The other slayings were a coincidence. It will not happen again.”

I was inclined to agree with the old man, especially since I knew that the whole yeti bit was a piece of wild folklore. Maybe the monk had trapped himself, thinking the old man would be too frightened to take up his challenge. My eyes were drawn to the stage again as Ghotak’s voice boomed forth once more.

“The ritual begins,” he announced solemnly. Instantly, the soft background of the music changed to a sharp, almost frightening beat, an insistent beat that quickened and slowed and quickened again in pulsating rhythm. The sitar players began a shimmering, unending series of chords and as I watched, six girls in flowing veils, bare-bosomed beneath the thin material, appeared on the platform. Each carried what I first took to be candlesticks. They were, in a way, but as they were set down, three at each side of the platform, I saw they were waxen phallic symbols, each with its own bulbous base. Realistically molded, the waxen symbols were lighted at the tiny wick at the end of each one.

“The wax is treated with a special oil so that it melts rapidly,” the old man whispered to me. The six girls prostrated themselves before the symbols, then gathered together in the center of the stage.

“Ghotak, as High Lama of the temple, will choose a girl to offer herself as a tribute to Karkotek,” the patriarch whispered to me.

“Whom can he choose?” I asked.

“Anyone here,” the old man said. “It is customary that he chooses from among the temple girls. The girl called up by the Holy One will begin to stimulate every kind of erotic emotion she can by dancing and by other bodily actions. Various men will leap on stage and offer themselves to her. She must choose one before the phalli burn down and to the one she chooses she must give herself this night”

As I watched, Ghotak stood before the six girls. Then, suddenly, he whirled and pointed out to the audience.

“I choose Khaleen, daughter of the House of Leeunghi, to offer tribute to the Spirit of Karkotek,” he shouted.

I shot a glance at the old man. He stared up at the monk, transfixed.

“She does not come forth?” Ghotak asked, mockery in his voice. “Is the daughter of the House of Leeunghi too good for the Spirit of Karkotek? Does such a house dare to speak for Karkotek?”

The old man whispered to me through clenched teeth.

“If I refuse to let Khaleen give herself I must end my opposition to him,” he said. “He knows this. It would be a matter of personal honor.”

“And if you don’t refuse, you’re tossing Khaleen to God knows who,” I said. “Tell him to go to hell. I’ll find some other way to get to him.”

“The devil in monk’s robes has struck at the heart of honor and belief,” the patriarch murmured. Suddenly I heard the swift movement at my side, a flash of orange silk whipping through the air. I turned to see Khaleen rushing to the platform. I called to her, but she didn’t even pause. As she climbed onto the platform a cheer rose from the crowd. The music increased in intensity and a sudden evocative odor was released from urns along the walls, a strangely stimulating odor. I felt the heightened emotionalism in the audience and saw that some women were already casting aside silk scarves and veils and outer robes. Khaleen was onstage, standing quietly, and Ghotak withdrew, moving down the side of the platform. The phallic symbols were burning down, each with its own hue of bright flame. I caught Khaleen’s eyes as she looked at the nearest phallus, and they shone with a strange brightness. Now the music was beating its pulsating rhythm in almost deafening volume, and the sound and the rhythm were impossible to escape. They washed over me like the waves of the ocean, immersing, absorbing, demanding. I watched Khaleen begin to dance, slowly at first, then with increasing sensuousness. I’d seen exotic dancers all over the world but they’d all been making believe. Khaleen was transformed, her eyes half-closed, head tilted back. She approached each phallus, lightly caressing the waxen images, then moved around each one, thrusting her breasts at each. She swayed back and forth and now her belly began to heave in and out and she moved to the center of the platform. The blue sheath she wore quickly shredded as the fury of her movements increased and her legs, fine-limbed and slender, pulsed and swayed.

The incense and the heat was reaching the audience, and I felt them swaying, heard moans and half cries. Khaleen thrust her belly out at them, spread her legs and arched backwards. I heard a woman scream and looked back to see a man rolling on the floor with her, legs kicking up and down. Men and women were clutching at each other. A few feet away a woman arched her body backwards and began to writhe in self-induced hypnotic eroticism. A frightening ecstasy had seized the crowd, and low moans and eerie sounds filled the air. I saw Hilary Cobb pressed flat against the wall, watching with wide, frightened eyes. I smiled as I saw her wipe a hand across her brow and cheek, and even in the half light I could see her skin glistening with sweat.

Khaleen had sunk to the floor of the platform, legs outstretched, back arched, her belly leaping in the spasmodic movements of rapture, and the waxen phalli continued to burn down. I could feel the sweat of my own palms, and the back of my shirt was damp. As Khaleen continued to rise and fall to the insistent beat of the music, a man leaped from the audience onto the platform. He stood over her, legs outspread, his torso working. Khaleen rolled over and he jumped away and fell from the platform to lie panting on the floor. Another figure leaped onstage and danced before Khaleen, now rolling back and forth on the stage. She turned her head away, never ceasing her own erotic movements, and he retired. Khaleen, I could see, was caught up in her own frenzy, and she slithered and rolled about the stage, moving her back and shoulders in sensual rhythm, lifting her belly in eager, thrusting motions, as the waxen phallic symbols continued to burn down.

In front of me, a woman half screamed and fell backwards across my legs. Immediately, she rolled over and began to move her body, serpent-fashion, over my legs. Another woman and a man joined her and they rubbed their bodies across one another in slow frenzy. More men were offering themselves to Khaleen and each one was rejected by a twist of her head or a turn of her body. The phalli were not much more than a few inches from their bulbous waxen bases. I heard her father’s hoarse whisper.

“She cannot refuse much longer,” he said, his voice strained. “She must choose someone. Time runs out for her.”

The wails and screams now resounded as one continuous din, and I realized that Khaleen, carried away by her own frenzy, had nonetheless held off the terrible moment as long as she could. My own hands were wet, and the perspiration trickled down my arms. I leaped to my feet, vaulted over writhing, prostrate forms, and ran for the platform. I saw Hilary Cobb, transfixed, pressed against the wall, watching the scene of unbridled erotic desire. I caught her startled glance as I flashed past. Khaleen’s eyes were closed as I leaped onto the platform, stood over her and called her name. She opened her eyes and her writhing body continued its sensual rhythm. Standing over her, I felt my loins swell with desire, and I shook my head and clenched my hands. God, the contagion of the place was overpowering. I wanted to drop onto her beautiful body, to seize that perfectly formed little shape and make it my own. But that wasn’t why I’d come here, I reminded myself. I was here to prevent something, not perpetrate it. Suddenly Khaleen rose, reached up and grabbed my legs. She pressed her face into my groin, rubbing her head against me and then, throwing her head back, she let out a piercing scream of release.

The noise ended with a frightening suddenness, and for a long moment there was dead silence. The waxen images sputtered out and near darkness settled over the hall. Now only the sounds of spent breathing and stifled sobs broke the stillness. I looked down at Khaleen. She had fallen backwards to the floor, unconscious. I picked her up and carried her from the platform, past Ghotak’s burning eyes. I threaded my way out of the hall and found her father at my side. I kicked open a door and walked out into the cool wind of the night, a clean, refreshing wind. Khaleen was a feather in my arms, a beautiful, sleeping doll. As I walked off with her, I saw a blonde head emerge from the hall, and I glanced back to see Hilary Cobb leaning against the wall of the building, eyes closed, composing herself.

Khaleen stirred and I stopped. She opened her eyes and a wonderfully soft smile crossed her face. I set her down on her feet, and her deep eyes held mine.

“Can you walk?” I asked. She nodded and her father put an arm around her waist “It is over and you’re all right,” I said. I saw deep relief and gratitude in the old man’s eyes, and Khaleen leaned a head on his shoulder. I walked on and left them alone. The erotic excitement had temporarily erased the real dangers, but only temporarily. They were still there, perhaps more so. But once more, they had been covered up in the infuriating way of this strange land. A challenge had been flung and answered and then obscured by an eruption of sexual frustration on a mass orgy scale. Tomorrow, an old man would go into the mountains to prove he wouldn’t be slain by something that didn’t exist to prove a mythological god didn’t communicate through a power-mad monk. I shook my head and tried it again, but it still came out the same way. Everything wore a mask in this place, and I had the uneasy feeling that death was hiding behind one of them.

Chapter IV

I’d walked on in the cool of the night air and let Khaleen and her father go home first. Finally I slipped into the silent house and up to my room. The events I’d just witnessed would leave a marble statue disturbed, and I found myself tossing and turning in the stillness of the night. The fur blanket was warm and soft, too damned much like a woman. I was awake when I heard the faint sound of my door opening. I sat up, naked except for my shorts, and Wilhelmina was in my hand, ready to blast, my finger pressing tensely on the trigger. A soft, blue light came through the window as I waited, watching the door open further. Suddenly the figure appeared inside the room, a petite shape beneath a loose, voluminous silken robe.

“Nick, are you awake?” the small voice asked softly.

“Khaleen,” I said. “What are you doing here?” She moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. She sat down at the edge of the wide bed and the soft moonlight through the window lighted the angles of her face. Her eyes were black, bottomless pits with pinpoints of brightness in each one.

“I have come to you, Nick,” she said. “It is written that the girl shall give herself to whom she has chosen.”

“Khaleen,” I said, putting my hands on her small shoulders. “I thought you understood. I came to you so you would not need to give yourself to anyone.”

“I understand,” she said softly. “I know you did it for me.”

“Then there is no need for you to be here,” I said. “You needn’t carry through with me.”

“But it is also written that the girl becomes filled with desire for the man she has chosen,” Khaleen answered. “And this, too, is true.”

“This is so with you, Khaleen?” I frowned. She didn’t answer. Instead, she bent low and with one, quick motion, the voluminous robe was cast aside and I saw a creature so perfectly formed, so delicately sensual, so jewel-like in every aspect as to be overwhelmingly exciting. She sat straight, her back curving in a beautiful arch, her breasts pointed upwards, full and rounded beneath her nipples and curving with perfect symmetry to tiny, thrusting peaks. Her fine-limbed legs were beautifully molded and her hips smoothly rounded. She moved closer on the fur blanket, putting her hands on my shoulders.

“It is so, Nick,” she breathed, and I felt the small body quivering. She pushed me back onto the bed and began to cover my body with her lips, blowing soft, hot breaths on my skin, moving lightly down my chest, across my abdomen, down, down, down with a touch as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. She was sending a frenzy of desire through me, and I felt my body answer. I rolled her back on the fur blanket and let my hands caress the two small, beautifully peaked mounds of her breasts. She moaned softly and her legs encircled my waist. I felt her arms tighten around me and suddenly all the soft delicacy had given way to a tremendous, driving hunger. Her delicate body masked a fantastic, wiry strength, a tensile power that was matched by her stamina. Only later that night, reflecting back, did I recall how she had moved through the treacherous and tortuous mountains with such ease.

“I am yours, Nick,” she breathed. “I am yours.” She moved out from under me, relaxing the tight grip of her legs, and turned her body to offer more of herself to my lips. Her own mouth was a feverish, hungry animal, thirsting for my touch. I found her beneath me, astride my hips, languishing across my face, all done in fluid motions of grace and ease. She could slide her body in and out and across with the effortless beauty of a snake, and her lips and tongue sang a ceaseless hymn to Priapus. I let my lips rest over the perfect tips of her breasts, and I felt them throb to the touch. Khaleen gently moved her chest, drawing and pulling her breasts against my lips. Then she pressed them down hard, so hard I was afraid I’d hurt her, and her arms were around my head, holding me tight. She pulled away with an abrupt suddenness and fell back, arching her body backwards on the bed, thrusting her hips upwards for me to take, and once more she was as she had been during the ritual, feverishly pulsating with desire. I came to her and she released her breath in a low moan. I moved slowly in rhythm with her body until, with her small, fine-boned legs pressed around my waist, she shuddered in the moment of moments, her arms spread-eagled on the bed, hands digging into the blanket. She stayed that way for a long moment, immersed in the pleasure-pain of her climax, unwilling to release even an infinitesimal moment of rapture. When, finally, her body went limp and she fell back upon the bed, she pulled my head down upon her breasts, holding me there almost as a mother holds a child.

Finally, I moved and she curled up in the crook of my arm, her lovely little breasts still provocatively pointed upwards. I gazed at her, a child-woman, a creature so like this land of hers, a paragon of contrasts. As she lay in my arms, arms that almost enveloped her entire little body, I thought of the line from the Hindu prayer — Om mani padme hum — “O, the jewel in the lotus.” It was truly descriptive for there was a jewel-like quality about her physical perfection. She lay quietly for a while and then began to stir Without opening her eyes, her hand roved down my body and her lips and flicking tongue moved across my chest once again. Eyes still closed, she stroked and pressed and caressed with the inflaming gentleness that was hers and hers alone. I moved beneath her touch and only when I reached down and pulled her head up to mine did she open her eyes.

“I am yours, Nick,” she repeated, and once more began to show me how completely and wholly she meant those words. When finally she lay spent in my arms again, I fell asleep holding her. It was typical of her that at dawn she slipped away so silently that I was only dimly aware of her leaving. When I awoke, I was alone and the sun was bright and my body still thirsted for her. I stretched, swung out of bed and washed and shaved. I was still in my shorts when the door opened and Khaleen entered, a tray of tea and biscuits in her hand. Wearing a loose-fitting robe belted at the middle, she set the tray on the bed and poured the hot, strong tea. It was eye-opening and invigorating. She spoke but a few words but her eyes, deep and soft, said volumes. As I finished the tea she moved the tray from the bed, flipped off the robe and lay naked beside me.

“Suppose your father is looking for you,” I said.

“Father knows I am here with you,” she said casually. “Besides, he is spending most of the day at prayer and in preparing his pack for the night.”

Despite the overwhelming loveliness of that sleek, tan, clean-limbed body stretched out before me, the upturned breasts so piquantly pointed, I found myself uneasy as I thought about what the night might bring.

“I don’t like this whole bit,” I said aloud, more to myself than to the girl. “I don’t buy the yeti business, but I don’t trust Ghotak not to pull off something.”

