BLOOD GURKHA: Prophesy (James Pace novels Book 5) (2 page)

As for Arthur Braithwaite, no trace was ever found save for a few shreds of tattered tent and a heavily blood-stained patch of churned up snow that had once been the explorers’ campsite. The two backpacks were gone but both Martini-Henry rifles were recovered intact at the campsite and thereafter became important relics, protected by the authority of the village elders along with the records of Ferrier’s final words, until Bruk was eventually abandoned by its inhabitants years later.

Many centuries earlier, a spike in the frequency of Yeti attacks on people had led to the creation of an elite group of warriors; drawn from the best fighting men in Nepal; the Gurkhas. Their only reason to exist was to hunt down the creatures and drive them back into the vast badlands from whence they came.

Never numbering more than twelve at any one time, trained by the most powerful monks in the arts of death and stealth, each warrior gave his soul to the mountains and pledged his blood to protect the people from harm. Quickly embedded as a tradition, a dozen young boys were selected every fifteen years, undertaking a murderous training routine that consumed them for the full span of those years before taking themselves out into the wilderness to hunt down the Yeti; each destined to guard a designated zone, all alone, forever. As one set of Blood Gurkhas left the sanctity of the temple, the next set of young trainees were being selected in the villages far below.

Once embarked on their lifelong quest, these ghostly figures were never seen again. Sometimes, deep in the night, terrible sounds of titanic battles could be heard, carried on the mountain’s breath. The Blood Gurkhas took up their posts, as guardians of their kin, and the feasting on human prey slowed, then finally ceased.

Peace was returned to the mountains and the once feared sight of a gigantic half bear, half ape, faded into memory. The Blood Gurkhas ceased to be needed and similarly passed into legend, their fabled monastery lost in within the dusty pages of time but with a promise to return if needed.

With the intrusion of the British Indian Empire into the region, bringing with it war and death years before Braithwaite and Ferrier had even been born, the creatures had been disturbed and seemingly rediscovered their liking for human flesh, though they had never yet been caught.

Out in the vast emptiness of the upper peaks, or deep within the thick, snowy forests of the lower slopes, their numbers grew alongside their hunger.

Without the Blood Gurkhas to defend them, the people of Jumla were once again at their mercy.

1

The past few months had been another whirlwind for Pace and Sarah. They were still living in his floating habitat which was permanently tethered to the treetops above a small wooded area on one of McEntire’s country estates.

The business in Namibia and Antarctica had been resolved quietly, with all the gold now recovered from the sunken wreck of the
K-19
and safely stored away in the government’s coffers. As a war grave, albeit secret, the hull was sealed and the Namibian authorities had kindly designated the entire area as a danger to shipping, on the pretext of some unexploded military ordinance. It would serve to keep snoopers from ever disturbing the drowned submarine again.

Two key things had changed for Sarah. The first was that she had finally forgiven her father for putting James in such grave danger; mainly after James convinced her that he was happy to be part of the covert world in which the McEntire Corporation excelled. He had finally found a role for himself where he could be useful again, after wasting so many years since he’d been discharged from the RAF for displaying insubordination and maverick tendencies.

The second thing to change was her job. After stepping down as her father’s PA, after
Race Amazon
had exposed her to the true nature of the company’s business, she had been looking forward to keeping her distance. Strangely, her replacement had decided to quit the job after only a few months. Rachel Crown had requested to be moved to another assignment, leaving Doyle McEntire stuck for a replacement. Instinctively, Sarah had offered to step back into the job, until he could find someone else, and her father had gratefully accepted. It helped that James Pace was now fully immersed in the Corporation’s nefarious activities because she could stay in the loop, hoping to keep him out of danger as much as she could.

They had just spent their first Christmas together, tucked up in their cosy little airship; enjoying the entire holiday period undisturbed by the outside world. Living out of a refrigerator stocked with delicious food and drink and her father spending the break in his favourite villa in the Maldives, allegedly alone, the chaos of intrigue, subterfuge and international deception was soon replaced by music, games, old movies, deep conversations, lazy days and loving, early nights. It was exactly what they needed and their feelings for each other deepened.

Sadly, they could not hide away in the treetops forever. As New Year’s Day dawned bright and clear, with a heavy frost but not even a hint of snow in the pristine blue sky, Sarah planned one last day of relaxation and over-indulgence before they would both be needed back in the London office the following morning.

A joint of beef, garnished in rosemary and horseradish, was in the oven, slowly cooking and already filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma when Pace emerged from the shower, dressed comfortably in the expensive jogging suit she had bought him as one of his Christmas gifts. Black, with white piping on the sleeves and legs, he also wore the new trainers she’d given him.

