Descent Read online

  I don’t know what to do, which is a strange feeling for me. I’m a climber. All good climbers know what to do, even when things change and go dry-mouth scary. I guess that’s because there aren’t many choices when a climb goes bad. The important thing is to not fall off the mountain. The choices are simple; climb up or climb down. If I could boil this situation down to two choices, I’d have a fifty-fifty chance of making the right choice. All I know is that the sustained panic I’m feeling right now is no good to me, or to Josh.

  Breathe.

  Again.

  Again.

  Extinguish panic’s consuming fire.

  Whew.

  Better.

  This brings to mind Josh’s epiphany on Hkakabo Razi. He told me that the reason he climbs is to get away from people and all the problems and chaos their problems bring. He loves people, but after a while the burden is too much for him to bear. A mountain calls to him. He climbs to cleanse himself. This may not be exactly what he said, but it is the essence of it, and I understand what he means. When he’s climbing he misses people. When he’s with people he misses climbing. I think this is true for me as well, at least to some extent . . .

  This is drifting a bit from my current dilemma, but it is related. Everything was fine when we were descending Hkakabo Razi, but when we got off the mountain and around people, things got complicated.

  Too many choices . . .

  I could turn myself in. I’d have a decent chance of finding out how Josh is and what their plans are for him.

  I could leave Bāyī, make my way to Lhasa, where there must be a US embassy, or if there isn’t, a French embassy, where I could contact Alessia’s mom.

  I could remain in Bāyī and find Zopa, trying to stay a step ahead of Shek, but for all I know Zopa has been arrested too.

  One thing is for certain: flying out of Tibet is no longer an option. I’d be arrested as soon as I showed my passport to customs. It would take me weeks, if not months, to walk out of Tibet and sneak across a border to a country like Nepal.

  Too many choices.

  No simple up or down.

  Now it’s sideways, stay put, hide, get arrested, find Zopa, etc., etc., etc., or maybe . . .

  * * *

  I thought about what the back-seat monk had told me in the Land Cruiser. He was right, of course: I spent a lot of time thinking about the past and imagining the future, completely blocking out the present, which at present was my biggest problem. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, blowing the past and future out of my cluttered mind with every exhale. I realized that you don’t have to think about the present. You simply let it happen as it’s happening. I’m not sure how long I sat on that bench, but when I opened my eyes I noticed that the fog had gotten thicker. I could hear people talking and laughing, but I couldn’t see them clearly. They were mere shadows floating through the mist across the street. There was very little traffic. It had gotten colder. I pulled a down vest out of my pack. It was still a little damp from the laundry, but it was better than nothing. I was hungry, thirsty, and a little drowsy. I got up and started pacing, then did some stretches. This got my blood moving and woke me up. I started walking with no destination in mind. I passed the restaurant where I had bumped into Shek. It was still open and crowded. I walked past the telephone exchange. It was closed.

  It wasn’t long before my mind started to wander out of the present and into the future. I stopped letting things happen to me and started thinking what I could do to make things happen.

  I thought that maybe I should head over to the Nyang River. We’d seen a lot of tents pitched there on our way into town. Shek’s men had probably already checked out the people camped there. Not much of a chance they’d come back tonight. I could start spreading the word that Joshua Wood had been arrested. Maybe it would reach someone who could do something about it. One of the trekkers camped there might even have a sat phone I could borrow. Even if Shek grabbed me, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. All I had done was lie to him about who I was. Not exactly a capital crime. I’d have to rouse people from their sleep, but I was sure once they heard that Joshua Wood was in trouble, they would be happy to help.

  I headed toward the river. It felt good to be doing something. It took me twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of town. I knew the general direction of the river but had no idea how to get there overland in the foggy dark. There had to be a way. Trekkers usually avoided roads if there was a shorter trail. I’d seen a lot of them wandering through town without their packs, no doubt having left their gear in camp. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the guy they had mistaken for me camped along the river. I stumbled through the bushes, wishing I had my headlamp. I told myself that from now on I was going to carry a small bug-out or go-pack with the bare essentials at all times. Ethan always carried one, even in the city, which I thought was ridiculous. Until now.