“He can do nothing,” she said. “We will walk with my father to the foot of the mountains. There, some Sherpas have been hired to stand guard and see that no one enters the pass to the mountains and no one leaves until tomorrow.”

I knew that the only way into the mountains was through the narrow pass in the foothills. I grunted in agreement but I wasn’t satisfied. Khaleen had come to rest against my body, her arms draped across my stomach. “I am yours, Nick,” she murmured again and pressed herself closer. She lay beside me, letting my eyes drink in her perfect little form, and then she rose and slipped on the robe.

“Father will leave an hour before sundown,” she said.

“I’ll be ready,” I answered. She left without a backward glance and I dressed and went out. The streets were busy with people, farmers with their products, street vendors, and holy men walking austerely alone. I sauntered down the street, the aimless casualness of my walk masking the far from casual objectives I had. The old patriarch had been convinced that Ghotak had trapped himself by his challenge. I wasn’t so sure of that. I was seeing the thin smile on the monk’s lips as Leeunghi accepted the challenge. The Sherpas were to prevent anyone from entering or leaving the pass after the old man went into the mountains, or at least to report on it. Yet Ghotak was a monk, a venerated person, and these were simple people. He could, I was certain, easily convince them to pass him through and say nothing about it. They would not be about to disobey the words of a Holy One. If that was his plan he’d find more than the old man in the mountains, I vowed grimly.

Chapter V

I’d been casually moving down toward Ghotak’s temple when I caught the flash of blonde hair some distance behind me. I slowed my pace and paused at a street vendor selling rugs. A quick glance told me the blonde head had pulled behind a goat cart. I smiled and started to walk on. I was at the temple now and I walked around it, back to where the long meeting hall almost joined the temple itself. Beyond the long, low building, at the rear of the temple, I saw the windows of what appeared to be living quarters. That was what I was looking for, and I crept closer and peered in. I saw a room, fairly large, sparsely furnished in the severe setting befitting a monk. Another room led off beyond the first one. I went on quickly before someone came by, circled the temple and returned to the street I saw Hilary Cobb duck back behind the corner of a building, and I crossed the street, darted around the corner and almost fell over her as she stood pressed flat against the wall.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said. “Playing detective? Baby, you’ve got a lot to learn about tailing somebody.”

“I’m not playing detective,” she snapped back, relaxing. “Digging for a story, it’s called.” She wore a soft brown windbreaker, and the way it jutted out made me again recall the full-blown softness of her breasts. “There’s no law which says I can’t watch who does what or goes where in the streets,” she commented, superior and smug.

“I guess not,” I answered. “Speaking of watching, I saw you do a good bit of it last night.”

Two faint spots of color appeared on her cheeks but she only glowered at me.

“Why didn’t you let your hair down and join in the fun?” I asked mockingly. “I thought for a moment or two you were about to do so.”

Her jaw clenched and she continued to glower at me.

“You didn’t lose any time in participating, I noticed,” she answered waspishly.

“You wouldn’t believe the truth if I told you,” I said.

“I know, you were saving her from a fate worse than death,” she sneered. Sarcasm was dripping all over the place.

“In a way, that’s just what I was doing,” I replied.

She snorted. “Please,” she said. “The pose just doesn’t fit. You just couldn’t let an opportunity go by.”

“Hilary, honey,” I said, “Tour envy is showing, amongst other things.”

Her blue eyes flashed lightning sparks. “I ought to slap you for that,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“You won’t,” I said laconically. “You know I’d no doubt hit back.”

“Yes, and I know something else as of last night,” she shot out. “I know I’ve got onto my story, and I’m not going to let go. There’s no bloody reason for you to be so concerned over a little immigration if that’s all there is to it.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you, Hilary,” I said casually. “I’ve decided you can’t be more than a pest. Even if you got a story you couldn’t send it from here. You’d have to wait till you got back to Darjeeling or Bhutan. By then I’d have a lid clamped on you by other sources.”

“You just keep thinking that, Yank.” She smiled coldly, turned on her heel and walked off. I watched her go, frowning after her, conscious of the attractive, long curve of her legs. What the hell did she mean by that cryptic remark? She could bluff and bluster, I knew, but something in her tone told me she wasn’t doing either this time. The remark swam irritatingly in front of me. This was strictly an undercover operation, a walking on eggs, as Hawk had put it, only in between the eggs there was something deadly. It was a hush-hush affair before, during and after, especially during. We were trying to meet a clever Chinese Red move which utilized their usual combination of inside treachery and undercover infiltration. It was a sneak move, and we had to meet them on the same terms. Publicity of any kind would be sure to trigger all kinds of face-saving direct action, which was the last thing we wanted in this show.

I walked slowly back to the house with a very uneasy feeling. Hilary Cobb’s remark needed further checking into, I was certain, and I made a mental note to do so. At the house, Khaleen was seated at a window, a silk robe wrapping her petite form.

“You were talking to the English journalist,” she said simply, as I went over to her. “I was out at the market and passed you. She is very pretty.”

She gazed at me, her deep eyes saying a lot of things, some of which I didn’t dare to read. I put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned against me for a moment and then walked away.

“Father is leaving a little earlier,” she said. “I will dress and be ready in a few minutes.” I watched her walk to the doorless archway between the rooms. She turned, gazed back at me, and let the silken robe fall from her shoulders to stand nude, beautifully nude, a young doe poised in flight, a nymph glimpsed for a fleeting moment, and then disappeared through the doorway. She had done it so beautifully, offering me both a reminder and a promise, a gesture both powerful and subtle.

I went to my room, found that she had repaired my torn heavy-weather parka, and dressed for the walk to the shadow of the mountains. When I went back downstairs, Khaleen was there, swathed in yards of material, looking not unlike a bundle of old clothes. Her father, dressed in heavy yak-skin jacket and boots, with fur-lined trousers, carried a small, blue pack on his back and held a long walking stick in one hand. We shook hands solemnly, or at least I was solemn. The old man was smilingly confident; he had merely to carry through the night and Ghotak was automatically discredited. We set out together for the walk to the mountains. Numerous villagers bowed in respect, their hands folded in the traditional gesture of prayer and good wishes. Outside the village, the temperature dropped noticeably as we approached the pass into the bowels of the towering peaks. As we neared the foot of the mountains, I saw Ghotak and three of his men waiting before the four Sherpas who stood in a line across the mouth of the pass. Leeunghi halted and bowed to the monk who bowed his head in return. I noticed that beneath the saffron robes, Ghotak wore heavy, snow-covered boots.

“Ghotak has been in the mountains?” I questioned, gazing at his boots.

“This morning,” he answered. “I go into the mountains twice a week to meditate in solitary peace.”

“It is true,” I heard Khaleen whispering to me. “He has done so for years. A holy man must meditate in silence and solitude, it is written, attuned to the nature around him.”

Her father brushed the girl’s cheek with his lips and bowed to me. He turned to Ghotak.

“Tomorrow, when I return, your evil schemes will be at an end. The people will have learned the truth.”

I watched Ghotak’s face as the old man strode off, but it’s impassiveness told me nothing. The monk and his men watched for a while and then turned and walked off. Khaleen and I stayed to watch the small figure grow smaller and still smaller until finally it was lost to sight against the towering peaks. We walked back to the house, and it was dark when we finally arrived.

“I will come to you again tonight, Nick,” Khaleen whispered. I pressed her tiny waist, half encircling it with one hand.

“I must do something, Khaleen,” I said. “It may take long or it may not. Will you wait for me?”

“The English journalist?” she asked quietly. I would have smiled but there was such sadness in her voice.

“No, little one,” I said. “Something else.”

“I will wait,” she said. “No matter how late you are.”

Khaleen went to her room, and I waited for a while and then stole from the house. The Sherpas were at the pass, but I couldn’t depend on that. It was very dark as I approached Ghotak’s quarters in the rear of the temple. I moved along the building line and saw a light coming from the windows. It wasn’t enough. Hell, anybody could leave a light on. I knew that if Ghotak was going to head for the mountains he would have to be on his way pretty soon. If he were up to something, he had to make his move before day broke, and the climb into the mountains would take hours itself.

I was about to move from the wall of the meeting hall when I saw the blue-shirted loose-sleeved guard suddenly silhouetted against the light from the window. He carried a thick length of wood and no doubt a knife somewhere on him. I crouched in the shadows and waited for him to return as he passed the window. In moments he was back, heading away from me. I moved out and nearly reached him when he heard the sound of my footsteps. He whirled, tried to bring the club up, but I got to him first with a sharp chop in the throat. He gasped, clutched at his throat. I tore the club from his hands and clouted him across the scalp with it. He collapsed in a heap and I stepped over him. It had happened so fast that I doubted whether he saw who had belted him in the dark.

I moved to the window and peered in. Ghotak was in the room, seated cross-legged on a mat on the floor. He was puffing on a water-pipe and writing on a parchment scroll. I shot a glance at the guard. He’d be out for a half hour at least, but there might be others coming. Peering in the window again I took another look, glanced at my watch and decided I had to wait around. There was still time for him to move out. I took the guard and, using his own shirt and some leaves, bound and gagged him and dragged him into some brush nearby. I settled down for a vigil outside Ghotak’s window, checking in on him every half hour. He continued writing on the parchment until finally he set it aside and smoked his water-pipe in short, staccato puffs. I glanced at my watch and realized that if he were going after the patriarch he should have been on his way by now. I dropped low, passed under the window edge and started back through the darkened village.

He was there. I should have been satisfied and yet I was uneasy, with the same uneasy feeling I had had at Hilary Cobb’s cryptic remark. The monk was entirely too calm. He knew, certainly as well as we did, that when the patriarch returned it would discredit the whole edifice of spiritual power he had built up for himself. Why the hell was he so calm about it all then? I wished I knew the answer to that. The house was in total darkness when I returned and I went to my room, thinking that perhaps Khaleen had gone to bed and fallen asleep. But a small, warm hand reached out from beneath the fur blanket and I quickly undressed, putting Wilhelmina and Hugo on the floor beside the bed. I slipped under the blanket with her and found her eagerly, deliciously, reaching for me, her hands reaching out to welcome my body against hers, her soft legs thirsting to open the portals of ecstasy for me.

We made love and held each other and made love again, almost as though we were both trying to shut out the thought of the old man out in the blackness, alone in the raging winds of snow and the towering sheets of ice. When we finally went to sleep, utterly spent and surfeited, I cradled her in my arms as one might hold a sleeping child.

In the morning when I awoke, she was still beside me. She stirred and we lingered in the shut-away world of each other’s arms. When we finally rose, Khaleen made breakfast as I shaved and, as if by some silent agreement, neither of us spoke of that which was most in our thoughts. Khaleen busied herself with housekeeping chores as the morning wore on and I went outside. My eyes were inexorably drawn to the towering peaks that rimmed the village. I was filled with an angry restlessness that grew worse as the day wore on and Khaleen’s father failed to appear. I’d never been on a mission where so much was going on and so little was happening. I even found myself feeling bitter about Harry Angsley and his damned fever. He ought to have been here on this thing. The English were more experienced and more fitted by nature for this kind of cat-and-mouse game. We Americans are too direct, too action-oriented for it. Of course, I couldn’t know it then, but the action I craved for was building up to a fast eruption.

Hilary Cobb, looking statuesquely beautiful in a white sweater and a colorful Campbell tartan kilt, came down the sheet, saw me and headed over to where I stood.

“Has he come back yet?” she asked bluntly. Her busybody, snooping, directness only grated on my angry, apprehensive unrest.

“None of your damned business,” I growled. I saw her eyebrows raise slightly and her eyes narrow immediately after.

“You’re consistent, anyway,” she snapped. “Always unpleasant. I take it that you’ve heard nothing and you’re getting rather uptight about it.”

I could have cheerfully wrung her neck for that bit of accurate analysis. She glanced at her watch.

“If you tell me he’s had time to get back by now I’ll kick your ass all the way Mount Everest,” I snarled. I held her eyes in a long piercing exchange and suddenly saw them soften and change expression. She blinked, looked away a moment and then held her gaze on me.

“Do you believe in the yeti?” she asked quietly, soberly, almost like a little girl.

“You, too?” I fairly shouted. “No, goddamnit, I don’t believe in good fairies, banshees or abominable snowmen.” I turned on my heel and strode off, muttering to myself. Khaleen was at the window as I strode in, grabbed my heavy parka and started for the door. She didn’t have to ask where I was going.

“I will go with you,” she said simply.

“No,” I said brusquely, and then, softening my voice, I held her for a moment. “It is best I go alone. I will take two of the Sherpas with me. I think perhaps your father may have been trapped in a snow-slide or a clogged pass. We’ll bring him back.”

She clung to me, kissed me quickly and stepped back. I walked out wishing I felt as confident as I’d sounded. I wasn’t buying any damned abominable snowman, but I did fear that something had happened to the old man. All I could see in my mind was Ghotak’s form the night before, sitting calmly, puffing on his pipe. I rounded up two Sherpas, and we struck out into the forbidding towers of snow and ice that looked down at us with such unyielding disdain. The patriarch’s tracks were clear and easy to follow in the snow. As we climbed higher, and the snow on the ground grew deeper, his tracks were even easier to pick up, and we made good time. He had gone deep into the mountains and the trail grew steeper and more dangerous. I finally saw a snow-covered ridge ahead at the top of the steep ascent we were negotiating, and I pointed to it. The Sherpa nodded in agreement, and we headed for it. It seemed a likely place for him to have made camp. I reached it first and saw the remains of the campfire. The blue pack he’d brought along was scattered on the ground and the snow was trampled and roughened. I followed the ledge to where it curved around a section of the mountain, and now one of the Sherpas halted and I heard his voice, strangled and high-pitched, cry out in terror. I turned and he was pointing to the snow.

