Mission Survival 8 Read online

  But Ian was used to keeping secrets. He didn’t share. He didn’t even look round, just kept trudging. ‘We’ll get there quicker if you don’t stop to admire the view.’

  Beck sighed again. He had been brought up to appreciate the sheer awesomeness of the world around him. And who wouldn’t find the Himalayas amazing?

  Apparently, Ian Bostock and James Blake wouldn’t.

  He glanced up at their backs as they walked. Ian and James were not the company he would ever have expected to be keeping as he trekked across the Himalayas.

  The three of them looked like a normal group of European trekkers. If there was anything unusual about them, it was that they hadn’t hired guides and porters from the Sherpas – the people who lived in the eastern regions of Nepal’s mountains. But not all westerners did that. Apart from that, there was nothing about them to attract attention.

  They wore sturdy, ankle-supporting boots; lightweight but strong trousers; and, on top, thin layers of T-shirts, sweatshirts and cagoules – stuff you could easily take off or put on as required, letting the air circulate and carry sweat away. They had to dress for all temperatures. The days started at freezing point but warmed up by the afternoon. At the moment they all wore woollen hats to keep the heat in their bodies. Before long, they would be in T-shirts.

  However, looks were deceptive. There was nothing normal about them. Ian had been a trained killer. He had been the partner of Abby Blake, James’s psychotic mother, until finally his conscience had got the better of him. And James was . . .? Beck wondered how to describe James. An untrained killer? Or just a very messed-up young man? James’s career as an assassin had been short and very unsuccessful, in that he hadn’t assassinated anybody. It had turned out that he didn’t have the stomach for it. As Beck had been the one James was meant to be assassinating, he was quite grateful for this.

  Not that Beck’s own circumstances were straightforward.

  Beck was officially dead. It had been on all the news channels. He had become unusually famous – the boy who kept surviving – turning into a reluctant media personality, after years of keeping quiet and hidden. So when he apparently died, torn to pieces by wild dogs in the Kruger National Park, the media were all over it.

  After viewing all the evidence that he and Ian had carefully faked, the authorities in South Africa had declared him dead. Green Force had checked this evidence – and they had some very suspicious lawyers – and had been convinced. Which meant that even his own Uncle Al believed it was true, though it broke Beck’s heart to think how Al must have suffered.

  All for one reason: to bring down Lumos.

  Chapter 2

  To the rest of the world, Lumos was a multinational energy company. Maybe it had a dodgy environmental track record, but that was in faraway places that no one cared about – except organizations like Green Force. But to Beck, Lumos was the monster that had plagued his life and killed his parents. Green Force was in a constant state of undeclared war with Lumos, and Beck was at the front line. If Lumos found out that he was alive, he very soon wouldn’t be. They would certainly come after him. Edwin Blake, the head of Lumos and James’s grandfather, was not a man to let bygones be bygones.

  And so Beck had had to work hard to stay dead. Lumos’s agents were everywhere, and so was CCTV. Software could scan recordings and pick out known faces. It could analyse body shape and the way you walked. Beck had had to change.

  James had called him ‘Blondie’. Beck’s dark hair was dyed blond, and he had let it grow unusually long. Not long long, but certainly longer than he was used to. He had always kept it cut short, because with the life he led you wanted hair that could be washed quickly and easily in the nearest water source. Now, for the first time in his life, it had grown over his ears.

  These precautions scarcely seemed enough when you thought of what the three of them were up against. A man and two boys against one of the world’s largest, richest companies with its own private army of hired assassins . . . The odds against them seemed overwhelming.

  And yet, as he trudged along the stony ground and the world grew light around him, Beck felt almost peaceful. It was strange to think that, all too soon, he would either have won or he would be really, truly dead. It was all coming to a head. Beck could sense it. Yet he still felt a calm descend on him.

  Part of it was the coming day. The sky was turning into a blue dome above them from horizon to horizon. They were walking over a rocky plateau, so high that in some cases they were looking down on the smaller mountain tops.

  Part of it was a sense of freedom. There was no CCTV up here on the roof of the world. He could walk freely, and with a light heart.