  Finally, I came across what I thought was a trail heading toward the Nyang. I tripped over rocks and roots several times, cursing as I got back to my feet. If I broke a bone, I’d be completely useless to Josh. After my fifth or sixth fall, I didn’t get up. I lay on the damp ground surrounded by fog, thinking I should wait until it got light, which couldn’t be more than a few hours away, just enough time to get in a little sleep, if the wet cold ground didn’t keep me awake. That’s when I saw the lights dancing in the fog. At first, I didn’t know what they were, but then I heard voices. They were too far away for me to hear what was being said, or even know the language they were speaking, but the lights were coming my way. I got to my feet and stepped off the trail far enough away where they wouldn’t see me, but close enough where I could hopefully hear and see them. It had to be soldiers. Who else would be heading into Bāyī this time of night?

  The lights grew brighter, crisscrossing through the dense fog. Two lights, probably headlamps by their movement and orientation. I crouched down and waited as the lights grew closer. I was forty feet off the trail when they walked past, two people, one in front of the other, ten feet apart. They were no longer talking. I stayed were I was. The person in the lead came to a sudden stop and swung his headlamp in my direction as if he knew exactly where I was.

  “Peak,” Zopa said.

  “I thought your name was Pete,” Percy said.

  I wasn’t surprised to see Zopa—he always popped up when I least expected him. But I was surprised to see Percy. “How did you get out?” I asked him. “Is Josh out too?”

  “They let me go,” Percy answered. “I knew they would. I hadn’t done anything terrible. And I’m the Road Builder. They need me.”

  “That’s great, but what about Josh?”

  “They are not going to let him go. Sergeant Shek is positively ecstatic. You would think that he had bagged the Dali Lama. He’s probably polishing his captain’s bars right now in anticipation of his reinstatement.”

  “Where are they holding him?”

  “Downtown on the top floor of the PLA political headquarters. They will move him in the morning. Probably to an undisclosed location in mainland China. There are too many malcontents here in Tibet. Too many eyes watching their every move. They’ll stow him someplace safe until they decide what to do with him.”

  “What will they do with him?”

  “I have no idea. That will depend on the international fallout. He’s a famous bloke. They took him in front of at least fifty witnesses. Sergeant Shek didn’t handle that part of the capture very well. The Chinese prefer to do things quietly. That blunder could lose Shek his chance at captaincy.”

  “We need to move on,” Zopa said. “We have much to do before it gets light.” He continued walking toward Bāyī.

  I followed. Percy fell in behind me. Zopa had exchanged his robes for Western clothes that were a little too big for him. He was also carrying a small backpack that I hadn’t seen before. Percy was carrying a pack too. Where had they scored the gear?

  Knowing that Zopa would answer me with a vague shrug, I turn
ed to Percy and asked if he and Zopa had gone to the Nyang.

  “Yes. We had to get supplies and make some arrangements. I know several of the people camped there. When we told them that Joshua Wood had been arrested, they were happy to help.”

  “Did you know I was heading to the river?”

  Percy shook his head. “I didn’t. But I think Zopa might have known. Was it prearranged?”

  “No. I didn’t know I was going there until a couple of hours ago.”

  “Zopa is pretty interesting, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Where are we going now?”

  Percy shook his head again. “You will have to ask Zopa. He has been a little reticent to share his plan, if he has one.”

  “Oh, Zopa has a plan,” I said, loud enough for Zopa to hear, but he continued walking as if he hadn’t. “Why didn’t you drive to the river?”

  “Because they impounded my Land Cruiser. A slap on the wrist. They’ll give it back tomorrow. I can’t build a road without wheels to get there.”

  “How was Josh when you last saw him?”