“Yeti!” he cried, gasping out the word. “Yeti!” I followed the direction of his arm and saw the tracks in the snow, the damnedest tracks I’d ever seen. It was the print of a huge bear, I first said to myself, since claw marks were clearly visible. But instead of a pad it bore the imprint of a human sole and heel. I knelt down and looked at the imprint in the snow more closely. There were more, a number of them, and I studied each one closely. The shape and outline of a foot was clearly there, but ended in the spread pads of an animal with long claws. I’d never seen a track like it before, and the creature, whatever it was, had dragged something with it through the snow. I followed the tracks, and the Sherpas followed me. Rounding another turn, I saw the shattered, blood-stained form with a heartsick feeling. I went over to it and recognized the clothes. The shape was barely discernable as a man. The partriarch Leeunghi had been literally torn apart, huge gouges of flesh ripped away, one arm torn from its socket, the legs twisted in grotesque shape. His chest lay bare with tremendous raking strips of flesh peeled from it, and the end of a smashed rib poked out through the skin.

“The yeti,” the Sherpas kept repeating in a monotone, making the word into a solemn chant.

“Nonsense,” I said. “He was killed by an animal, probably some huge bear.”

They shook their heads in disagreement and pointed again to the chilling tracks. I had no explanation for those weird tracks and could only surmise some land of bear peculiar to these mountains. All I knew was that there was a mutilated, torn, shredded body and there had to be some logical, reasoned explanation for it. An abominable snowman was neither logical nor reasoned. The old man had plainly been killed by a creature of great strength with claws and fangs. A giant bear was not only logical but the only probable explanation, except perhaps a form of huge snow leopard. One of the Sherpas had a large blanket in his pack, and we wrapped the bloodied, mutilated form in it and tied it securely. Then we began the slow, dangerous journey back down with our grisly burden.

Finally we reached level land and headed for the village. As we neared, others came over to ask, and the Sherpas spoke to them. I heard the word yeti repeated over and over, and the questioners ran off to spread the word. I knew that before I reached Khaleen, she would have heard it. The Sherpas directed me where to take the body to prepare it for burial. There would be a funeral pyre, of course. Finally I started back to the house. Ghotak was seemingly blessed with luck and I found out he was quick to capitalize on it. As I surmised, Khaleen had heard before I arrived, and I found her kneeling in prayer. She got up and faced me, and the tears were in her voice not in her eyes.

“The yeti has spoken,” she said simply. “Ghotak will prevail It cannot be otherwise, now.”

“Your father was killed by some animal, Khaleen,” I said. “A bear or perhaps a snow leopard. There is no abominable snowman, Khaleen.”

“It is best you leave, Nick,” she said. “I am yours. I will go with you. But first I must go to the meeting hall. Ghotak has called a meeting, and the temple hall will be filled. I must go and bow to him for my father’s honor.”

“No,” I said sharply. “Don’t go. Don’t give up to him.”

“But I must,” she said. “The challenge was accepted and Ghotak has won. It is a matter of honorable custom that I appear for my father and bow to Ghotak.”

“All right, go,” I said. “But tell the people that it was an animal that killed your father. It was.”

Her arms crept up around my neck and she gazed up at me.

“Nick, you are so big, so strong, such a man of action,” she said. “You cannot believe there are things beyond ordinary explanation. Your kind of man, whom you call a literal man, does not admit the unknown. You must seek a logical reason for everything. Here, we know better.”

I bit my lips. I was up against that stone wall of ingrained beliefs again but this time I couldn’t back off. This time I had to meet them head on. I’d played it their way and a good man lay dead and Ghotak was about to pick up the pieces. I’d had enough of Snake Gods and spirit transference and yetis and all the superstitious customs. I had to go in my way now.

“Come on,” I said roughly. “I’ll go with you to the meeting.” I left with Khaleen and started for the temple hall. I could see crowds streaming to the building, and we were nearly there when Hilary Cobb caught up to us.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Khaleen, and I’d never heard her voice so softly tender. “I’m terrible sorry.” Her eyes flicked up at me as Khaleen nodded her grateful acceptance and clung to my arm.

“I see you’ve heard of Ghotak’s call to the faithful,” Hilary said, falling in step beside me. I nodded grimly.

“He doesn’t waste any time,” I commented.

“What’s he up to, Yank?” she asked.

“Still digging for that story,” I said. “No dice, Hilary.”

“Sorry, I can’t help that,” she said. “It’s my job. It’s part of me.”

“I hope there won’t be a story for you to get,” I answered. “That’s my job.” I took the chance to sound her out again and found I didn’t like the answer any better. “And, as I told you, doll, if you get it you can’t do anything with it from here,” I said.

“And as I told you,” she answered, “don’t count on it.”

Between the news of what had happened and Ghotak’s call, the place was filled to overflowing. Ghotak’s strong-arm boys had rounded up what stray followers hadn’t intended to show. He was addressing the crowd as we arrived, telling them how the events had shown conclusively that Karkotek’s spirit and wishes spoke through him. I saw that his men were spread through the crowd, petitions in hand. Khaleen and I walked down the aisle toward the platform. I left her side, vaulted onto the stage and faced the crowd.

“Ghotak lies again,” I shouted. “The patriarch Leeunghi was slain by an animal, some wild, fierce animal. But there is no yeti. The yeti is but an old man’s tale to frighten children.”

I heard the angry rumble from the crowd and saw Ghotak point his finger at me.

“The foreigner laughs at our ways,” he shouted. “He scoffs at our legends and violates our sacred beliefs. Look here, each and every one of you.” He clapped his hands and I turned to see two of his men appear carrying the long, rope-like form of a dead snake across their arms, letting it drape down on each side.

“The foreigner killed this snake,” Ghotak shouted. “It was found by one of my men hanging from the window ledge of the room where he stays at the house of Leeunghi. He takes pleasure in mocking our knowledge and trampling on our sacred beliefs.”

I felt my anger exploding. The wily bastard had had this one ready and waiting, all set up for me.

“I never saw that snake,” I shouted. “Ghotak lies again.”

The crowd rumbled in anger. Ghotak leaned forward toward me. “You say you are innocent of killing this snake?” he asked.

“I am entirely innocent,” I answered.

“Then there is but one way to find out,” he said, a glitter of triumph in his flashing, black eyes. “The test of the cobra. You will do battle with a cobra barehanded. If you live, it will mean you are innocent and Karkotek has spared your miserable life. If the cobra wins, your death will avenge your evil deed and Karkotek will be pleased.”

I looked out at the crowd and then turned to Ghotak.

“It is that or I turn you over to them,” he said.

“Either way I’m out of your hair,” I said to him quietly.

He shrugged. “What is your decision?”

I was trapped, and the clever bastard knew it. The crowd was seething, boiling. I could feel the desire for vengeance rising up from them like an evil cloud. A little prodding from Ghotak and they’d take me apart bone by bone. But more than that, if I refused it would be an admission of guilt and at best I’d be tossed out. Certainly, they’d never listen to anything I might say, and I couldn’t let that happen. I needed another chance at Ghotak, another shot at breaking up his skillfully constructed house of national treachery. I glanced at the monk and saw the thin, triumphant smile edging his lips, and his eyes, glittering in victory, bored into me. Khaleen was in the aisle, frozen in one spot, and I saw Hilary behind her, looking up at me with her blue eyes wide as saucers. Fighting a cobra barehanded sounded like a one-way ticket to the undertaker, but what the hell, maybe I’d be lucky and draw a near-sighted serpent. I turned one last possibility over in my mind. Wilhelmina lay snug against my shoulder, I could take her out, blast a hole wide enough to see Mount Everest through it in Ghotak, and try to run for it. Glancing at the crowd, I decided that my chances were better with the cobra. But more than anything else, if I could somehow survive, I’d come out innocent of Ghotak’s charge and be able to take it from there. The crowd would at least hear me out then. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. I smiled grimly to myself. I’d wanted direct action. I was sure as hell getting it. I grinned up at Ghotak and saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Bring on the snake, pal,” I said. Ghotak turned to the crowd and I could see he was a little offstride at the casualness of my attitude. He didn’t know how good an actor I was.

“The foreigner will meet the test of the cobra,” he intoned. “The cobra never lies. We go to the pits.”

Two of Ghotak’s men flanked me and I was led outside as the crowd streamed out the other exits. I caught a glimpse of Khaleen with Hilary beside her, as I was led past the assembly hall, past an area of spare trees and rocks to where two pits had been hollowed out of the ground. Each pit was square, roughly ten by ten feet and five feet deep. The crowd had gathered on the sloping ground surrounding the pits, nudging each other for a spot to see. Some climbed into the trees for a better view. Ghotak faced me at the edge of the nearest pit.

“You have weapons?” he asked. “Please give them to me.” I glanced about and saw Khaleen and Hilary nearby. I went over to Khaleen and handed her the Luger and the stiletto. Her eyes were deep and sad.

“I am praying for you, Nick,” she murmured.

I debated whether to tell her to blow the snake’s head off if it was getting to me, but I knew at once it was a foolish thought. She’d never hit the thing, and if I had to use the weapon I’d lose at the same time I won. I was about to turn away when Hilary’s voice cut through the air.

“You gone absolutely balmy?” she asked crisply. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing, call it off at once. You’ll bloody well get yourself killed, that’s all.”

I saw her eyes were deep and concerned, her brow furrowed.

“For the first time, I like you, Hilary, honey,” I grinned at her. “But once again I’ve got to tell you to butt out.”

“Butt out my ruddy ass,” she exploded. “Don’t be a bloody fool, Yank. It’s suicide. You’re no damned mongoose.”

“You never know, doll,” I grinned. “And being a bloody fool’s part of my job.”

I turned, strode to the pit and jumped down into it just as two of Ghotak’s men arrived carrying a wicker basket with a cover. They took off the cover and dumped the basket’s contents into the pit. I saw the cobra come out and hit the ground, hissing furiously. He was big, some nine feet, I guessed. He was up in an instant, his hood spreading ominously. I moved slowly, circling to the right. The cobra’s darting eyes followed me, his tongue flicking out almost too quickly to see. I saw him stretching up higher. I knew what it meant. A snake can strike the full distance of his length uncoiled in the air. He was rearing up to get as much distance as he could in his strike. I stayed on the balls of my feet, bending my body to the right, then the left as he swayed back and forth. I knew he would have me if I let him strike first. I had to draw his strike in order to have any chance of avoiding it. I lifted my right hand slowly, shot it out and the snake struck, lunging through the air with a lightning-like move. I flung myself to the left and felt his fangs snap the air. I landed on my side, rolled over against the wall of the pit and regained my feet. The cobra was rising upward again, that damned evil hood flattened out. I moved forward and he struck again, a whip lashing out, and I fell backwards to avoid his fangs. I felt the sleeve of my shirt rip open as one fang caught the fabric.

The cobra had hit the ground after the strike and this time, instead of rising up instantly, he snaked his way across the pit with amazing speed. I dodged to one side and the snake lunged again but this time he was not ready for a proper strike, and the blow fell short. He curled and rose up again and I faced him from the other side. I thought about trying to feint him out of position and then dive in to seize him by the neck. A half-hearted attempt at a feint drew a lunge so swift it was little more than a blur and once again I twisted away and leaped backwards, crashing into the wall of the pit. His fangs had ripped the back of my shirt open as though a razor had cut it.

I circled again, feinted, and the snake struck out with that lunging motion. This time his fangs caught the surface of my skin, enough to leave a mark though not enough to break the skin, but I saw one thing; he was coming closer each time. My reaction time was bound to slow, and it would do so faster than his strikes would slow. It would be just a matter of time unless I came up with something better. He was weaving again, lining me up for another strike. I was near the wall of the pit with precious little maneuvering room. I began to dodge from one side to the other but I knew all I was doing wouldn’t do much to distract his aim. He poised straight up for an instant and then struck again. I was really lucky this time because I was drawing away as he lunged and once more the deadly fangs ripped into the sleeve of my shirt. The snake recoiled at once and rose up again to strike. I knew one thing. I couldn’t stay still. To stay in one spot was to make death a certainty. I couldn’t give him time to line up. As he swayed, that evil tongue flicking out in lightning-like motion, I began to leap from one side to the other, careening off each wall in a kind of three-sided ballet step. The cobra lunged and lunged again and each time he missed my body with fractions of an inch to spare.

Finally, I had to stop. I was in a cold sweat and my breath was coming in gasps. I paused, and the damned cobra struck again. I fell backwards and felt its fangs sink into the fabric of my trousers. They ripped down as I fell away. It was no use, I saw, scrambling to my feet. My reflexes were going as I tired, and the cobra was as lightning-fast as ever. He moved forward on the ground and I backed away, pushed off one wall and found a little added room as he turned and rose into the air. The shredded sleeve of my shirt hung loosely from my arm and as it blew against my skin I suddenly had a thought, a desperate, last-chance kind of thought. I backed against the wall, out of range for a moment, and ripped off my shirt. Holding it out before me as a bullfighter holds out his red muleta to the bull, I advanced slowly. The cobra swayed higher, his hood spread out to its fullest. I shifted the shirt back and forth. He waited a moment and then struck, his fangs tearing into the shirt. For a brief moment, hardly more than a second, his fangs were entangled in the fabric. I leaped forward, wrapping both sleeves of the shirt around the snake’s head, twisting the fabric around the death-dealing mouth and head. The cobra twisted and writhed in the air, lashing his tail out in fury. I seized the tail end of the snake and started to whirl the serpent in a wide arc, letting centrifugal force keep his body stretched out almost in a straight line. Even then, he was ripping his way through the fabric around his head. I swung hard and slammed him against one wall. The shirt wrapped around his head deadened the impact but it was nonetheless enough to momentarily stun him. I swung the snake again, this time slamming him into the ground. I dropped the tail end and brought my foot down, as hard as I could, on the cobra’s head, now almost free of the shirt.

Fear and anger surged inside me as I stomped on the snake’s head, crushing it into the ground, stomping and grinding until the soil was stained red. I finally halted. The deadly killer still twitched in post-death nerve spasms, but I was taking no chances. Carefully, using the toe of my shoe, I rolled the serpent over and saw that its head was truly ground into a flattened, lifeless object. I looked up and there was silence and a multitude of faces staring down at me. It was over, and I was alive. I felt my hands quivering. Moving backwards, I leaned against the wall of the pit as a cold sweat suddenly enveloped my body. Hands were reaching down to me. I grabbed two and was pulled out of the pit. Death, horrible death, had flashed by me, and I looked down at the lifeless body of the cobra. My stomach was suddenly in knots and the little pit was a place I’d long remember. But I wasn’t finished yet I looked around and found Ghotak standing a few feet away, his face impassive, though I could read the fury behind it. Yet angry as he was, he was smooth enough to carry through.