  And part of it was just being positive. His parents, and Uncle Al, and everyone who ever taught him the survival skills that had kept Beck alive, had advised him to maintain a positive mental attitude. Most boys his age hadn’t experienced plane crashes, shipwrecks, erupting volcanoes . . . If any had seen a tiger or a poisonous snake, then it had been in a zoo, not at such close quarters that the slightest mistake could kill them. He had been threatened by drug lords, Arctic storms, illegal loggers, poachers, and he had survived all those threats by never giving up. It had made him who he was today – a survivor. So he wasn’t going to give in to negative thinking now, and he would enjoy the beauty of the Himalayas while he could.

  Ian held his hand up – the sign that they should stop. In front of him the ground vanished.

  Beck came forward and peered over the drop. Way, way below was a valley. The floor was carpeted with green fields. In winter it would be thick with snow, but now, in the summer, the snow was confined to the higher altitudes above them. It was a long way down.

  Even Beck, who didn’t usually suffer from vertigo, had to take a grip on himself and step carefully away from the edge.

  James had gone green. ‘You’re going to say we have to get down there, aren’t you?’ he said faintly.

  Ian grinned like a wolf. ‘Yup.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s exactly what I’m going to say.’

  Chapter 3

  ‘Whoa! I’m falling!’

  Beck flinched as loose pebbles and grit tumbled past his face.

  James slithered down the rock face towards him before he somehow got a grip and stopped. He peered down at Beck. ‘Sorry . . .’

  Beck rolled his eyes and smiled.

  The sheer slope had nothing to break your fall. So if one teenage boy didn’t hold on properly, he had enough weight and momentum to knock anyone else below him – say, another teenage boy and a grown man – off the rock and carry them with him. All the way down until the ground stopped them, ker-splat. ‘Sorry’ didn’t really cover it.

  But, hey, he told himself, he and Ian knew all this off by heart. They needed James to learn it fast. James was a quick learner; just not always quick enough. In order to learn the right way, all too often he had to try the wrong way once.

  ‘You’re moving too quickly,’ Beck said. ‘There’s no hurry. You’ve got two hands and two feet, so you’re attached to the rock in four places. Just move one at a time. Never move two at the same time. Slowly does it, step by step. Climb on down beside me. We’ll do it together.’

  ‘’Kay.’ James started moving again, slowly and more carefully. After another minute he was next to Beck, clinging to the face of a mountain. He flashed Beck a grateful smile.

  ‘Get a move on,’ came an irritable call from below. It kind of contradicted Beck’s assertion that there was no hurry. ‘Plenty of time to rest when you’re dead.’

  ‘Well, there’s a cheerful thought,’ James muttered.

  Beck glanced down. ‘We can do it. That ledge there, see? Move your left foot down to it . . . OK, stop. Now let go with your right hand, move it along to that bulge there . . .’

  It was like operating James by remote control, but they soon got the hang of it. Before long they were climbing down, side by side, slightly faster and a lot more safely than when James had been w
orking it out on his own.

  Even when he was babysitting James, Beck found climbing easy enough to devote other parts of his mind to other matters. Like keeping track of where they were going.

  Ian had refused to tell them the plan, saying they would know when they needed to know. He had worked for Lumos, and if you were going to survive in Lumos, then you had to learn to keep secrets. Beck recognized that.

  But it didn’t make it any easier.

  Back in South Africa, Ian had given Beck reason to trust him. He had saved his life and then put his neck on the line by helping fake his death, and then lying about it to Edwin Blake. He had got them this far without detection.

  The three of them had made their way north and east, up Africa and through Asia, country by country. They had stayed in safe houses known to Ian from his former life. A few days ago they had reached the Indian border in a hired truck and slipped over it into the most south-eastern corner of Nepal, with Beck and James hidden under the floor. They had bounced along uncomfortably for a couple of hours before reaching their destination: a cabin perched high on a precipice somewhere. James and Beck had been left alone for forty-eight hours, with enough food to keep them going and a TV with movies to watch, but no means of communication with the outside world or learning where they were. Ian had returned with trekking supplies, and the next morning they had set out, on foot. That was yesterday. They had walked all day and spent the night in a tent. And now they were still walking. All Beck knew was that they were heading into the heart of Nepal.