‘You look ready for the next Olympics,’ she laughed. ‘Very sexy.’

‘You have great taste in Christmas presents, I’ll give you that,’ Pace conceded, walking over to her and planting a tender kiss lightly at the base of her neck. It was only mid-morning and she had not even had her shower yet. She still wore the crumpled, lilac cotton nightshirt that had so enraptured him the night before. Riding high up on her thighs, the simple garment bore no frills or patterns but flaunted her slim figure in a way that Pace found irresistible.

Feeling a shudder of delicious electricity shoot from her neck to her belly, she stepped away and shot him a warning smile. ‘Don’t get any ideas,’ she said. ‘The dinner is on but it’s not going to be ready for hours.’

‘I wasn’t going to ravish you,’ Pace lied, forcing himself to look away from her long, shapely legs and get back to his original plan. ‘I’m going to head down and have a run.’

‘Why shower before running?’ she wondered. ‘You’re going to get all sweaty and smelly again.’

‘I like to feel good when I exercise,’ he chuckled. ‘Anyway, you bought me three of these outfits so I can afford to change twice today. Will you be alright without me?’

‘Go,’ she replied. ‘While you still can.’

Pace gave her a quick hug, sneaking another kiss on her collar bone this time, before heading down to the open platform that was bolted to the very base of the disc-shaped habitat. Stretching away from the platform, several steel tether cables ran down to various treetops, where they attached to strong anchors. Although the airship was perfectly capable of moving under its own power, it spent its life secured to the trees.

As well as the cables, a strong rope bridge also descended, dropping down to a small metal platform on one of the thickest treetops. The first time he had ever made the journey, from an identical airship that just happened to be floating one hundred feet above the primeval jungle of the Amazon jungle, Pace had been dubious. Now it came as second nature as he rapidly reached the platform where he climbed onto the top rung of a metal ladder that was bolted to the tree trunk. It carried him all the way down to the ground, forty feet below. The enclosing circular steel cage, similar to those seen on high-rise cranes, ensured his safety.

Once he reached the ground, he found himself next to a small lay-by, set back from the dirt road that snaked from the large country house and moved all around the large estate before heading out through an impressive set of metal gates, housed snugly between two massive brick pillars.

Parked in the lay-by were two cars, which were in complete to contrast to one another. The first was Sarah’s latest acquisition; a brand new, metallic purple, Bentley Continental GT coupe; still shiny with the remnants of its showroom polish. She had only picked it up a few days earlier but already adored it. With two doors and a four-litre, V8 engine, it offered her an ideal balance between comfort and performance.

His car was not a Bentley, nor would he want it to be. Purchased to replace the one that had so rudely been blown to smithereens by an ARC car bomb a few months earlier, his vehicle of choice was a short-wheel base diesel Landrover Defender 2.2 XS, in white. This was also new, and carried the universal new car smell, enhanced with the aroma of leather from its high-end interior. A new, sleeker design was due out in the near future, with the trusty Defender being discontinued, so Pace was pleased to have been able to get hold of a new one that still delivered the classic, boxy styling and robustness.

It still felt strange to spend so much money on a car, in fact it was the first new car he had ever bought. Despite having enough money in his bank account to buy any car he wanted, within reason, Pace had little interest in them. He enjoyed 4x4 vehicles and planned to keep his new car for many years to come. In fact, when it came to motorised transport, his thoughts were far more directed at flying than driving. As he set off through the woods, sucking in a deep breath of chilly morning air, he wrestled with the idea of getting himself a second-hand helicopter; just to keep his hand in.

Running out of the small copse, he followed the road uphill, and around, for a few minutes before he reached the imposing mansion at the very highest point. Maintained by a small, live-in staff, McEntire rarely visited. Nobody was in sight as he ran past the front of the house and continued down the slope on the other side.

The road ambled all the way around in an unbroken fashion until, eventually, Pace found himself heading back into the trees. One full circuit equated to just over a mile so he did not stop when he reached the parked cars again, instead continuing into a second lap. With his breath coming easily and his heart beating steadily, he allowed his mind to wander aimlessly although his keen eyes always roamed from left to right, seeking any sign of danger. After all, hadn’t ARC sent an assassin into the woods to kill Sarah and Charlene? Despite an SAS sentinel still guarding the woods 24/7, Pace maintained a cautious alert.

After completing four laps, pouring with sweat but feeling energised, he finally eased to a halt by the cars and waited, stretching out and catching his breath for a moment.