“Karkotek has spoken,” he intoned, spreading out his arms. “The foreigner spoke the truth. He did not kill the snake.”

“And I’ll tell you more,” I cut in, shouting to the crowd. “I shall go into the mountains this night. I shall do what the patriarch Leeunghi did and I shall return. I will prove to you there is no yeti and that Ghotak does not speak for the spirit of Karkotek. Karkotek does not want you to open your land to the newcomers. When I return you shall know the truth.”

Ghotak shot me a frown. I’d taken him offstride again. This time it was he who had to go along.

“The temple bells will summon you tomorrow,” he said to the crowd. “Once more Ghotak’s word has been challenged and once more the spirit of Karkotek must answer. The snows in the mountains will run red again, mark my words.”

I walked away and the crowd began to slowly disperse. Khaleen handed Wilhelmina and Hugo back to me, and Hilary Cobb stood by watching Khaleen press herself against my side. I caught her quick glance.

“That was bloody well done,” she said. “Why are you pressing your luck?”

“Meaning exactly what?” I asked.

“Meaning why go into the mountains tonight?” she asked. “Despite what I just saw, you’re not invincible. Nobody is.”

“She is right, Nick,” Khaleen said. “I am afraid for you. Do not go.”

“I must,” I replied. “First of all, he took up the challenge and I can’t back down now. But more important, it may force him into a direct, open move. I’ve got to come to grips with him. We’re running out of time. I’ve got to get to him before he gets to me.”

“The yeti will kill you as he killed my father,” she said tonelessly. I exchanged glances with Hilary over Khaleen’s head.

“Forget the yeti, Khaleen,” I said. “He won’t lay a hand on me. Or should I say paw?” I grinned down at her and she turned aside, — serious and unsmiling.

“Yeti or no yeti,” Hilary cut in, “you’re setting yourself up as a sitting duck. I don’t like it at all.”

There was real deep concern clouding her blue eyes and I grinned at her. “Careful, Hilary,” I laughed. “You’re sounding positively sentimental.”

“Do you have to joke about everything?” she snapped at me, her eyes mirroring a sudden hurt.

“It helps,” I said, and I held her eyes with mine. “But thanks, anyway,” I added, softly. “I appreciate your concern. It shows that beneath the never-say-die journalist there might be a girl.”

“Go to hell,” she snapped and walked away. I laughed and went on with Khaleen.

Chapter VI

Khaleen had lain her small, warm form beside me on the bed as I rested. It was late afternoon when I finally awoke, and I felt rested and refreshed. I was also filled with the edgy anticipation that always swept over me when I felt I was getting into direct action against the main problem, in this case Ghotak. I had thrown him another direct challenge, and I knew he had to answer it. His luck had been phenomenal but I knew he couldn’t count on another bear or snow leopard doing me in. He would have to bring some insurance himself, and I’d be ready and waiting for him. Khaleen helped me get my gear together and she clung to me at every opportunity. She had only the silken robe on, and I could feel the softness of her beneath the gown.

“Come back to me, Nick,” she breathed as I started to leave, her slender arms around my neck. I looked deep into her eyes and saw again the things I dared not see. Her eyes were the eyes of a woman in love, and that was bad. Not for me but for her. I hoped, silently, that it was really emotional upset, fear, and gratitude, and would disappear once all this was over. I looked back at her small form in the doorway as I headed out. I saw a terrible resignation in her eyes and I knew she didn’t believe I would return.

I waved and trudged on, supremely confident I’d not only return but hoping I’d have the pelt of whatever the hell strange creature had slain her father. I had the Marlin 336 slung over my shoulder. It could blast a hole in an elephant and could certainly handle leopard or bear. The blue-gray light of dusk was already beginning to gather as I reached the narrow pass that led up into the mountains. I had decided to follow the same trail the old man had taken and camp pretty close to the same spot I was not halfway there when darkness started to close in, and the wind began to howl in its eerie, bone-chilling wail. The mountains, with their fangs of ice and jaws of yawning crevasses, were as real an enemy as any other. One misstep and Ghotak would have his victory without lifting a finger. On my back was a pack made up mostly of heavy blankets, some food and water, and a small first-aid kit. I was only figuring on a one-night stand, so there was no reason for extra equipment.

I moved slowly, cautiously. The night had turned colder, and the sky was overcast and starless. I felt snow in the air. Fingers aching from cold that penetrated even the warmest gloves, my face tight and reddened, I laboriously pulled my way upwards, grateful for every few feet of rocky ledge. I’d reached the ledge where the old man had camped and decided to move higher, where I could dimly discern a wider ledge. I reached it, finally, and was glad I had. It was somewhat protected from the worst of the wind and was part of a series of small, mountain plateaus. Moreover, there were enough scrub trees to gather ample wood for my fire. I set up camp, putting the pack down against the rock wall that towered up at my back, and started a small but warming fire. In its light, I could see that the area was riddled with tall, vertical crevices, deep ribs in the rock, and towering above me, jutting out over my head, was a huge overhang of snow-covered rock. The small ledge of the plateau led upwards, curving out of sight, and I didn’t bother to investigate how far it wound its way up. I wasn’t going any farther than this. With the Marlin at my side, the fire in front of me, I leaned back against the rock wall and listened to the chilling wail of the wild wind as it whistled through the mountains. The hours dragged by, and I undid my small packet of food. I’d brought a tin cup and some packets of instant coffee. With water made from melted snow, it wasn’t half bad. At least, up there with the icy winds mounting in fury, it tasted downright marvelous. I was just putting away die other packets I’d brought when I heard a noise, the sound of someone or something approaching along the ledge.

I grabbed the Marlin and pushed away from the fire, crouching just outside the circle of light. The visitor was coming closer and then I saw the form, a dark bulk in the night, moving carefully toward the fire.

“Hello, Yank,” the figure said. “Are you there? I can’t see you.”

I almost dropped the Marlin and I shook my head and looked again. I wasn’t seeing things. The figure was there, now beside the fire, looking about I got up and walked toward the fire.

“What in hell are you doing up here?” I demanded angrily. “Are you out of your damned head?”

“Don’t get excited, old boy,” she answered, flashing a somewhat frozen smile. “I’m not staying here.”

“You’re damn right you’re not,” I exploded. “You’re getting the hell back to the village.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m camped just around the bend and down a ways. You can’t see my fire from here but I can see the glow from yours. I decided that if you’ve come up here it must be important, and therefore it’s important to me. Or, I should say, to my story. Besides, I’ve as much right as you do to go mucking around in these mountains.”

“You and your damned story,” I said. “You could have gotten yourself killed just getting up here.”

“Nonsense,” she retorted. “I’ll wager I’ve done more skiing and mountain hiking than you have. But I just stopped up to see if you’ve any tea. I forgot to pack some when I left, and I’m a bit thirsty.”

I put the Marlin down, looked at her, and shook my head in resignation.

“Go on back, Hilary,” I said. “I can’t be worrying about you and looking out for you. If there’s trouble I’ll have my hands full just staying alive myself.”

“I didn’t ask you to look out for me,” she said. “Maybe I’ll look out for you. Now, if you have any tea I’ll be getting back to my camp.”

“Coffee,” I said, growling the word at her.

“Then it’ll have to be coffee,” she said. I handed her two packets of the instant coffee and she nodded politely.

“Thanks terribly, old boy,” she said. “Call me if you need me.”

She turned and walked down the ledge, disappearing around the corner. I went after her and halted at the corner. In the dark night she had already disappeared but I could hear her making her way down the snow-covered cliffs. I saw her fire now, from the corner vantage point. She had camped on another ledge a few hundred feet down and over from me. I stood watching and finally saw her figure appear beside the fire. I watched for a few moments as she brewed her coffee and then turned back to the warmth of my own fire. A few minutes from the fire, and I found myself walking stiffly, the icy cold seeping through my clothes, driven by the tremendous winds at the unprotected corner of the ledge. I sat down by the fire and found myself smiling as I thought of Hilary Cobb. Damn, you had to admire her dogged determination. She said she was going to sit on my tail until she got a story and she was doing just that. I was sorry that I had to see to it that her story was never filed. I smiled again. She’d have little to show for this night except a damned uncomfortable memory, unless Ghotak showed up. Somehow, I was beginning to think he was backing away from direct action. I got my blanket out, a thick, wool robe, covered my legs with it, rested the Marlin 336 across my lap and closed my eyes. The fire, with some fresh wood on it, would keep me warm till dawn, probably. I fell into a half sleep, my body more asleep than awake, my senses more awake than asleep.

The hours slipped by, and only the wind’s cry broke the silence. A few times I snapped my eyes open at a sound only to listen and hear it was but the cracking of ice or the sliding of a snow ledge. The sky was dark, and snow had begun to fall, still light and not much more than flurries. I closed my eyes and continued to rest in half-awake watchfulness. Gray dawn was beginning to tint the sky and the mountain peaks stood out as dark shapes, the jagged teeth of some mythological giant. I was looking at them through nearly closed lids when I heard the screams, first Hilary and than a bone-chilling half roar and half scream. I leaped up, the Marlin in hand, bounded right through my smoldering campfire, and raced to the edge of the ledge. I could see down into her campsite plainly. She was racing across the small plateau, falling on the ice, and behind her, on two legs, was a creature out of hell, a demon from some ancient mythology, something which couldn’t exist. Long gray-white hair covered its body. It had a sub-human face, clawed hands and clawed feet. It stood erect, nearly seven feet, I guessed, its nakedness covered by the ape-like grayish hair. I saw it reach a gigantically long arm down and seize the girl’s jacket, lifting her from behind as one would a child.

I took aim with the Marlin but he or it was swinging the girl up in front of him. I couldn’t get a clear shot but I decided that a shot, anywhere, just for the effect, would be better than nothing. Racing down the steep, icy pathway, I got off two blasts and saw the creature stop, drop the girl and look up toward me. I was on my way down to the plateau, unable to stop my sliding, slipping, falling descent. I had all I could do to hang onto the rifle and not break my neck. The creature let out another fantastic screaming roar, and as I landed at the plateau, it loped off in the other direction. I ran after it, lifting the rifle as I ran, and got off a shot. The bullet creased its shoulder and it turned in fury and pain. I stopped to get off another shot but as I did, my foot went out from under me on a stretch of snow-covered ice. I fell backwards, the rifle skittering off to one side.

The creature rushed at me and now, at close quarters, its sub-human face was, I could see, elongated and snout-like. Its eyes, small and dark, were the button eyes of a bear. All I had time for was to dive for the rifle and get my hands on the barrel. I swung it with all my strength and the heavy stock caught the damned thing flush in the face. It was a blow that would have crushed in a man’s skull. The creature halted, staggered back a moment, and leaped at me. Still holding the Marlin by the barrel, I swung it around, found the trigger and let go a blast into the air, hoping it might frighten him back. I had no room or time to get the barrel pointed at it. The damned thing just leaped. I flung myself flat and felt the huge form brush over me. I caught a glimpse of its feet, human in shape except for the clawed fore-pads. The thing kept on going after its leap, vaulting up a huge rock, leaping onto another. I aimed a shot at the leaping form but I was shooting too fast and from a bad position. The shot missed and I got up to see the thing disappearing into the deep ribbed crevices.

Hilary was sitting up, her eyes wide with shock. I went over to her and pushed the hood of her parka back. The snow was coming down heavily now.

“Are you all right?” I asked. She looked up at me and fell into my arms, her breath coming in great, heaving sobs. I looked her over. Except for the shredded back of her parka where the creature’s claws had lifted her, she was all right. Terrified, but otherwise all right.

“Oh, my God,” she finally whispered. “What was it, Nick?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It was something that doesn’t exist, a legend, a piece of folklore. I still don’t believe it. I saw it, I tangled with it, and I still don’t believe it.”

Hilary’s head was against my arm, her hair nearly white with snow. I pulled the hood of her parka back over her head. “Oh, Nick, Nick,” she said. “The abominable snowman exists. The yeti lives. You can’t scoff at the legend any longer. You can’t, I can’t. It’s true, Nick, true.”

I hadn’t any answers. They’d all been swallowed up by a hairy demon out of some ancient book on mythological creatures. But was it an animal? Or was it human? Hilary shuddered. “God, Nick, it’s well named,” she breathed. “It certainly was abominable. I’ll never completely disbelieve another legend about anything anywhere, not after this.”

Her eyes were wide, looking up at me, and terribly blue. Snowflakes covered her eyebrows and clung to the lids of her eyes and her lovely, round-cheeked face seemed to sparkle. I tore my eyes from her and found myself thinking of the swift juxtaposition of things, from sheer horribleness to fresh, clean loveliness in a matter of minutes.

“I’m afraid, Nick,” she shivered again. “I’m afraid it will come back.”

“Somehow, I don’t think so,” I answered. “This has some very interesting aspects to it. The yeti apparently lives, but so do I.”

“This is no time for riddles,” she said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We must admit the damned thing is real,” I said. “But it didn’t attack me. It attacked your camp. It doesn’t kill or attack because the Spirit of Karkotek tells it to do so. It kills indiscriminately. If it’s tied in with anything, I’m betting it’s Ghotak.”

“Nobody could control that creature, Nick,” Hilary protested.

“Not control the way you mean it, not like having a trained dog,” I said. “But there are all sorts of control. Somehow, I don’t think it roams entirely on its own.”

Hilary got up. She looked at the snow, now coming down in stinging, biting, slanted fury. The other peaks were all but invisible because of the curtain of white.

“This is a bloody blizzard, Nick,” she said. “We’ll never make our way back in this. It would be sure death. Why, we couldn’t see a crevasse in front of us.”