  “I haven’t seen him since they marched us into the building. Separate rooms. Separate floors. They pushed him into a lift. I watched it rise while they debated what to do with me. It stopped on the ninth floor. They took me to one of the interrogation rooms on the second floor. I’ve been hauled in several times over the past three decades for a ‘little talk’ as they call it. This one was a little more serious than the others. They didn’t get physical with me, but they certainly threatened to. I answered their questions truthfully, over and over again. Most of the questions were about you. They wanted to know where you were. I answered truthfully, over and over again, that I didn’t know.”

  “They didn’t ask about Zopa?”

  Percy laughed. “I think I might have failed to mention that I picked up three people on the road. I didn’t know his name anyway, because he didn’t introduce himself. I told them that I had never heard of Joshua Wood, or Peak Marcello. I told them that I had gotten you a room so I could make a few extra dollars by overcharging you. The Chinese have a deep respect for this kind of thing if they are on the receiving end of it. Not so much if they aren’t the ones getting the cash, but they understand it. Then the minister of roads called them. Someone from the hotel must have gotten word to him. He’s my boss, indirectly, and wields a lot of power. He could not have his road builder in prison on a trumped-up charge. They took me back to the hotel. I was about ready to slip into bed when Zopa tapped on my door and suggested we take a walk down to the river. He gave me a list of gear to borrow from the trekkers, then he wandered off somewhere to do something, then he wandered back, and found you on the trail. Now you know everything I know, except that when we get to town I’m going back to the hotel and you two are going to go about your business, which I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know about.”

  “Probably not,” I agreed.

  We reached Bāyī, where Percy shrugged out of his pack and handed it to me, along with the headlamp.

  “Good luck to both of you,” he said, shaking my hand and giving Zopa a bow.

  Zopa gave him a blessing and Percy disappeared into the fog like a lumbering grizzly returning to its den to hibernate. I stuffed the contents of my duct-taped pack into Percy’s bigger pack and slipped it over my shoulders. It was heavy.

  “What’s in this thing?”

  “Gear.”

  “I figured that out. What are we doing?”

  “I will show you.”

  Buildering

  We hurried through the abandoned streets for several blocks, slowing down a little when we reached an office building with soldiers posted outside the front door. When we got past it, Zopa led me down a side street to an alley in back of the building.

  “What do you think?” Zopa asked.

  “Is this where they’re holding Josh?”

  “The top floor. The window near the corner.”

  I looked up. Because of the fog I couldn’t see any windows past the fifth floor. Maybe I was tired, but at that moment I didn’t know why we were standing in a narrow alley looking up at a window where Josh might be.

  “I don’t see the window. The fog is too thick.”

  “The fog will help. The soldiers patrol the alley. If you cannot see the window, the soldiers cannot see you.”

  This is when his plan came into focus for me.

  “You want me to climb up to his window.”

  “You used to climb buildings.”

  “Skyscrapers. This building is short.”

  “It should be easy for you then,” Zopa said.

  I hadn’t climbed a skyscraper since I left New York to climb Everest. Zopa didn’t approve of climbing skyscrapers. I reminded him of what he had said about scaling skyscrapers when we were in the Pamirs: Who wants to die falling onto a busy street?

  “This is different,” Zopa said. “This is for your father.”

  I walked over to the wall and ran my hands over it. It was made out of rough concrete, poured in sections with shallow seams running horizontally every four feet. The window ledges were also made out of concrete, and six or seven inches deep. That was good. The wall was damp from the fog. That was bad, or at least challenging.

  “Someone is coming,” Zopa whispered.

  We hurried over to a dumpster and hid behind it.

  I would spend weeks, and sometimes months, studying a skyscraper in New York before attempting to scale it. Now I had a few minutes. Two soldiers walked by, talking to each other without a glance at the dumpster. We waited for them to turn the corner before coming back out.

  “We have one hour before they return,” Zopa said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I was here to talk to your father.”

  “You talked to Josh?”