The woods remained peaceful, exuding a sense of earthy dampness now that the early frost was beginning to melt. Somewhere amongst the trees, he knew, a guard was on watch. He always tried to spot them but had never managed it yet, which was why the elite regiment was so effective. There was only ever one man on duty, on rotation, of a three-man detachment. It was testament to the importance of the McEntire’ Corporation that active members of the regiment were deployed away from their squadrons to provide close protection to key McEntire operatives.

Heading back up the cold, wet ladder, Pace was soon back inside his kitchen and delighting in the intensifying aroma of the slow-cooking beef. Sarah was beavering around, chopping fresh vegetables and dropping them into a couple of saucepans of lightly salted water on the counter.

She smiled as he entered, genuinely pleased to see him again. That’s just crazy, she chided herself silently. He’s only been gone for half an hour. Forcing a soppy look from her lips, she nodded over in the direction of the main bathroom.

Not stopping, Pace breezed straight past her and spent the next hour luxuriating in a lengthy, hot shower before dressing in an identical jogging suit and re-joining her in the kitchen. This time, however, she wasn’t there. The vegetable saucepans were still on the side.

Pace was about to wander around their hi-tech home, looking for her, when she appeared through a door-less arch that led out into the polycarbonate observation ring encircling the entire circumference of the disc-shaped habitat that floated below a gigantic doughnut-shaped gas envelope.

Her face was clouded and he immediately knew something was wrong.

‘What’s happened? Are you okay, Sarah?’

Nodding slowly, she looked amazing in skinny blue Levis and one of his white shirts; sleeves rolled up and top three buttons undone to reveal the creamy smoothness of her cleavage, trimmed with the hint of an ivory bra. Casual and relaxed but truly breathtaking in Pace’s eyes.

‘I just got off the phone with dad. He sounds really stressed out, James. He rang to wish us a Happy New Year but I can tell when he’s worried.’

‘I thought he was sunning himself with a lady friend for a few more days yet. What could be troubling him?’

‘He’s back in London already,’ explained Sarah, walking over to stand by his side. Instinctively, he stretched out a hand and rested it reassuringly on her shoulder. ‘James, he’s at his desk when he shouldn't be. I know something’s wrong.’

Pace smiled. ‘So,' he guessed, 'you need to head over there and see that he’s okay?’ She flicked her eyes at him, as though unsure of how he would react, but she needn’t have worried. ‘Dinner can wait. Shall we take your car or mine?’

‘You don’t have to come,’ she blurted, relief flooding her as she flung her arms around him. ‘A couple of hours and I can be there, and back. I worked hard preparing that beef so you should stay here and finish making dinner. When I get back, we'll still have all afternoon to celebrate.’

Pace thought for a moment before relenting. ‘Okay,’ he agreed, ‘but only because whenever I go near your father he comes up with a job for me to do.’

‘Well, you are his chief video surveyor and newest trouble shooter,’ Sarah replied. ‘He’s coming to rely on your courage and tenacity.’

‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ said Pace, planting a firm kiss on her mouth. ‘Before temptation strikes, young lady, you’d better get going. I’ll have dinner ready when you get back. Just promise me that you’ll ring me if there are any serious problems. Or if something is wrong with Doyle,’ he added.

Pace was thinking that it might have something to do with her father’s heart problem. Diagnosed after the recent
Scorpion
affair had ended, McEntire had confided in Pace that he needed heart bypass surgery but had chosen not to tell his daughter until he was ready. He had still not set a date with his private surgeon despite being very aware that he was at risk of a stroke, or catastrophic heart attack. He had sworn Pace to secrecy but it was becoming harder with each passing day not to let Sarah in on the secret.

Slipping on a long, black leather coat, Sarah dashed down the stairs leading to the platform. Pace headed up to the control room; a large dome situated in the centre of the habitat roof and accessed via another polycarbonate tunnel that ran across the roof. To get into it, he had to climb up a short ladder, at a point half way around the observation ring.

The habitat was built as a secret scientific and surveillance vehicle, not as a home, although James now found it hard to imagine himself living anywhere else. Designed to be functional, at times, he simply wished for a few sets of stairs instead of ladders.

Up in the control room, Pace settled himself into a large armchair and flicked on a nearby monitor. Cameras were set up at strategic points throughout the estate and one always covered the lay-by. Sure enough, he soon watched Sarah clamber down the final few rungs of the ladder and head over to the Bentley. The images were colour and HD, after new cameras were installed the week before Christmas to replace the black and white set up that had hurriedly been installed when the habitat was originally moored above the trees.

He watched as she got in the car and drove off, kicking up dirt as her wheels spun eagerly for grip. He had no audio but imagined the squeal of rubber that went with the pictures.