She turned to me and clutched my arm. “I’m afraid, Nick,” she said. “I’m afraid.”

“We’ll have to go up,” I said. “We’ll have to find a spot we can hole up in till it blows out. I’ve enough food and coffee to keep us for two days. This might blow out by this afternoon. Come on, where’s all that determination?”

“It’s bloody well disappeared,” she said. “I think that damned creature scared it right out of me.”

I took her hand. “Get your gear together and let’s start hunting,” I said. “The longer we wait the less chance well have of finding anything.” She nodded and in minutes we were clambering up the mountain. We paused to pick up my blanket and food and then pushed on. The snow and sub-zero temperatures combined to lash our faces with biting, stinging pain, and each step was like having a fistful of sharp pebbles thrown into your face. I chose a narrow trail along a sheer wall of ice on the chance that it might lead into a large crevasse between two glaciers. If we could find a spot there we’d be somewhat protected from the fury of the wind at least. The ledge grew narrower and the trail turned upwards alongside the cliff. Suddenly it broadened and I was standing on a small plateau. A dark shape loomed up in the wall of the cliff and I advanced through the curtain of white toward it. As I neared it I saw it was the entrance to a cave in the rock.

“Over here, Hilary,” I called excitedly. “Come on.” I went into the cave, bending low to fit through the small entranceway. It was dry, clean and had obviously been used by other travelers at some time because there was firewood piled against one wall. I couldn’t stand erect inside it but it was about fifteen feet deep and ten feet wide. We built a fire in the mouth of the cave, just back of the snowline quickly piling up outside. The wind kept the warmth blowing back into the cave and within the hour, the cave was as warm as a cottage living room. We took off our outer garments and spread them on the ground to let them dry. Hilary had calmed down, and under her outerwear she had on an orange sweater, and deep blue slacks. She chatted on gaily about her background, her home life in England, and we exchanged anecdotes and stories. It was a different Hilary Cobb, a warm, vivacious girl without the hostile aggressiveness, and I commented on it.

“It’s you blighters that make a girl aggressive,” she said. “You never think a girl can do anything right.”

“But there are a lot of girls who accept that and don’t get all full of desire to compete and prove things,” I countered.

“I guess I’m just not one of them,” she said crisply, and I smiled as I saw her temper flaring instantly.

“I know,” I said. “That’s why you followed me up here.”

“Well, yes, but only partly so,” she answered.

“What do you mean by that?”

She turned and fixed her lovely blue eyes full on me, wide and round. Her pert nose and lovely skin glowed in the reflected light of the fire.

“Will you believe me?” she asked unsmiling. I nodded.

“Frankly, I was worried about you up here alone,” she said. “I guess it was a mixture of the two. I’m after my story and you’d better not forget that. But after watching you with that bloody snake, I knew that you were someone extraordinary and whatever brought you here was important. And I felt that you were going it all alone and that, somehow, wasn’t right.”

“I’m touched, Hilary,” I said seriously. “I am. But I haven’t been going it alone. The old man was a help and a guide. And Khaleen has been very helpful in many ways.”

“I’ll bet,” she snapped, and I grinned. Jealousy was, I’d learned a long time ago, a built-in female commodity, and it was there even when it had no damned right to be there.

“The girl is in love with you, you know,” she added, and I was reminded of another female quality, that unique ability to sense certain things without question or doubt and be completely right about them. She caught the slight tightness of my lips.

“Well, it’s true and I’m sorry for her,” she said.

“Sorry for her?” I frowned “Why?”

“You know the answer to that as well as I do,” she snapped. “Because you’re not a man to fall in love with, not the way she has, anyway.” I knew she was completely right, of course, and my slow smile revealed it.

“And you’ll hurt her because you can’t help but hurt her,” Hilary added. “That’s why I feel sorry for her.”

“You’re very protective today,” I grinned. “First my going it alone up here and now Khaleen’s being hurt.”

“I’m just a Girl Scout trying for an extra merit badge,” she snapped. “I told you wouldn’t understand.”

“Better watch out for your own emotions,” I said. “Or are you as good at self-protection?” She caught the taunting edge to my voice and her eyes narrowed.

“Better,” she said. “I don’t get involved in anything, and I don’t do anything unless I’m calling the shots.”

I grinned and brought out the food. The dried beef looked decidedly unappetizing though I was getting hungry. I slipped on my parka and picked up the Marlin.

“We’ll go into the last remark in greater detail later,” I said. “Meanwhile, I think maybe I can do better in the food department. You stay here, woman, and tend cave.”

“Yes, master,” she said, flashing a smile of mock servility. I’d let the fire burn low and I stepped over it and went into the storm. I remembered how, on my first trip through the mountains I’d seen pheasants even higher in the cliffs than we were now. Knowing that the habits of birds are not changed, even by storms, I tried to peer through the white curtain. I moved along the plateau, listening every few steps. The wind, blowing in gusts, lifted the snow in between gusts and allowed me to glimpse ahead a little. I crouched low and grew colder by the second. I was just about to give it up as a bad job when I heard the flutter of wings and I saw two pheasants making their way across the plateau to where it rose slightly to meet a clump of brush. I raised the gun and aimed carefully. The Marlin could blow a hole so big there wouldn’t be any bird left to eat. I got the nearest one in the head, blowing it off and leaving the rest of the body untouched. Returning to the cave with my trophy, I built up the fire again and used Hugo to do neat surgery on the pheasant.

“A dinner fit for a queen,” I proclaimed, later. “Barbecued pheasant What more could anyone ask?”

“No wine?” Hilary commented acidly.

We were midway through dinner, chomping on the pheasant which was a little gamey but tender, when Hilary asked two very direct questions. I decided to answer both of them honestly. It’s not hard to be honest when you hold all the cards.

“What is this all about, Nick?” she questioned. “Why are you here? Why was Harry Angsley sent here?” I looked at her, blue eyes gazing soberly up at me, her blonde hair sending brass glints off in the flickering glow of the fire, large breasts so invitingly thrusting out the bright orange sweater. She’d managed to plunge herself into things so deeply this time that I decided to play straight with her, especially since I knew she wouldn’t be sending her story anywhere.

“The Chinese Reds are trying to pull a sneak takeover in Nepal,” I said flatly. I filled her in on the details as I knew them, on Ghotak’s role as an inside column leader, on the already sizable influx of trained revolutionists under the guise of peaceful immigrants. When I’d finished, she was unsmiling and serious faced.

“Thank you for being honest, at last,” she said. “I felt it was something on that order but I didn’t realize how close to success they were.”

She lapsed into silence, and I watched her in the firelight. She was really a very attractive girl, I had long ago decided. Here, in the warmth of the fire, with the snowfall raging outside, she was desirable as well as very attractive. Her second question came as though she had been reading my thoughts.

“This snow isn’t stopping soon,” she said. “We may be spending the night here. Are you going to try to make love to me, Nick?”

“I’m not going to try,” I said. “I’m going to do it.” I saw the hostility instantly leap into her eyes.

“I told you I don’t do anything unless I’m calling the shots,” she said.

“I heard you,” I grinned. “That’s okay with me. You can call. In fact, I’m sure you will.”

Her lips tightened, and I let it lay there. I got up and went outside, skirting the fire. Darkness was coming down fast and it was still a raging snowstorm. I was angry and frustrated, afraid of what Ghotak might be doing. The storm would probably hamper his movements too, but I knew that when it ended, we had to get back down to Katmandu, and fast. I went back inside and saw Hilary watching me, a mixture of defiance and uncertainty in her eyes. Her breasts rose up like small versions of the mountains outside as she leaned back on her elbows. I knelt down beside her, with her eyes fixed on mine and suddenly realized that the defiance I saw there was her kind of mask. She used it to cloak her own desires, to mask them from herself as well as from others. I leaned down and put my lips on hers. She remained motionless for a moment and then started to tear away. I grabbed her shoulder and yanked her around, crushing my mouth over hers. I opened her lips with my tongue and felt her writhe, her hands pushing upon my shoulders. I held her in a tight grip and let my tongue penetrate her mouth, sending it darting back and forth. I felt her lips suddenly soften and quiver, felt them relax and answer mine. Her tongue curled over mine and she was gasping, working her full lips over my mouth, devouring, burning, thirsting.

My hand found her breast and she cried out as I roamed across the soft, tender flesh. “Oh, my God, Nick... Oh, God,” she breathed. I yanked the sweater up and off her and the bra came undone. Her beautifully large breasts lay against my chest and she was moving against me, her legs twitching and rubbing against each other. I found her breasts with my lips, drawing softly upon them, and her cries filled the little cave with the sounds of pure rapture. I stopped, raised my lips from them, and she feverishly rose to thrust them into my mouth. “Oh, don’t stop, damn... don’t stop,” she said. I pulled away again and looked at her face, her eyes closed in pleasure, lips parted, quivering.

“Are you calling, Hilary?” I asked softly. She whimpered and pressed her breast into my hand. “Louse,” she whimpered. “You louse. Yes, I’m calling... I’m calling, oh, God am I calling.” I bent down to the sweetness of her breast again and felt the virginal nipples rise under the soft circle of my tongue. Hilary’s slacks were suddenly off her legs and I was exploring the youthful, firm convexity of her belly, the warm moistness of her thighs, as she continued to make little whimpering sounds of ecstasy. I lowered my body over hers. Her arms clasped my neck like a vise, and her lips played an insistent tattoo across my face. As I came to her she began to cry out, a long, low, passion-filled cry that grew in intensity as I increased my movements. Suddenly, I pulled away and waited for a long moment. She lay in suspended animation, back arched, not drawing a breath, and then she cried out in ecstatic anguish, a scream of pleading hunger. “No-o-o-o.... you can’t stop. Oh, my God, no. Please... oh, oh, please.” I came to her again and moved with stronger, bolder rhythms, and now Hilary was beating her fists against my chest in a wild, uncontrolled passion. “Oh, I can’t... I can’t handle it,” she cried out. “I can’t handle it.”

“You’ll handle it,” I said, and I knew she was experiencing that sweet anguish of uncontrollable ecstasy, a moment only some women ever knew when their passions are literally beyond themselves. That same aggressiveness, that same determination now channeled into the ecstasy of rapture, was carrying her to heights she never knew existed, the Himalayas of passion, and I had the fleeting, passing thought that our setting was appropriate for her. Suddenly, as I thrust deeply into her, she seized me and her youthful, firm body quivered convulsively and her breath came in long gasps. Finally, like a light bulb being snapped off, she fell back, utterly spent and exhausted. I lay beside her, drinking in the magnificent contours of her body. Hilary was a big girl but with the statuesque beauty given only to some big girls. It was a while before she opened her eyes and looked at me. She turned over and lay against me, her lips against my ear.

“You knew all the time, didn’t you?” she asked. “You knew what I really wanted all the time.”

“Not at first,” I said. “At least not consciously. But I’m glad I found out.”

I turned her over to peer into her eyes. “Are you?” I asked.

She nodded and squeezed me tight in her arms. “I’m glad,” she said. “I hope it never stops snowing.”

We lay quietly in the warm little world we had found, and before the night ended, I taught Hilary more about the heights of passion and ecstasy. She was vigorous and unsubtle but she made up for her lack of experience by the unalloyed pleasure of discovery. The snow stopped at dawn and we finally dressed and started from the cave. She stopped me on the way out and her lips pressed against mine.

“I’ll never forget this night,” she said. “And I’m even more sorry for Khaleen now. You’ll leave a big hole in her world when you up and leave, as you will.”

“Stop trying to make me feel like a heel,” I said. “She’ll get over it. She came to me all tied up in rituals and customs and ancient codes. I tried to turn her aside.”

“I’ll bet you tried for thirty or forty seconds,” she sneered.

“The old Hilary is back,” I said. “Miss sweetness and light.”

“Maybe the old Hilary never left,” she said. “Maybe last night was just a passing interlude.” Her arm suddenly tightened on mine and her head came to rest against my chest. “Maybe the old Hilary is back because she’s so bloody sorry the old world has to come back,” she said in a small voice. “Maybe because she wishes last night could go on forever.”

I held her tight another moment and then led the way from the cave. Outside, the dawn held another surprise for us. The snow had stopped and lay over everything, a heavy, white blanket, but now I could see where we were for the first time. From the ledge, we looked down onto a wide pass and in the pass were ten tents and a brigade of soldiers, just emerging from their shelters.

“They’re Chinese!” Hilary breathed.

“They sure as hell are,” I said. “Chinese regulars.”

“But what are they doing here, Nick?” she asked.

“I don’t know but I could make a pretty good guess,” I answered. “I’ll bet they’re on their way to meet Ghotak. He probably called for a brigade of troops as insurance.”

“Insurance against what?”

“Against something going wrong at the last minute. Against my presence on the scene. Against unexpected developments. If, for instance, the King decided to balk at honoring the petition at the last minute, he could move in with a coup and have himself installed as ruler.”

We crouched on the ledge and watched the troops as they stretched and used the snow to wash. They weren’t knocking down their tents which meant they were waiting for someone, no doubt a guide to take them in the rest of the way. Maybe they waited for someone with word from Ghotak as to what their next move should be. I saw an officer step from a tent and dispatch two sentries, one to either end of the pass. The one at our end took up a position almost directly beneath where we crouched.

“They’ve no doubt come in by way of Tibet,” I said. “But I want to check this out for myself. I can get the answers I want from that sentry he sent out here all by himself.”

I handed Hilary the Marlin. “You hang onto this and stay here until I get back,” I told her. “Understand? No decisions on your own, or I’ll break you in half when I catch up to you.”

She nodded. “I promise,” she said. “I’ll stay right here.”