  “Briefly. He was not himself. I think he may have been drugged. He said he could not climb down without a rope.”

  Descending a wall was often trickier than ascending, and sometimes impossible without an anchored rope. You can’t see where to place your feet on the way down.

  “How were you able to talk to him?”

  “From his window. We had to speak quietly. It was not very clear. I am not certain Josh understood my plan.”

  I hoped Josh was still being held in the same room, or this was the dumbest plan ever conceived. I slipped on the headlamp and inventoried the gear. Old climbing rope, but enough to rappel down. A couple of frayed climbing harnesses, a handful of ratty carabineers, ice screws, anchors, one hammer, and one ice ax, none of which I would be able to use on the building, except the climbing harnesses. I recoiled the rope and bandoleered it over my shoulders. I adjusted one of the harnesses and stepped into it, then slung the spare harness around my neck.

  “There will be a soldier posted outside his door,” Zopa said.

  “Great.”

  I jumped up, grabbed the first window ledge with my fingertips, and pulled myself up. Now for the hard part. When I scale buildings, I try to avoid windows. Someone suddenly appearing outside a window several stories above ground level is a little startling to someone standing inside the room. It’s also the best way to get busted. I’d have to climb between the windows. Ninety feet was a short climb, but without protection and limited finger- and toeholds it was difficult. There was nowhere to rest. I moved quickly, using momentum rather than strength so I didn’t tank before I reached Josh’s window.

  Thirty finger- and toeholds on damp concrete. A sprint. No problem. Except on the fifteenth seam when my left hand slipped out of the tiny crack. Luckily, my right hand was solid enough to stop me from doing a header into the alley. By now I was mouth breathing. The near-death experience wasn’t helping. Climb away from the terror. I couldn’t remember where I had heard this, but it was good advice. I had two more little non-fatal slips before I reached the top floor between two windows. I thought the window on my left was Josh’s window, but it was closed. The window to m
y right was also closed. I was barely clinging on. I had to move before I fell. I chose the left window because it was a little closer than the right window. I crouched on the window ledge, gasping for breath, trying not to puke on Zopa, whom I could no longer see through the fog. It took nearly as long to catch my breath as it did to climb the wall.

  When I finally recovered, I peered through the window with my headlamp. I expected to find a prison cell, but it was a one-room apartment. There was a kitchen running along the back wall with a small eating area. The living area was furnished with comfortable-looking chairs and a sofa. Someone was lying on the sofa, but I couldn’t tell if it was Josh. He, or she, was covered by a blanket and wasn’t moving. I tried the window. It slid open with a slight screech. I slid it open a little more. Another screech. Worst-case scenario: Shek, or some other official, was snoozing on the sofa and I’d be arrested. The truth was I’d rather be incarcerated with Josh than leave town without him. It was either Josh, or it wasn’t.

  I pushed the window all the way open.

  Armed soldiers did not burst into the room.

  The figure on the sofa did not move.

  I climbed inside, bypassed the sofa, and quietly walked over to the door. There was light coming through the gap at the bottom. I listened. No army boots pacing back and forth. No sound at all. If there was a soldier outside the door, he was probably slumped in a chair, sound asleep.

  I walked over to the sofa. The man was lying on his side. His head was covered. I gently lifted the blanket. It was Josh, more or less. He was breathing through his mouth because his nose had been smashed. His hair was matted with dried blood. Both eyes were swollen shut. He looked like he had fallen off a mountain. I shook him. There was no response.

  At least he was alive, and still in the room.

  Mom had insisted I take a mountain rescue course, which had included how to get an unconscious climber down a mountain. I figured getting someone out of a building wouldn’t be much different. The first difficulty was finding a place to anchor the rope. I found one in the bathroom: a toilet, bolted to the floor. It was a long reach to the window and down to the alley. I knotted the two ropes I had together, then tied the line around the base of the toilet. It was as solid as a deep-rooted porcelain tree stump. The next step was to rig Josh. I untangled my spare harness.