  But in spite of all this he still didn’t feel he could fully trust Ian. Beck went along with him because Ian seemed to have a plan. But Beck also realized that Ian might be so good at keeping secrets that he was even fooling himself. So Beck kept a track of their surroundings as they went. Just in case. He might need to make a getaway on his own at some point . . .

  Chapter 4

  After half an hour of descending they reached a ledge on the side of the mountain. It was half the size of a tennis court, big enough to walk about on. On the other side was a drop that was even more sheer than the one they had just climbed down.

  ‘And about time,’ Ian announced as their feet touched the rock. ‘Breakfast break. C’mon, chop chop. Beck, you’ve got the stove. James, you’ve got the food.’

  Ian had most of the climbing gear and the tent in his bergen. Beck had the rest of the gear and the cooking equipment. James had the food. The boys swung their bulky bergens down onto the ground. Beck pulled out a canister of water and a small metal kettle, and the stove. It was a contraption like a metal grasshopper. He set it on the ground and hunted in his bergen for matches. The gas hissed, then lit with a comforting whoomph. Before long the air above the small circle of blue flame was shimmering with heat. He filled the metal kettle and set it on top to boil.

  Meanwhile James was going through the food supplies – plastic packets with lettering in English and Nepalese. Beck made a mental note of how much food Ian had made them bring. It was another clue to how long they would be walking. Beck estimated that there was a couple of days’ supply.

  ‘Instant noodles and tahr,’ James said. ‘For a change.’

  Beck smiled. Their food was samey, but it was good. A tahr was a goat-like animal. Its dried meat was tangy, with lots of energy.

  James peered into a crumpled paper bag that Ian had bought at a Sherpa shack the day before. ‘And what’s this?’

  Beck grinned. ‘Himalayan candy!’

  ‘Now you’re talking!’ James’s face lit up as he plunged his hand into the bag. He plucked out something that looked very much like a yellow cube of solid wax. His face slowly fell. ‘Uh, Beck . . .’

  ‘It’s cheese,’ Beck told him.

  ‘Cheese.’

  ‘Hard dried yak cheese.’

  James said nothing.

  They had passed yaks along the way, being herded by their human masters. They were like cows but the size of carthorses. Thick pelts kept them warm even at the highest altitudes. Curved pointed horns as wide as Beck’s outstretched arms made them look very dangerous, but they were placid animals. They could pull carts and ploughs; they could be ridden; and they provided meat and milk.

  Beck took a piece for himself. ‘See, they take the milk and turn it into cheese, and then they let it harden. One lump can last all day.’

  James tapped his lump cautiously against a rock. It sounded just like two stones hitting each other. ‘I can see why.’

  ‘You don’t chew it ’cos you’d break a tooth. Just suck it. For hours.’

  They added boiling water to a saucepan of instant noodles and had a cup of tea to go with it. The food and drink left a comfortable warm glow inside them. It was like a boiler in Beck’s stomach, sending energy to the rest of his body.

  Ian kept himself to himself while Beck and James chatted about nothing much, which wasn’t unusual. But Beck noticed him turn away, pulling something like a phone out of his pocket. For a moment Beck thought Ian must be going to check his route plan or something – but no, he had insisted that all phones be switched off and left behind so there wasn’t the slightest chance of them being traced.

  Ian then held up a crumpled piece of paper next to the screen. His eyes darted from one to the other. Beck leaned over casually. Ian had written what looked like a set of coordinates, and now Beck could see that the gadget in his hand was actually a GPS device.

  Ian nodded to himself in satisfaction. He looked up to the horizon and absentmindedly made a chopping gesture with his hand. Beck’s heart pounded. Was that where they were heading? It had to be. He scanned the horizon quickly. All he could see was mountains, but hey, he had a direction. He did his best to fix some of them in his head as landmarks.