I circled carefully back around the other end of the narrow ledge, found a place to drop and let myself fall into a drift of deep snow. I ducked as a small avalanche of snow fell from the ledge onto me, disturbed by my movements. As I watched the snow slide settle, a smile stole over my face. With a little luck, this could be a very rewarding day. I pulled myself from the drift and made my way downward, being careful to move along the rocks wherever possible, trying not to dislodge any of the loose snow. The Chinese soldier had positioned himself between two large rock formations and he stood at ease, figuring his post was more of a formality than anything else. Beyond the two rocks was a narrow crevasse in the glacier, deeper than the eye could see. I poised on the top of the rock and dropped, hitting him right on target. He went down with me on top of him. I crossed a right to his jaw and he went limp. Pulling him behind me, I moved into the towering walls abutting the crevasse. He was coming around and I held his head and shoulder out over the edge of the seemingly bottomless cut in the mountains. My Chinese was good enough, if he didn’t speak one of the more obscure dialects. It turned out he understood me very well. After letting him look down into the crevasse, I yanked him over on his back, holding him half over the edge.

“Why do you wait here?” I asked. He saw in my eyes that I wouldn’t think twice about dropping him off the edge.

“We wait orders to move,” he said.

“Orders from whom?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I am only soldier,” he said. “Cannot say.”

I pushed him further off the edge and he grabbed for my arm for support. His narrow eyes widened in terror.

“Orders from whom?” I repeated. “You’re a specially picked lot, I’d bet, and you all know why you’re here.”

“Orders from monk,” he gasped.

“When do you expect them?”

He started to give me another evasive answer but thought better of it. “Soon,” he stammered. “Any time now. Snow delay everything.”

I pulled him back from the edge. I was only going to put him out and let him find his way back to Tibet when he woke up, if he could, but he made the mistake of lunging at me. I sidestepped the lunge, kicked his feet out from under him and chopped him across the neck. He went down, rolled over and, as the loose snow gave way beneath the weight of his body, slipped over the edge and into the cut I climbed back to where I’d left Hilary.

“We have to get back, but not until we take care of this bunch,” I told her in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You’re balmy,” she said. “The two of us against all of them? You can’t be serious.”

“You do just as I say and well take care of every one of them all at once,” I said. I’d taken the soldier’s rifle with me and I gave it to Hilary, taking my Marlin back. I gestured to the towering mountainsides on both sides of the pass.

“Those cliffs and ledges are covered with tons of fresh snow that hasn’t settled yet,” I said. “It can be dislodged by any sudden vibration and a gigantic avalanche triggered.”

I saw sudden understanding come into her eyes. “And the vibration could be caused by shots echoing in the pass, bouncing back and forth off the mountainsides,” she said.

“Bright girl,” I said. “Sometimes it only takes the vibration from the soundwaves of one shot to trigger a snowslide. But we’re going to make sure. I’m going to climb down and cross over to the other side. When you hear my first shot, you start firing. Aim right across at the opposite mountainside. Get off six shots and then stop. Whatever you do, don’t move from here. You’ll be protected here under the ledge overhead. When it’s over you can start down. I’ll meet you at the bottom of this cut.”

I started down, waving back at her. I stayed low as I reached the edge of the pass where the sentry had been. Wriggling across the open space on my belly, I reached the other side and began to climb up the slippery, loose snow. Finding a niche approximately at the same level as Hilary was across from me, I looked down at the troops in the pass. I couldn’t pick Hilary out in the glare of the fresh snow, but I raised the rifle and fired. I heard her shot answer at once. I kept firing into the air, six shots in all. Below, the Chinese were scurrying about, dashing from their tents, looking up, wondering what the hell was going on. When I stopped Hilary’s last shot echoed across the pass and I listened for the sound I was almost certain would come. It began as a soft rumble first and then it gathered volume until, as the tons upon tons of snow began to cascade down the cliffs on both sides of the pass, the rumbling roar was punctuated by the sharp cracks of hardened snow shaken loose by the white torrent. The avalanche roared into the pass, burying the men and the tents in minutes, piling snow upon snow until there was nothing but a gigantic mound of the white death. I waited, silent, awed by the cataclysmic force of what I’d witnessed. A strange silence settled over the pass, a silence of utter and total finality, as if the towering giants of stone were uttering their own pax vobiscum.

I started down slowly and met Hilary at the bottom of the cut. We made the tortuous route back down the mountains with hardly a word between us. The spectacle of nature’s awesome power had made words almost like man, a seemingly superfluous, unimportant quantity.

We reached the village and once again I witnessed the Nepalese Western Union at work. The first two men we met took one look at me and ran off down the street. I knew that in one hour everyone would know that the foreigner had returned safely.

“See you around, Nick,” Hilary said as she walked on when we neared Khaleen’s house. “It’s not over yet, is it?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet. Not so long as Ghotak is still trying.”

“Then be careful, will you?” she said, her eyes suddenly misty.

“Keep in close touch, doll,” I said. “You haven’t got your story yet.”

Khaleen came racing out of the house as I approached and fell into my arms, her small body quivering. I was glad Hilary had walked on.

“My Nick, my Nick,” she sobbed. “You were right. You are alive and all that you said was right. The people will know it now.”

“Not everything I said,” I murmured. “The yeti lives. I saw him.”

She recoiled from my arms as though she’d been stabbed. “You saw the yeti?” she said, horror in her voice. “You saw him from a distance, no?”

“I fought with him,” I said. “I looked into his eyes.”

She seemed to shrivel up and I took her in my arms.

“What is it, Khaleen?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”

“It is known that he who looks upon the face of the yeti will die,” she said tonelessly.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I exploded. “You people have a proverb for everything concerning the yeti. I looked at the damned thing, and I’m not going to die because of it. That’ll be one more damned proverb you can scratch off the books.”

She turned and went into the house and I felt sorry for her. Her unbounded joy had been torn apart I turned and strode down the street toward the temple. Ghotak, obviously warned by one of his men that I was approaching, appeared at the steps and came down to face me.

“Aren’t you calling a meeting?” I said. “Come on, chum, let’s hear those bells. I’m back, see, and very alive.”

“I can see that,” he said through tight lips. “I shall not call the people together. This only means that another sign from Karkotek must be awaited.”

I glanced about and saw that a crowd had quickly gathered about and he was grandstanding it.

“All right,” I shrugged. “No meeting and there’ll be another sign. The next one will mean your finish, Ghotak, you and the yeti and your whole crew.” I turned and started off but I paused and looked back at him. “Oh, by the way,” I grinned. “The company you were expecting won’t be able to make it. They told me to tell you they’re just snowed under.”

I saw his jaws clench and his eyes shoot sparks of fury at me. He turned and went back into the temple and I walked off. His impassive exterior was being hard pressed to stay that way as his house of cards was beginning to crumble. I walked back to the house and went into my room. I was tired, damned tired, and it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep. I was dimly aware that Khaleen’s warm little form did not steal into the room and press itself close against me, and I was vaguely sorry and saddened.

Chapter VII

When I went downstairs in the morning she was waiting for me with hot tea and biscuits.

“I am sorry I was so upset last night,” she said simply. “It is wrong of me to expect you to believe as we do. Perhaps you will prove me wrong again. I do hope so.”

Her eyes were deep and filled with so many things. Hope, sorrow, fear, but most of all with something else, and I found myself cursing Hilary for her damned female wisdom. I decided to keep things on another level if possible with Khaleen.

“Ghotak is not through yet,” I said. “He is planning something and I must get to him first. You say he goes into the mountains to meditate alone twice a week and he’s been doing this for years. How come the yeti has never attacked him?”

“Really very few people have seen the yeti,” Khaleen said. “More have seen his tracks in the snow. But Ghotak is a holy man, and the spirit of Karkotek protects his person.”

“With what he’s trying to do how can you call him a holy man?” I asked.

“Evil has come into him,” she answered unhesitatingly. “Maybe he will overcome it. Meanwhile, he is still a holy man.”

I decided against further pursuit of that interwoven exercise in thought. “When does he make his pilgrimages into the mountains?” I asked. “Do you know?”

“Yes,” she replied. “He will make one tomorrow and then later in the week.”

It was all I wanted to hear. As Khaleen left with the tea and cups, I went out to close up a few more possible holes. I’d given Hilary the whole truth but I hadn’t forgotten her cryptic remarks. I went to the Traveler’s Inn, got her room number and went up to the second floor. I heard the ticking of a typewriter and I slipped into a small alcove a few feet down the hall. I stayed there and waited. She typed for about an hour and then I saw her emerge, wearing her white sweater and colorful kilt. She went downstairs and I tried the door. It was locked, but apparently like all Nepalese doors, the lock was little more than a nod toward formality. A little pressure and it snapped open. The room was small, typical of the Nepalese houses, with heavy wood panels and small windows, colorful blankets on the bed.

Hilary’s things were scattered about. I brushed through her clothes hung in the single closet and then took out her one bag. I riffled through panties and bras and blouses and sweaters. It was in the corner, under a gray cashmere sweater, that I found it. As soon as I pulled it out her smug remark explained itself. It was a small transmitter, probably transistor powered, and certainly capable of reaching a field office somewhere in India. Neat, I smiled to myself. I went to the typewriter and looked over the paper in it. She was writing out the dispatch prior to sending it. I thought of just taking the set with me but then I had a better idea. It would have a nicer touch to it. I opened the back, took out the batteries and put them in my pocket Then I carefully replaced the set in the corner of the bag, under the gray sweater. I took a last quick look to make sure she had no extra batteries in her bag. There were none and I left, slipping out the door, unable to prevent the smile from curling around my lips. I saw her downstairs in the dining room, having a bowl of soup and writing furiously on a sheet of paper. I slipped past and out the door unseen.

I spent part of the day walking the streets, letting as many people as possible see that I was very much alive. This was a land where rumour reigned, I’d learned, and seeing me in the flesh would scotch any rumors Ghotak might have his boys spreading.

In the afternoon, Khaleen went to the temple to pray for her father’s spirit, and I was glad she had gone. I thought of what Hilary had said about hurting her and it was the last thing I wanted to do. Yet, it was inevitable. By keeping her at arm’s length I’d be hurting her too, only sooner. It would be a double hurt, now and later. I decided to play it by ear, and when she returned we had wine with dinner and went to bed early. I was under the fur blanket only a few minutes when she came in, naked, and her delicate loveliness was again a thing of overwhelming beauty. She crept in beside me and began her soft, fluttering travels across my body with her lips. I reached down, exercising all the self-discipline I could muster, and raised her head.

“What is it?” she asked. “Why do you stop me? Do I not please you?”

“Oh, God, no, that’s not it,” I said. “But I don’t want to hurt you, Khaleen, yet I may have to. What if I should have to leave you soon?”

“If it is so written, so it must be,” she said softly. “Until then, I am yours, and it is for me to please you.”

She lowered her head and began to caress my body again with her lips. Sorry, Hilary, I said silently. I tried. Khaleen was setting my body afire and I bent down, found her delicate beauty. We made tender and sensuous love, and the night was wrapped in ecstasy.

I awoke at dawn and dressed quickly. Khaleen fixed hot tea for me and asked where I was going, but I refused to tell her.

“I’m going to try to bring things to a close,” I said. “Trust in me.”

She nodded, those deep eyes so trusting and filled with hidden emotions. I headed out and the streets were nearly deserted in the first gray light of the day. Only a few farmers on their way early to market passed me as I headed for the mountains. I had the Marlin with me, Wilhelmina and Hugo inside my parka. I reached the pass into the foot of the mountains and found a high boulder I could hide behind and still see out. The sun had not risen more than an hour when I saw him approaching, walking alone, his saffron robes cloaking the heavy boots and warm clothing he wore beneath. I let him pass and saw the tall climbing pole he carried with him. When he was far enough ahead I picked up his trail, and saw that he had departed from the one the old man had taken and the one I’d followed. He was cutting in through ravines and crevasses unknown to me. From time to time I glimpsed the spot of saffron on ahead and I found myself thinking that he climbed pretty high just to meditate.

A series of rocky steps suddenly ended in a fairly smooth, worn trail, steep but bordered on both sides by uneven boulders capped by the perennial ice and snow. I couldn’t see Ghotak but I could hear him. I was moving on, too quickly, too carelessly, when they dropped on me from both sides of the bordering boulders, blue-shirted figures, two, three, four of them, and I glimpsed more as I went down under the avalanche of bodies. I kicked out, felt my foot sink into one, but his heavy clothing protected him. Another had me by the head. I reached up, grabbed him by the hair and yanked. He let go, and I got an elbow loose and shoved it into his mouth. I got another one with a wild swing and felt his jaw go sideways. I was on one knee now, and fighting back, when someone clouted me with a stout walking pole. It felt as though a redwood had toppled on me. I pitched forward, got a face full of snow which shocked me into consciousness, rolled over, grabbed the nearest arm and twisted. I heard a cry of pain and then the pole came down again, this time crashing against my temple. I pitched forward and everything went blue-black. When I woke up I was bound, my arms stretched behind my back.

Ghotak stood looking down at me as I was roughly lifted to my feet.

“I have severely underestimated you,” he said impassively. “But now you have underestimated me. I was certain that sooner or later you would attempt to follow me, and we were waiting.”

He turned to his men and spoke to them sharply.

“Bring him along,” he said. “And hurry. Time is important. I must be returning to the temple.” He started off, leading the way up the increasingly steep trail that finally disappeared in the usual welter of cliffs and vertical ascents. We finally reached a small level spot, and my knees and arms were bruised and hurting from being pushed and pulled up the rocks.

“I will take him from here,” Ghotak said to his men. “You will return to the temple and await me. Ghotak will dispose of this evil one after meditation and the voice of Karkotek speaks to him.”

I watched the others obediently file back down the way we’d come. Ghotak had plainly kept his own men at a distance and subjected them to some of the same jazz he used on the rest of the people. He reached into his robes and drew forth a snubnosed British Army thirty-eight.

“Walk ahead of me and do not make any false moves,” he said. “I do not want to shoot you but I will if I must.”

We went on, with Ghotak guiding me by voice commands. The terrain now was flatter and icier and colder. A large opening suddenly loomed up in a snow-covered cliffside and Ghotak pointed me toward it.

“In there,” he rasped. I walked on, wondering how I was going to get at Wilhelmina and Hugo. Ghotak put one hand against my back as we neared the opening and shoved. I went sailing on the icy ground and fell into the opening. Torches of animal grease burned along the walls and I saw we were in a huge tunnel-like cut in the cliff. As we moved forward I heard the horrible, spine-chilling scream I’d heard only once before. Ghotak pushed me forward, around a slight bend, and I was facing a huge steel cage. Inside was the yeti, its horrible face peering out, and growling guttural sounds coming from its throat. The creature was jumping up and down excitedly as Ghotak approached, and saliva ran down the sides of its long canine teeth which jutted out from the wide mouth. Once again I was amazed at the bear-like snout of the creature and the human forehead and eyes, the clawed hands and feet. As it saw me it began to scream again in its horrible, high-pitched scream, and its teeth gnashed together as it lunged at the bars. The cage shook but held and Ghotak smiled, a thin, evil smile. “He remembers you,” he said. “Unfortunately for you.”

“What is it?” I asked, hearing the awe in my own voice. “This is the yeti?”

“It is the yeti, or at least it will do as the yeti,” the monk answered. “The legend of the yeti is a thousand years old, and this creature is but some twenty years, but who am I to say he is not a reincarnation of the original yeti?”

“Don’t be so modest,” I said. “This is what killed the patriarch Leeunghi and the others and almost killed me.”

“This creature is a product of forces you in the Western world do not understand,” Ghotak said. “Only here in the East do we recognize that there is more that happens which cannot be explained than that which can be explained. As often, the women in the mountain lands, when their sexual appetites can no longer be held back, have used animals. This is so in the lands of the West, also.”

He was right, of course. Not so much these days but once, the practice was far more widespread than authorities would admit.

“A Sherpa woman used a pet bear she had on her mountain farm,” Ghotak said. “I was but a seminarian then, but I would visit the woman’s farm. In the strange ways of nature, a child was conceived and borne by the woman who immediately tried to throw it off a cliff. Even a few hours old it was a creature too horrible to gaze upon. I took the child and brought it here and kept it alive. As I saw it grow, and saw it was more wild than human, I had the cage built and brought here by a team of European engineers. I was quick to see what a valuable asset I had in my reincarnation of the yeti, whom your people call the abominable snowman.”

“And this... this thing obeys you?” I asked.

“After a fashion,” he answered. “I let him out and he roams the mountains, killing and devouring animals and humans he can catch. But, with his limited intellect and highly developed instinct, he always returns. I always leave more meat for him in the cage. When he takes the meat, the door drops shut and he is imprisoned.”

“Suppose he turns on you when you let him out?” I asked. The monk shrugged. “A remote danger. His rudimentary intellect is enough to tell him I am instrumental in his existence. You must remember, he is part human.”

“A damned small part,” I grunted. The creature hadn’t stopped its high-pitched screams but merely lowered them to a snarling, guttural sound. I looked into its eyes and saw the burning orbs of a vicious animal. Ghotak stepped behind me and with a knife he produced from inside his robes, cut my wrist bonds and instantly stepped to the door of the cage, his hand on a chain that would pull up the door.

“You can start to run,” he said. “You have a chance to escape the yeti. Sporting of me, is it not?”

“Tremendously sporting of you,” I said. “Why?”

“Because I want you found slain in the mountains. I want the Sherpas as they travel through the mountains to find you and the yeti’s tracks. It is especially important that you be so found.”

“Thanks, sport,” I said. He obviously hadn’t a thought in the world that I could get away from the creature or slay it instead. I looked at the thing again and I had to agree with his reasoning. He started to raise the door.

“A last thing,” he said. “I am very aware that you are armed. You no doubt carry the revolver and the small knife you gave to the girl before you fought the cobra. They will be useless to you. The yeti’s skin is as tough as an elephant’s hide.”

I saw his arm pull down and the door begin to rise. Talking time was over. It was definitely running time, and I started to run, putting every bit of speed I had into it. I started down the trail, slipping and sliding and falling. I could hear the creature emerge, his high-pitched scream now echoing in the wind. He was catching up to me with ridiculous ease. The trail had leveled off to where one side of it was a steep drop over the edge of a cliff. Looking back, I saw that the creature walked upright in a kind of shuffling, bear-like gait. I saw a tall rock, dropped out of sight behind it, and waited.

The creature came shuffling forward, past the rock. I dived, hitting the creature from the side with a perfect tackle. I drove with every ounce of power in my body, slamming into him with the force of at least three good tackles. It did knock his leg out from under him and he went down with a roar, but I missed sending him off the edge of the cliff. He was flat on his back for a moment and I aimed a kick at the one spot where it might most quickly bring him up short. But the creature turned a powerful leg and took my kick on its thigh. It rose to a crouch and saliva dripped from its bared fangs, but it was in a perfect position for a right cross. I couldn’t resist the chance and I swung with all my shoulder muscles behind the blow. I felt the blow land and send sharp pains up my arm. The creature merely sprang up and tried to strike me with a tremendous swing of one arm. I ducked and felt the wind of it as the blow just missed my head. He tried another but I was fast enough to backtrack. I saw a rocky series of steps against the cliff and bounded up them, cutting my knees and legs as I slipped and stumbled. The last rock was near enough to the edge of an overhanging ledge so that I could just reach it and pull myself up. I brought my body up over it and lay there for a second, gathering my strength and thoughts. I peered over the side and saw him coming after me. Below was the narrow ledge and below that a series of jagged rocks.

I had climbed up to the overhang with a desperation I could never muster under ordinary circumstances, but the creature was bounding up after me with the effortless, powerful agility of a bear. I knew that to run further would only delay the inevitable. He’d catch up to me, somewhere, and I’d be caught by one of those sweeping arms, ripped apart in minutes by the huge clawed hands. I couldn’t outrun him here in these icy, rocky mountains, and no human could outfight him. I yanked Wilhelmina out of the holster and shifted the gun to my left hand. Then I let Hugo drop into my palm. I had but one chance and this was the place for it. It would be dirty and nasty, but it was the only thing that stood between life and the death of AXE Agent N3. I lay down on the ledge, facing the edge of the overhang. I waited, every muscle tight and tensed. Ghotak would be on his way back by now, supremely confident that all was over. He could damn well be right, I knew.

The gray-white hairs first appeared over the ledge, then one clawed hand gripped the edge of the overhang. The horrible snout-faced countenance came next, the huge canine teeth jutting from its mouth. The clawed hands were both on the ledge now, pulling the huge body up. I shot one arm forward with Hugo held outstretched, plunging the stiletto deep into the creature’s eye. The yeti screamed, its huge mouth opening wide. It was the moment I’d counted on. I fired the Luger three times, sending three slugs into the open mouth of the creature. The slugs Ghotak said could not penetrate the thick skin slammed into the soft inside of the mouth, tearing great holes and penetrating into the base of the skull.

The blood-curdling screams abruptly stopped and the creature clung there, its head turning sideways, and I saw a strange expression suddenly come into its remaining eye — a look of human sadness. It opened its mouth again, this time soundlessly, and I saw its clawed hands digging deeply into the snow of the ledge, still trying to pull itself up. The damn tiling was inhuman in every respect. I fired Wilhelmina again, sending another slug into its gaping mouth, and now blood spurted from the creature, from its mouth, its ears and even its eyes. I saw the clawed hands go limp, and it slid from the edge. I leaned over to watch the huge body hit the narrow ledge below, bounce off it and hurtle down onto a series of jagged rocks, finally to hang on one in the stillness of death. Slowly, it slipped from the rock and fell into the snow.

I climbed down to where it lay and stood over it in awe. If either of these clawed hands had ripped into me I’d be dead. I took hold of one foot and began to drag it after me. When the going got too hard, I pushed it down ahead of me until I found a place where I could pull it along. Finally, my arms aching, I reached the plain approaching the village, and I dragged the lifeless trophy behind me. Each step grew harder but now I met wide-eyed natives who ran off to tell others and in minutes I had a crowd marching alongside me, excitedly jabbering and pointing in awe to the yeti. I noticed that, though it was plainly dead, no one offered to help me pull the thing. I didn’t blame them. Even dead it could scare the straw out of a scarecrow. I marched down the streets and headed for the temple and Ghotak.

Chapter VIII

Ghotak had sounded the temple bells and called his followers, and as I approached, dragging the creature behind me, I saw his guards dash inside in excited alarm. I left the creature at the bottom of the temple steps and took them two at a time. I glanced back to see Khaleen coming on the run. I waved to her and entered the low-roofed meeting hall at the rear of the temple. Ghotak’s men had alerted him, and as I made for the stage, he pulled the revolver from beneath his robes and fired at me. It was a move I hadn’t expected, and the first shot sent a splinter of wood from the wall an inch from my head. I hit the floor and the second shot winged past harmlessly. Ghotak’s move told me he knew the game was over. There was no longer any pretense at being the lofty holy man before his people. The shots had sent the crowd racing for the exits and I looked up past rushing forms to see Ghotak disappearing at the back of the stage where it led into the temple itself. I vaulted the platform and went after him. His men seemed uncertain, unsure of what to do. I saw two of them leap down and flee with the crowd. One tried to bar my way. He lunged at me, and I cracked his jaw with a sharp right cross. He went down, a sprawling blue bundle. I ran through the narrow passage linking the temple with the meeting hall. I heard my name called, and I halted to see Khaleen running up after me. She ran into my arms and we embraced for a moment.

“Get out of here,” I said. “Ghotak will be desperate. He might do anything.”

“You go,” she said, stepping back. “I will follow. You may need me.”

I hadn’t time to argue with her. Besides, I knew her tradition-minded stubbornness made it imperative she be here.

“Stay back,” I yelled as I ran forward into the temple. I had the thing wrapped up if I didn’t let Ghotak slip through my fingers. With these people and their superstitions and ancient beliefs, he could start the whole bit over again. Besides, the bastard had had four tries at killing me. I deserved a shot in return, and I was going to make mine stick.

The temple was silent, and I halted, listening. I heard scurrying footsteps and saw one of the blue-shirted figures racing up from a small stairway at one side of the building. He wanted no part of me and raced for the doors. I let him go. I wasn’t interested in the small-fry, the hired hands. I headed for the stairs and glanced back as I started down. I saw Khaleen coming up, and from the open doors of the temple I saw a blonde head appear. I headed down the stairs. A shot creased my shoulders as I reached the bottom step, and I fell backwards and lay still a moment. It wasn’t followed by another, and I pulled myself up to see that I was in a large, wood-beamed cellar with statues of various deities lining the walls. I caught a flash of saffron at the far end of the room and Ghotak stepped into view. He aimed his revolver at me and I ducked. I heard the dull click of a hammer hitting an empty chamber. I got up and headed for him. He tossed the gun away and stood waiting for me. My hands opened and closed in eager anticipation, and I was halfway across the room when the floor opened beneath me, and I plunged down. I looked up in time to glimpse Ghotak’s arm reaching behind him, pressing a wall panel, and then I was on my hands and knees on a dirt floor. I heard a door open and slam shut and the monk’s voice echoed back in wild laughter. The trap door hung open some ten feet over my head. There was no possible way to reach it.

Then I saw I had company in the sub-cellar as the entire end of the pit began to move, to come alive in a writhing, twisting mass that began to curl and twist its way into separate snakes. I saw king cobras, deadly adders, green mambas and a variety of cottonmouths, each one of them capable of killing a man with one strike. They were hissing now, starting to slide toward me. I looked around desperately. There was nothing, only bare walls. I tried jumping for the edge of the opening but it stayed just out of reach. The snakes were moving with speed, obviously hungry and anxious for a victim.

“Nick!” I heard the half-cry and looked up to see Khaleen at the edge of the opening. Hilary’s head appeared beside her. “Oh, God!” I heard her exclaim. She tried to reach her arms down but the distance was too great.

“There are draperies over there,” she said, looking out across the temple. “I’ll get them.”

Khaleen stayed at the edge, gazing down at me. Hilary had raced away and I could hear her tearing at the material. But I knew it was going to be too late. The serpents were almost at me. By the time she knotted the ends together and lowered it, they’d have me. Khaleen saw it, too.

I saw her swing her legs over the edge and drop. “No!” I yelled at her. “Stop!” But it was too late, not that she’d have paid any attention to me, anyway. She landed beside me and I grabbed for her, but she slipped away and plunged into the mass of crawling snakes, kicking at them, screaming at them. Hilary was lowering the drapes now, and Khaleen looked back at me, her face contorted with pain as snake after snake struck at her, sinking fangs deep into her legs and ankles. She had diverted their attention from me to give me time to escape, and now her eyes implored me not to let her sacrifice go to waste.

“I tied the ends to the pillars,” Hilary said, shaking the drapes. “They’ll hold, only for God’s sake hurry.”

I looked at Khaleen and her cheeks were stained with tears, not all of them tears of pain. “Go, Nick... go,” she gasped. I started to climb up the drapes and then dropped back.

“Dammit to hell,” I swore. I raced to Khaleen, still standing with snakes imbedded in her legs. My shoes were heavy enough to withstand a few fangs. I kicked at those nearest her, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her from the mass of lunging reptiles. I jumped back, holding her with one hand around her waist, and started to pull myself up the draperies. Some of the snakes had sunk their fangs into the bottom of the cloth but I clung to it, gathering it in as I pulled the girl and myself up. Khaleen was half over my shoulder and I managed to shift her slight form to get use of both hands. At the edge, Hilary took the girl’s limp body from me, and I pulled myself onto the floor.

Khaleen was breathing shallowly already. The massive doses of venom she had gotten would act in minutes. I saw her eyelids flutter, and she looked up at me and her hand moved over mine.

“I am yours,” she breathed, and her lids softly closed over the deep eyes. Her small form shuddered and lay still. I put her small hands together and stood up. Hilary’s eyes were misted over and I swore out loud.

“Damn, damn this stinking place!” I swore. “She didn’t need to do that.”

“Need and want,” Hilary said, her voice catching. “They’re two different things.”

I turned and ran out the door at the rear. Ghotak wasn’t anywhere in sight but I saw one of his men, fear in his eyes as he spied me. I hadn’t realized till now how omnipotent a figure I’d become to them. I’d survived a battle with a cobra and slain the yeti. You couldn’t bat much higher in this league. He tried to run but I grabbed him, lifting him off the ground with one hand and slamming him against the wall of the temple.