  He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a GPS of his own. It was a sturdy traveller’s model, sealed in a thick rubber case. He craned his neck again for another glimpse of the figures on Ian’s bit of paper so that he could enter them into his own device.

  Ian looked up and scowled. He stuffed the paper into his pocket and switched off the GPS with a jab. ‘I didn’t know you had one of those.’

  Beck shrugged. ‘You didn’t ask. I just want to know where we’re going . . .’

  ‘And I keep telling you, you kids don’t need to know! The less you know, the more you can’t tell anyone if we’re caught.’

  Beck felt his temper begin to flare. He didn’t like being dismissed as a kid. He had helped keep both James and Ian alive while an army of poachers hunted for them. He was owed a bit more than this. However, he managed to keep a firm lid on his anger. ‘We’re putting a lot of faith in you—’ he began.

  Ian shot to his feet. ‘Listen,’ he barked back. ‘You don’t need to know a thing, kid, not one thing.’ He jabbed a thumb at his powerful chest. ‘I’m the one putting everything on the line, got that? I had a career. I had a life. I’m sacrificing it all for two teenage boys.’ He looked at James, who blushed and looked away. ‘Correction: one teenage boy – and his friend. I promised Abby I’d keep James safe, and I keep my promises. James wants to get out of the family business? Fine, I’ll help him, and the only way to do that is to bring the business down. So I’m doing it. I could do it all on my own – I could have left you two behind in Johannesburg – except that then I wouldn’t be looking after James, would I? So James has to come with me, and that unfortunately means you have to come with me, and so I get to babysit the pair of you. That’s the only reason you’re here, kid. Meanwhile the plan, the way we’re going to bring down Lumos – that is my responsibility alone. Got it? Mine.’ His voice dropped to a mumble. ‘Jeez, ten years in the Paras and I end up a nursemaid . . .’

  And he turned and stormed off to the other end of the ledge.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Don’t be angry with him.’

  James said it softly, and Beck looked up in surprise. James usually went out of his way not to take sides. When he was little, it had always been assumed that he would
one day take over Lumos. What that meant now was that James did his best not to be in charge of anything. He was happy to take orders from Beck or Ian. If Beck and Ian disagreed, he generally just melted into the background until the argument was over.

  Beck glanced over to where Ian was pacing about, as far away from them as it was possible to get without flying. ‘I’m not angry. I just don’t understand him.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve known him longer than you.’ James shifted into a more comfortable position. They were sitting cross-legged on cold, hard rock. ‘He’s like this ’cos he’s scared.’

  ‘Scared?’ Beck looked at Ian again.

  Ian was the man who had tracked him across the African veld, relentlessly and successfully. He had engaged in a gunfight with poachers who would have killed him without a thought. He had faced down a pack of African wild dogs. For goodness’ sake, he had been Abby Blake’s partner! If that wasn’t terrifying, then what was?

  ‘Of what Lumos might do to him?’ he said.

  ‘Nah, not that. He’s not fussed about little things like dying. What really scares him is failure. He’s never been good at that. No one at Lumos is. And’ – James leaned closer and lowered his voice – ‘I think he may be a little lost.’

  Beck groaned. ‘Oh, great!’

  ‘But he’ll figure it out,’ James added hastily. ‘Eventually. And look, everything he was saying about only bringing you along because he had to bring me . . . that’s rubbish. Face it. If he hadn’t really wanted to bring us, he’d have found a safe place to leave us. We just have to trust that he’ll explain himself in time.’

  Ian came striding back along the ledge. ‘Drink up and pack up. We move on in five minutes.’

  He rummaged inside his own bag, then pulled out a coil of orange climbing rope, as thick as a finger. Beck guessed it was a fifty-metre length. He also pulled out a smaller bag that clinked metallically when he set it down on the rock. By the time Beck had folded up the stove and stashed it in his bergen, Ian had produced a second fifty-metre coil and shaken their harnesses out. The harnesses were like pairs of shorts after a severe moth attack had eaten away all the fabric. There was a strong band that went around the waist, with dangling loops that the legs went through.