“Where did he go?” I yelled.

“I do not know,” the man said, shaking his head to emphasize his words. I slammed him into the wall again and heard his bones rattle.

“You’ve got some idea,” I yelled. “Where did he go? Tell me or I’ll break every one of your superstitious bones.”

The man gestured to a small, shingle-roofed house about a hundred yards away. “Maybe he hide there,” he said.

“He’s not hiding, he’s running,” I yelled. I hauled back and let the man have a sharp crack across the face. He fell to the ground screaming more in fear of what might happen next than in pain.

“The river! The river!” he screamed. He pointed to the right, past the temple, and at once I remembered glimpsing the swift water at the edge of the village on one of my walks. I ran for it, passing women returning with their fresh washed clothes. At the river’s edge I saw men looking downriver, and in the distance I spotted a log dugout being paddled by a bright saffron spot. Three of the men had drawn the inflated buffalo skins onto the shore, having just paddled across the river on the unique rafts. I grabbed one and a paddle and pushed it out onto the river, falling across it to lie with my body straddling the inflated skin. The animal’s four legs jutted upwards and the whole thing looked somewhat like a four-poster bed floating upside down. But it was light and maneuverable and I found myself gaining on Ghotak’s heavy log dugout. The current was swift, and we were downriver quickly, passing overhanging trees and sloping banks. The river curved, and I saw Ghotak disappear around the bend, glancing back to see me catching up to him. I paddled furiously, and the balloon-like buffalo skin almost skimmed over the top of the water. Rounding the bend, I saw the dugout at the shore and Ghotak clambering out of it. I headed for him and saw him draw his revolver. I was still a good distance away and a poor target, unless he was a lot better shot than I thought. But he wasn’t trying for me, I found out. The slug hit the inflated skin and I heard the whoooosh of air escaping and I was in the water, swimming against the swift current.

Ghotak was off and running, and I was slowed once again by the wily monk. I cut across to the bank, feeling the current carrying me downstream as I swam. Reaching the shore, I pulled myself up, tossing off my soaked outer jacket. I clambered up the bank to see a stone house standing some fifty yards away and back from the shore. The windows were shuttered, and it looked deserted, but it was the only house around and I headed for it on the run, crouched over, trying to make myself less of a target. I had to cross completely open ground to get to it but there were no bullets sent winging at me, and I reached the house, yanking at the door. It opened and I went inside to find it was a kind of stable. Two burros and a loaded sled stood in the center of the place, the burros harnessed and ready to go.

“Where are you, Ghotak?” I called. “I know you’re in here someplace.” I moved forward cautiously, glancing up to see a second floor balcony above. Bales of hay were stored on what was a small second-story landing. Four stalls lined one end of the stable and two more of the sturdy Sherpa burros looked at me over the top of the wooden stalls. There was no sound but that of the restless shifting of the burros and I walked over to them. Heavy saddle bags hung from each animal and I opened one and reached in to draw out a handful of gold coins and Nepalese rupees. I went to the sled, and tore open the tarpaulin over the boxes and packs tied onto it. I ripped open one box. Jewels and precious stones stared back at me. Ghotak had been prepared for any eventuality, I saw, and was ready to move out and set up housekeeping with a bundle somewhere else.

But where the hell was he? Maybe, with me so close on his heels, he’d given up the idea of trying to flee with the stuff. I took out Wilhelmina and started up the short ladder that led to the second-floor landing, wondering why, if he were up there, he hadn’t taken a shot at me. On the landing, I found only bales of hay but there were a lot of them, each one some five feet long and three feet wide, more than large enough for a man to hide behind. A narrow passage was open between the bales and I moved down it, Wilhelmina in hand, cautiously peering behind each bale as I passed it. Suddenly, from behind the very last of the bales at the end of the landing, I heard a noise and saw the flash of saffron move. Ghotak looked up for an instant and then flattened himself behind the bale. I went after him quickly and found out, too late, that he had set me up beautifully. My foot landed right on the spring mechanism of the animal trap and the vicious steel jaws crashed together on my leg. The excruciating pain shot up through my body and I dropped to one knee. Ghotak was up and I took a vicious kick in the face and fell backwards, my leg twisting in the heavy steel trap. Wilhelmina went skittering out of reach and I saw Ghotak’s evil smile, his small eyes bright in final triumph.

He stood over me and laughed. “I could kill you, but that would be too easy for you,” he said. “You have cost me a great deal. You shall not have an easy death.” The trap was sending great stabbing pains up my leg but I tried kicking out at the monk with my other foot. I caught his shin and he backed away in pain, his eyes clouded.

“You are very much like a cobra,” he said. “Always dangerous unless completely dead.” I watched as he took out a packet of matches and lighted the bales of hay, going from one to the other until tongues of flame began to curl up around the corners of the bales. He smiled at me again and disappeared down the ladder. I sat up and looked down at the trap to see if I could pry open its steel jaws but I saw at once I was doomed. It was the land that, once sprung, only a metal key could unlock, releasing the powerful spring mechanism.

I could hear Ghotak below, starting to mount the lead burro. I dragged myself forward, past the smoking, burning bales. The chain on the trap was long enough to let me reach the edge of the landing. Ghotak was atop the burro and the door was open. I saw him kick the animal and the burro started to slowly move out. I let Hugo drop into my palm, raised myself on one knee, aimed and threw the stiletto with every bit of strength at my command. I saw it hit just where I’d aimed, the back of the monk’s neck. As his head jerked upwards I saw the point of the stiletto jutting out the other side at his throat. He raised his hands and clawed at his neck, his fingers spasmodically twitching as he tried to find the handle of the stiletto. He had finally gotten one hand on it when his body stiffened and his hand fell away. He half turned in the saddle, his eyes glancing back and up to where I peered over the ledge, his mouth open, and then he fell heavily from the saddle to lay on the floor, staring upwards with the sightless eyes of the dead.

The smoke was growing heavy now, and the flames higher. I crawled back, following the chain to where it was attached to a wooden peg in the wall. I took a handkerchief and tied it around my face as the waves of smoke choked my lungs. The heat was becoming intense and the bales were starting to burn with fury. I kicked at the wall with my other foot and saw it was soft plaster. I dug frantically at the plaster surrounding the wooden peg, gouging out chunks of the material. The smoke was so thick now I could no longer see the roof above me. Luckily, it still had room to rise, and did not completely engulf me. I kept digging frantically, the face of death giving me strength and urgency beyond normality.

Finally, I put both feet against the wall and, straining every muscle, pulled on the chain attached to the peg. I felt it give. The pain of the trap on my leg was almost unbearable, but I pushed my legs hard against the wall again and pulled. The peg came out of the wall with the pop of a champagne cork and I fell backwards. Dragging the trap and the chain, I crawled across the floor, staying low to get air. The heat seared my face and the crackle of flames filled the stable. I found the ladder and half fell down it but I reached the bottom and crawled into the open. I lay there and drank in deep gulps of air. Finally, getting to my feet, I saw that the burros had moved out of the building, no doubt as soon as the flames had started. I dragged myself to where they were standing, managed to mount the lead burro and headed back to the village. I glanced back at the building. It was in flames now. Despite the terrible pain in my leg, I felt strangely satisfied and at peace, as though a lot had been put to rest by those flames.

Chapter IX

Hilary met me as I rode into town, looking like the much beaten sheriff in some western movie. I piled the jewels and gold coins in front of the temple, explaining to the assembled people that Ghotak was fleeing with the temple’s money. Then we found an ironmaker who had the tools to cut the trap loose, and she took me to her room and got my ankle bandaged. Later, I returned to the silent house and collected my things. I didn’t linger, staying only long enough to pack the few things I’d brought. I kept seeing a small, delicate form poised in the doorway, drifting through the empty rooms. I got the hell out quickly.

My ankle still hurt, but thick bandages swathed it, and I could walk without limping. The door to Hilary’s room was ajar and I called out as I pushed it open. She was standing in the center of the room and as I entered she sprang at me, letting go with a roundhouse blow that caught me on the cheek.

“You louse!” she yelled. “Give me those batteries.” She swung again and I ducked away.

“Why, Hilary, honey,” I said. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“I’ll kill you,” she yelled, lunging at me. I grabbed her wrists and whirled her in a semi-circle. She landed on the bed, bouncing three times on it. She came off the third bounce swinging, arms flailing the air at me, pure fury in her blazing blue eyes. I ducked the blows and she paused, her breasts heaving.

“You’ll get all hot and bothered carrying on like that,” I said. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what it’s all about?”

“You know bloody well what it’s about, you big, ugly louse,” she said. Suddenly her voice broke and tears flooded her eyes. “You’ve no right,” she choked out. “No right at all. I worked my bloody ass off for this story.”

I moved over to her and took her in my arms, and suddenly she was on the bed with me, clinging to me and sobbing. She had worked hard for it and I knew how much it must mean, but I couldn’t let her send it.

“Look, doll,” I said. “Maybe you can do your story but I have to get clearance first. I’ve got to speak to my boss who’ll check it out with British Intelligence. But I can’t do anything till I get in touch with him.”

She sat up. “Then let’s get out of here and fast,” she said. Her arms encircled my neck. “For other reasons, too,” she added. “I want you again, Nick, but not here, not in this place. Come back to England with me, for a few days, anyway. My folks have a little cottage in Surrey where we can hide away.”

“Now there’s a good idea,” I said. “Let’s work on it.”

We got up, collected our few things, and walked from the Inn. As we headed toward the mountains I knew that the trip back across them to Khumbu, no matter how hard it was, would be easier because we were heading home. I gazed back at the roof of the Royal Palace flashing in the afternoon sun. His Majesty had not been seen accepting outside help. Not only was his image intact but so was his strange kingdom. Only a handful of people knew, and half of them were dead now, that a clever attempt to take over a nation had been tried and had failed. I saw a line of marchers carrying long streamers snaking their way through the streets.

“Do you know what that’s all about?” I asked Hilary.

“A procession celebrating the death of the yeti,” she said. I nodded, and an image of the terrible creature flashed before my eyes. Like Hilary, I would not be quick to scoff at old legends any longer. We knew less about the strange things of this world than we realized, that much this land had taught me.

At Khumbu, I made contact with British Intelligence, and a special airliner picked us up and flew us to London. I’d gotten Hawk on the phone and briefed him fully. He was pleased, and he sounded approachable. I brought up Hilary and her story.

“It means a lot to her,” I said. “And seeing as how it’s over and done with, what harm can it do?”

“Nothing is ever over and done with, N3,” he answered from three thousand miles away. “We don’t want to start another diplomatic row which will end in military action, you know.”

“I take it that means no story,” I said.

“Oh, what the hell, let her send it,” he said in a sudden rush of words. “The Chinese will scream denial and call us liars but they do that all the time, anyway.”

“Thanks, Chief,” I said. “Shell be grateful.”

“And you’ll get the benefit of that gratitude, I’m sure,” he said crisply. “Make sure you’re back here no later than the weekend.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. The phone went dead and I told Hilary. Her enthusiasm was delirious. I smiled, thinking of Hawk’s words. She filed the story and we drove to her house and met her folks and her kid brother. Her brother, like all twelve-year-olds everywhere, was full of questions, energy and enthusiasm.

“Come on into my room,” he said. “I’ll show you my new pet.” Hilary and I followed the youngster as he led the way into his model-airplane-bedecked room. He pointed to a cage standing on an end table.

“It’s a black racer,” he said. “They make awfully good pets.”

He reached in and brought out the serpent, a gleaming jet black.

“Golly, I hope you’re not afraid of snakes,” he said to me. Hilary’s eyes met mine with suppressed laughter.

“Where is that cottage you told me about?” I asked quietly.

“I’ll get the keys,” she laughed.

We left her brother and his black racer and found the little cottage in Surrey. The English countryside, the orderly, uncomplicated atmosphere and Hilary. It was a great parlay and I drank in all three. It was dusk when we reached the cottage and we went out to dinner first. When we returned, I made a fire to take the damp chill out of the air and we sat on a thick throw-rug before the fireplace. Hilary’s cheeks glowed in the firelight, her blonde hair sending out sparks of glittering brass. I turned off the lamp and the rest of the room faded into blackness. There was only us, the circle of firelight and the warmth. We were back in our cave in the Himalayan mountains, and Hilary fell into my arms, her lips thirsting, eager, her body throbbing with desire. In moments we were naked beside the fire, the warmth of the flames flowing over us, heightening the fever of our own bodies. Hilary’s large, full breasts found their way to my lips as she pressed against me, and she moaned and cried out as I traced a slow pattern of pleasure with my tongue.

Hilary held my head against her stomach, her thighs, her breasts. She was feverish in her hunger, small sounds of ecstasy rising from inside her to fill the little room. When I held her very essence she gasped, and her small cries changed into an incessant plea for more. We made wild, unbridled love for three days, losing track of time and the world, making the cottage into our own, self-contained world just as we had that little cave.

But the days had to come to an end. It was near dawn and I lay awake, thinking of how, within a matter of hours, I’d be back in New York and then in Washington, sitting across the desk from Hawk. Hilary lay beside me, awake, too, holding my hand cupped around her breast.

“You’ll come back to see me sometime?” she asked suddenly, her voice small and somehow lost I nodded and turned to see her smile, a sad smile.

“I’ll make believe, anyway,” she said. “And I stand on what I said that night in the cave. God, it seems so long ago now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re tremendous to make love with but no one to fall in love with.”

“I never said you were wrong,” I answered.

“But you do leave a big hole when you go,” she said, turning to look at me. “I thought it wouldn’t bother me. I guess I’m not that different.”

I left Hilary that morning. She drove me to the airport and I saw her frank, pretty face and waved to her from the airliner. Then we wheeled out onto the runway and it was over. As the giant plane flew high over white cloud formations that looked like mounds of snow, I kept seeing a small, wispy, delicate form drifting through the clouds, and I thought about the difference between being wanted and being loved. Someplace, they came together, of course, but the trick was to keep them apart. Or was it?

Content

Nick Carter
Operation Snake

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX