DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

Jason Walker

Amazon Kindle Edition

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

All rights reserved. Copyright © 2018 by Mr F. McLeod (SNV76627792). No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. For more information visit Jason’s website at: https://repulsintechnology.com

Don’t miss the next story in the Down the Rabbit Hole series:

SOUTH AMERICA

Two Germans are causing havoc, destruction and death in the Paraguayan jungle.

British Intelligence is infested with traitors. The head of the operation, Greer, has his own way of taking care of this problem. A brilliant plan is devised where all radio communications will be made in Maori, baffling the Germans who are listening in. A beautiful Maori Woman is sent to teach the language to one of the agents, but is that all she will do?

Find out what happens in our next book entitled:
South America.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

A Note from the Author

Nazis in Tibet

Part SEVENTEEN

This installment of Down the Rabbit Hole takes us to Tibet, where, two German adventurers meet their deaths under mysterious circumstances while exploring a sinkhole cavern. The Nazis have so far failed to find what they are looking for in the network of tunnels, and a high ranking colonel approaches an elderly and senior Tibetan Monk for help, and, under the threat of execution, he, and everyone at his monastery take the only sensible course of action.

It seems that the mountains of France are not the only ones hiding something which the Nazis have an interest in finding!

Based on true events.

Chapter One

A Sinkhole Cavern, Tibet.

The legend of the sinkhole cavern hidden in the mountainous terrain of Tibet was known to few and could therefore hardly be described as a tourist destination. Fritz and Colin Winkler, two German brothers, along with their friend, Heinrich Meier, were the first to visit this place for a very long time. They both stood at the mouth of the cavern, their bodies plucking every atom of adrenalin available for the descent into the unknown.

Below the surface, it was absolutely pitch black. Not even the Sun’s bright rays were going down there.

“Come on, let’s do it, we’ve been waiting a long time for this,” said Fritz.

They had agreed that the elder brother, Fritz, along with Heinrich would go down while the younger brother, Colin, would stay at the top feeding them both the rope they would need.

Last minute checks were made. The rope was secure around a large boulder, and both stood over the edge balancing on their heels, the rope now being the only thing stopping them from a long free fall. It was time. Over they went and started their long journey downwards with Colin guiding the rope and peering downwards hoping to see something, which he did not.

“Fritz, do you see anything?” asked Heinrich. “Nothing. Keep going.”

The further down they travelled, the longer the rope holding them became meaning they were swinging, as were the two dim paraffin lamps which they were carrying which caused the shadows to dance around in a wild and unpredictable way.

Their rope was almost exhausted and they called up to Colin to throw two more lengths down. They both fumbled around in the darkness and managed to attach their new supply to the old. Suddenly and without warning, Fritz dropped several feet but managed to stop himself.

“How much further down does this thing go?” asked Heinrich.

Without answering, Fritz found a small stone which was loose in the wall, and dropped it.

Five seconds later they heard the faint crack of it falling onto the floor at the bottom. “That’s how deep it is,” said Fritz, his face trying to smile but betrayed by fear.

They continued their descent, and Fritz was the first one to finally put his boots onto the floor. He looked up and the top of the sinkhole - and Colin - were no bigger than a pinprick. He placed his lantern on the ground and started to look around.

“What do you see,” asked Heinrich excitedly. Fritz didn’t respond.

Something had caught his eye. He walked over to it and knelt down. His eyes opened wide with amazement.

“Someone has been down here before us. I am holding something which was laying on the floor. It looks like an ancient candleholder.”

Colin, feeling the slackness in Fritz’s rope correctly assumed that his brother had finally reached the bottom and yelled down asking if there was anything of interest. His voice was barely discernable due to the heavy echoing.

“I found this, someone has been here before us,” replied the elder brother, holding up the candleholder. It was, however, too small for Colin to see.

Fritz picked up his lantern again, and walked around the floor. He discovered several tunnels leading off in various directions, and on the floor of each one were scattered many artifacts most of which seemed to be made of gold and silver.

He then found a crate. And another. The place was stacked high with crates and boxes, all locked. Heinrich was still dangling on his rope above the floor unable to see much of what Fritz was doing or seeing himself.

Fritz’s curiosity got the better of him. He chose a crate at random and decided to open it. He just had to see what was inside. He approached the chosen one, bent down and heaved on the corner of the lid. Nothing. Again, he pulled using every ounce of strength in his body. He lost his grip and started to fall backwards.

As he fell to the ground, he spotted something in the shadows beyond the crates. His eyes opened wide with wonder. It would be the last thing that Fritz Winkler ever saw.

The deep sinkhole was now shrouded in silence. Both Heinrich and Colin were calling out to Fritz, but their cries were met only by deathly silence. Heinrich started to lower himself, and Colin decided to leave the relative safety of the ground above and entered the deep dark hole himself to see what the hell was going on. It wasn’t long before both of them met the same fate as Fritz, and the bodies of all three men were now the eternal property of the cavern, deep below the ground of the Tibetan Mountain.

Chapter Two

A Monastery on a Tibetan Plateau.

The sky was perfectly blue, not a wisp of a cloud in sight. The Sun, reflecting off the snow covered mountains was blinding.

An SS officer, Colonel Wolfram Von Sievers was approaching the monastery at a pace with which his interpreter was struggling to keep up with. Col. Sievers was also accompanied by another man, Alfred Feder, who was dressed in formal business attire. Fedder was a senior member of the secretive Thule Society which was known to have undertaken several expeditions in Tibet, and allegedly counted Himmler and Adolf Hitler among its members. The Tibetan Buddhist Monks who they passed took little notice, even though the three of them could not have looked more out of place.

After having climbed some stone steps leading to the landing at the top of the building, they entered a room where a senior Monk sat. His face was weathered and wise, and he motioned for his new guests to sit in front of him as if he’d been anticipating their arrival.

A high-ranking elder entered the large room from a door at the far end and joined the group. The Colonel opened the conversation, addressing the senior man directly.

“You are a liar,” he said in a tone which was only just on the good side of yelling.

His accusatory opening statement was met with nothing more than a stare from the elder, his face betraying any emotions.

“I know the tunnels exist. You, together with your brainless, unwashed vermin have lied to us.” He paused to give the interpreter a chance to relay his message.

The slight man spluttered before translating the message. He could not call a senior elder of a monastery a liar, even if the words did not come from his own lips.

“Bhante, the colonel has said that he knows the tunnels exist, and he feel that you and your…friends are possibly concealing the truth.”

The elder smiled ever so slightly, sensing that the interpreter had been more than diplomatic with his choice of words.

The colonel continued: “We found an entire system etched into these mountains last year. Perhaps you’re disobeying me because you think your damnable Gods will sheath you from the fires of hell, but be rest assured, they won’t. Not even they can protect you from me and the recourses I have.”

The elder continued smiling and saying nothing, infuriating Von Sievers further, if that was at all possible.

“I demand to know where the tunnels are, and I demand that you provide me with a guide to take me there.”

Still no reaction.

“Your silence will be deafened by the screaming of your monkey friends as we torture them. I, personally will scorch every last one of their eyes until all of you are blind.”

“He’s very upset, and would appreciate it if you would be kind enough to provide him with a guide to take him to the tunnels, Bhante,” said the interpreter, now visibly shaking.

The SS officer snapped his head around and looked the interpreter directly in the eyes. “You’d better be telling him every word.”

“Yes, yes, Colonel, I am. Some of your colloquialisms don’t translate perfectly, but please be assured, you point is being put across,” replied the man, now regretting his choice of profession.

“Very well. Now, tell him again, I want a guide, and I want one within 24 hours. Explain to him in no uncertain terms what will be coming to him and everyone else here if he does not comply,” said Von Sievers.

The interpreter cleared his throat. “Bhante, he is threatening to torture and murder you all mercilessly if you do not provide a guide to the tunnels. He is quite serious.”

The elder pursed his lips, the first time he’d shown any signs of actually being physically alive since the start of the, until now, one-way conversation. Finally, he spoke, using calm and measured tones.

“Please ask our guest to be informed that I know nothing of these tunnels. We no longer believe in his cause. He, and all those who wear his uniform are blind to the truth.”

Until now, the interpreter’s diplomacy had been due to respect. Now, it was because of fear.

“He says he knows nothing of the tunnels of which you speak, Colonel.”

Von Sievers was now spitting blood. He was used to getting his own way. He leant in closer to the elder and now spoke in a menacingly quiet voice.

“I know you have cannibal monks in the Himalayas. I am aware of your hidden underground cities. Your continued denial will result in nothing less than us feeding the cannibals with your flesh, and we will keep you alive so that you can watch it happening.”

“He said he knows about your cannibals and…” the interpreter was cut off by the elder, who simply raised his hand. He understood what had just been said.

The Colonel concluded the conversation by informing the monk that he had 24 hours to change his mind. He snapped his heel, executed a perfect 180 degree turn on one heel and left. Freder quickly followed, the interpreter decided to stay where he was.

Chapter Three

An SS Camp on a Tibetan Plateau.

The Monastery could be seen high up on the mountain from the SS camp which had been set up in a hurry very recently. It was early morning, and Corporal Fuchs, standing outside the officer’s tent looked at his pocket watch. He looked worried.

Fuchs entered the tent. It was still dark, and in the corner, lay Colonel Von Sievers, still very much asleep.

As soldiers are trained to do, he woke up immediately upon sensing another person in the near vicinity. He sat up bolt upright, and snapped at the young corporal.

“What is it, have those monks arrived yet or not?”

“No sir,” replied Fuchs, meekly.

The colonel checked his own timepiece.

“Scheisse.”

He instructed the corporal to wait outside, and just a few moments later, he emerged wearing his full uniform, looking immaculate. Also waiting was Alfred Fedder, still wearing exactly the same clothes as he had been wearing the day before, and probably, several days before that.

The colonel nodded to him, and without a word, Fedder fell in step behind the officer.

Several junior ranking soldiers were gathered, and once again, Von Sievers and his men started the long walk up to the monastery. Upon arriving, everything was eerily quiet, and there were no monks to be seen anywhere. They headed to the room where the meeting of the previous day had taken place. There, they found the monks. All of them.

They were all scattered on the floor, dead. Very dead indeed. They had chosen to commit suicide en masse, rather than endure the torture that Von Sievers had promised them. They had chosen to go on their own terms, not on his.

The colonel was looking around the room, his eyes wild with fury. Fedder was looking around also. They both noticed something wrong. There was one man missing, the elder. They checked his throne, and they took a close look at every body on the floor. He was not there. He had escaped.

Von Sievers approached one of his men at ramdom.

“Get back to the camp right now and round up twenty men. You, and they, are to trace every passage which we already know about for the next forty-eight hours. Come and find me immediately upon your return and give me a report as to your findings.”

The soldier saluted and left.

“One of us must stay here. I must report all that has happened to Herr Himmler, so please stay behind,” Von Sievers said to Fedder.

“Of course, Colonel. Good luck with that, he is not going to be pleased. I’m glad not to be in your shoes,” replied Fedder, grimly.

Chapter Four

Herr Himmler’s Castle.

The large circular room had a fire pit in the middle which was blazing, throwing out much needed heat into the room. Standing around the fire in a semi-circle was a group of women dressed in long robes, their faces hidden by hoods. Suddenly, and with no sign of any cue, the robes dropped leaving everyone standing naked. Their hoods remained. On the other side of the fire sat Heinrich Himmler dressed in his black SS uniform, complete with a Nazi Swastika on his arm.

A priest then entered the room, leading a young girl who looked terrified. They approached what appeared to be some kind of alter, and the other women joined them. The young girl, without command, laid down. The women, their eyes vacant looked down at the girl and closed in, forming a full circle, and held hands.

The priest reached into his gown and pulled out a goat horn. He raised his arm and with one swift movement, plunged the horn downwards driving it straight into the girl’s heart. Her eyes were wide open, but there was no scream. Death was instantaneous.

The following morning, a black car flying a small Nazi flag at the front pulled up at the castle, and Colonel Von Sievers alighted. He was shown to the ceremony room, now completely cleaned from the previous night’s activities, and asked to wait outside. Himmler was sitting, as if he hadn’t moved a muscle for a full twenty-four hours, waiting for him.

Captain Braun, Himmler’s private secretary approached his boss.

“Herr Himmler. The officer from the Tibetan plateau is here to speak with you.”

“He’s here now?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Himmler stood and straightened his tie. “Prepare the walk.”

“At once, Sir.”

Himmler exited the room into the corridor, and saw Von Sievers, who gave what was possibly the most formal salute of his life. Himmler, returning the gesture in a slightly less enthusiastic manner beckoned for the colonel to follow him.

“Colonel. How deep do the tunnels run? I want them flushed out. There is ancient technology down there which is invaluable to us, and I want it found and recovered.”

“Commander. I am sorry to inform you that our intended cooperation with the monks has been slightly less than fruitful.”

“Have you managed to find anything?”

“I’m afraid not, Sir,” said Von Sievers, his voice shaking slightly. “Have you made an example of them?”

This was the question the colonel had been dreading.

“Sir. I am sorry to inform you that in response to our threats of action should they not cooperate with us, the monks have all committed suicide. They are all dead, Sir.”

“This changes nothing, Colonel. A setback yes, a failure, no. I want you to return there immediately and take three times the men that you currently have at your disposal. With this in mind, hopefully when you return to report to me again, you will have slightly better news.”

“Sir, I do not think…”

“Colonel. Surely you do not underestimate the value and importance of what is in those tunnels? You do realise that what is down there will help us to secure the origins or the Aryan race, do you not? Take more men. Take ten times more men if you must, just get this mission completed and make it a success,” said Himmler, making himself very clear.

“I understand,” replied Von Sievers.

“Do you? Are you quite sure about that? Do you also understand the urgency, Colonel? Whenever the last time you slept was will also be the last sleep you have until you have some better news for me. You will return, you will return now, and you will send your men down into the tunnels until every last square foot of them are engrained into their eyes. Do you understand now, Colonel?”

“I shall return at once, Commander.” Von Sievers once again saluted. “Heil Hitler.”

Himmler returned the salute and uttered six words which would close this conversation. “Do not disappoint me again, Colonel.”

A few moments later he was back in the car and on his way back to the Tibetan plateau, knowing that any more mistakes would be the last ones he would ever have the chance to make.

The Colonel stood at the front of several rows of soldiers at the airfield as the cargo plane taxied towards them.

Chapter Five

A Small Village in Tibet.

Adnan, a small boy of fourteen years of age and wearing nothing more than rags was running down a narrow dirt road. He turned off on to a track and disappeared between two old houses. He approached the back door of one of them, his heart pounding and breathing heavily, and knocked. It wasn’t an ordinary knock, rather one with a specific rhythm. While he was waiting, he looked around to make sure he was not being watched. Everything seemed to be clear.

Finally, the old wooden door creaked open and inside, James McKinley, a young man in his early 20s stood looking down at Adnan.

“How the hell do you know…?”

Adnan cut him off. “You must let me in.”

“How did you know the knock?” demanded James.

“Let me in, I have something to tell you. You must leave the country immediately,” stuttered Adnan.

James grabbed the young boy by the arm and hauled him inside the house. With his back to Adnan, he started to pour himself a generous glass of bourbon. Adnan started garbling again.

“The monastery. It’s been breached. Everyone is dead. The Monks all committed suicide.

They refused to help the Nazis in whatever it is they’re looking for and rather than be tortured and punished, they all killed themselves. You have to leave the country now, Sir. Every foreigner is being arrested on sight by the SS and questioned.

James turned around and faced the boy.

“You seem tense. You need a drink,” he said, holding out his glass to Adnan.

The youngster lifted the glass to his lips, and, never having tasted alcohol before, took a big swig as if it was water. A split second later, he had bourbon running down his front, his nose, everywhere in fact but his throat. If he hadn’t been coughing so violently, he would have asked the older man how the hell people can enjoy the stuff.

“You’ll learn to appreciate it one day, Son,” said James, knowingly. “Now, start again, from the beginning, and for God’s sake, calm down.”

“The Nazis, they’re starting an expedition and will search for and round up all mountaineers. They know where you are, they know where you all are.”

James looked thoughtful.

“How fast are they moving along with these plans?”

“They’ll be here within one week, possibly sooner. You and your friends, you will all be captured if they find you.”

Adnan finally managed to start getting his breath back and had calmed down, slightly. “How is Hughes, is he still sick?”

James nodded.

“Yes, he is. It’s going to take him a good week to get over the altitude sickness. He cannot trek in his condition, he will have to be carried.”

“My Uncle will take you down to Nepal, but you will need to get supplies,” Adnan offered.

“How much?” asked James, knowing that nothing came for free in this life, and especially in this life in Tibet.

“You should trade something. Don’t let the Nazis see you with currency, they will ask questions.”

“Can you get the supplies we will be needing?” asked James. Adnan nodded.

James walked over to the other side of the room and retrieved a bag of coins which he threw over to Adnan, and instructed him to go down to the village and trade the coins in exchange for everything they would need for the trip ahead. He also told him to have everything back at the house within twenty-four hours.

Adnan headed over to the door and opened it. As he was leaving, James had a final question.

“Why are you doing this? Our peoples are not exactly what one would call allies.”

“Maybe not, but whatever needs to be done to stop those Nazi pigs must be done,” replied Adnan.

Chapter Six

A Hotel in Nepal.

A local Nepali man in his 40s sat in the lobby of the hotel, holding his newspaper and doing a good job of giving the impression that he was actually reading it. Peering over the top edge, he could see two Caucasian men. They were James McKinley and Grant Hughes. James was obviously supporting Grant, who looked like he was at death’s door. They both headed over to the public restroom, where several moments later a doctor knocked on the door.

James opened it, and almost dragged the man in. The doctor stopped in his tracks. Grant was on the floor, coughing violently and sitting in his own vomit.

“It’s altitude sickness, can you help him?” asked James.

The doctor ordered him to sit his friend up against the wall, and to hold him in that position. He took out his stethoscope from his medical bag and listened to Grant’s heartbeat and laboured breathing.

“His heartbeat is regular and steady. His breathing is terrible. He needs urgent medical care and medication.”

“We need to get out of the country, and we don’t have time for that. Whatever you can do for him needs to be done right here, right now, Doctor,” explained James.

“The only thing I have here which may help is this,” said the doctor. “He needs to take this dose now, and another in three days when I can return here.”

The doctor asked James about their immediate plans.

James, thinking fast, replied: “We’re taking an excursion. Tourists. They’re very demanding. I’ve sure you know…”

The doctor butted in, knowing that what he was hearing was far from the truth.

“Yes, sure. Look, do yourself a favour and stay here for at least a day while this dose hopefully does its business. Let him get plenty of rest, and maybe, just maybe, he will be strong enough to make the trip to wherever it is you are going.”

James decided now was the time to level with him.

“Doctor. I need to ask for your help. Can you get us more of this medicine? He needs it, and we need to get moving without delay if we are to avoid capture.

The doctor did a double take, blinking several times. “Are you with the Nazis?”

“God no, we’re trying to escape from the damned Nazis!” said James, rather indignantly. “Do you have money?” asked the doctor.

“Yes. Here.”

James handed over a bundle of Nepalese Rupees.

“Ok, my friend, I will do what I can. Stay here as long as you can, and I will try to get back with the best medicine I can find for your friend without delay. If you need me in the meantime, the concierge knows where to find me.”

They both shook hands before the doctor left.

He exited the hotel’s main door and walked down a dimly lit street, deep in thought.

After several minutes he approached an office building and walked through the door. He proceeded up a couple of flights of stairs, unlocked a door and walked into his office. He placed his head in his hands and let out a deep sigh. The doctor was a troubled man.

After several minutes of thought, he picked up the phone and made a call.

“Hello. I am calling to report the whereabouts of two mountaineers fleeing the Nazis. Yes, I’ll hold.”

Back in the hotel, James and Grant had managed to get a room and struggle upstairs. James had placed Grant on the bed to rest when there was a knock at the door to see the man who had been observing them in the lobby earlier on.

“Hello. My name is Batsa Archaya.”

“Is there something wrong?” asked James.

“No, I would however like to speak with you with a matter of some urgency.”

“We’re speaking now,” said James, unwilling to invite the stranger into the room. “You are here to scale the mountains, yes?” enquired the Tibetan.

“Yes. Probably not Everest, but something as equally challenging.”

“The British are conducting an expedition, and we are a bit short on numbers. Our mutual friend, Dr Ardarsh, has informed me that you may be interested in joining us, and helping us to find the Germans. We would be most grateful, and more than willing to help your friend get back to good health in return,” said Batsa.

Batsa pulled out from his pocket a British military ID card, and as James inspected it, quickly scanned the room, noticing Grant on the bed in a deep sleep.

“Your friend is resting. Come, join me in the restaurant for a drink and a talk,” said Batsa.

They left the room and walked along the corridor, eventually finding themselves entering the hotel’s restaurant and bar. Batsa led James outside onto the balcony where they ordered their drinks. The waiter set them down on the table, and, as he went back inside, he closed the double doors and locked them. Batsa smiled.

“Don’t worry, that’s just for privacy.”

James wasn’t quite ready to let down his guard as of yet, and shifted nervously in his chair.

“Mr Mckinley. As we have already established, I am with British intelligence. We could use someone with your skills quite urgently, and as I have stated - and promised - the gratitude of my superiors will be generous as far as taking care of your friend is concerned. Now. You are supposedly here to climb, but, you stick out like a sore thumb.”

James raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know if he should be offended at that last statement or not. Batsa continued.

“You are Australian, Mr McKinley, and that is why you are here. We require you… we are asking you to accompany a group of sherpas to an area close to the Tibetan plateau. You will be rewarded with your friend’s good health in return.”

“Is that a threat?” asked James.

“Mr McKinley. Whilst I have people at my disposal who could make anything happen to you, or your friend upon my instruction, I am not, at present, in any position to make threats.”

The two men eyeballed each other with James still feeling somewhat suspicious. Finally, he conceded that his friend, Grant, was in dire need of medical help if he was to survive.

“Tell me exactly what it is you require of me and my services,” he asked, deciding now was the time to cut to the chase. “What is it that you are looking for in those mountains?”

“A very good question, Mr McKinley, but a question which leads in the wrong direction. We are not looking for anything. It’s the Nazis who are looking for something, and we would like to know what it is that they find so captivating.”

James lifted his eyes towards the sky, the penny had dropped.

“Mr McKinley, on top of your friend’s good health, you will be paid generous amount of money, very generous. On top of that, you will be provided with a large and competent team and all the resources you will need for your trip. You will also be protected by a rather large organisation, better known as the British government. I strongly urge you to consider taking the opportunity carefully. Not many men of your age get opportunities such as this.”

“Exactly how much are we talking about?” asked James, now genuinely interested. “Mr McKinley, believe me when I say, it is a generous amount which is dependent on your success. I will also tell you now, that we are aware that you did not leave your military service on the best of terms. Should you help us out now, that record will be expunged, and you can then be in a position where you will be able to tell everyone and anyone that you left with a honourable discharge,” replied Batsa.

Batsa removed a manila envelope from his briefcase and handed it over to James.

“In there, you will find details of several climbers. They’ve all been vetted by us already. Choose your team tonight, and I will come by in the morning to discuss things in more detail,” said Batsa.

Concluding that sentence he clicked his fingers and from nowhere appeared a waiter who handed him the bill for their drinks. Batsa doubled the amount on the bill, meaning one waiter walked away from their table a very happy young man.

James returned to his room and went through the profiles of his prospective climbing partners while telling Grant of the offer, even though he probably couldn’t hear much due to being in a very deep sleep.

He sorted the papers into two piles, stood up and packed a bag.

Now, it was time to rest, and it didn’t take long before he too fell into a restful slumber. It would not, however last long. He was awoken by knocking on the room door. James looked at his watch. It was 03:57.

Who the…, he asked himself rhetorically.

Upon opening the door, he saw Batsa standing there, who, dispensing with the pleasantries, asked if James had managed to assemble a team.

“Yes, I have,” he replied, walking back into the room to retrieve the envelope which he handed to Batsa. James was then handed another envelope.

“Read this,” instructed Batsa. “What is it?”

“Read it,” at which point Batsa turned and walked away from the door. This meeting was obviously over.

James opened the new envelope and his eyes opened wide.

Are you bloody serious?

Chapter Seven

The Mountains of Tibet.

James was walking through the early morning fog wearing many layers ready for the long trek ahead. As he came to a clearing, he met with two Sherpas. They were both men in their 40s and not particularly large, but, as James knew, they would be as strong as oxen, and their help would be vital for his success in the mission at hand. They introduced themselves as Pasang and Babu Chiri.

James, in his usual upbeat manner, asked if they were there to meet him, and if they were all ready to go for the trek ahead. His conversational questioning was met with silence. Another try.

“Am I the first here?”

Still without a single word, the two Nepalese men turned and started to walk off. “Hey, where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?” yelled James, now somewhat confused.

He followed, and after just a few moments, from nowhere appeared a group of people consisting of ten Gurhkas, two Nepalese climbers, three more Sherpas, and surprisingly, a woman, and a strikingly one at that. Her long silky hair was blowing in the mountain wind, and, she had absolutely perfect skin. Ignoring the fifteen other men, and not entirely following his brain, James headed straight over to initiate a conversation. The woman introduced herself as being one Agent Mere Dargaville.

James, in a rather pathetic attempt - especially for an Australian - made an attempt to break the ice.

“Urm, Hello. Are you taking us to the full group?” he spluttered.

Agent Dargaville rolled her eyes until her pupils were almost invisible.

“Oh God, he’s worse than they said he was,” she said to her friends. “This is the group, we are the group, and, yes, I’m a woman so please get used to it,” she retorted in a tone as cold as the ice on which they were all standing.

James had a look on his face which seemed like he’d just cracked a top-secret code. “Wait, are you Maori?”

“Yes, I am, and you’re Australian!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Brisbane,” said James, still trying to be cheerful, even after having been brought down a peg or two.

Agent Dargaville held out her hand. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. Agent Mere Dargaville, British special operations executive. These are my guys, Gervesh and Tau.”

The other two men eyed James up and down briefly, and nodded stiffly.

“Follow me, and you’ll be fine,” continued Agent Dargaville. “You’ll be following my lead a lot, so that’s another thing you need to get used to.”

“Erm, I am a veteran climber in case you are not aware?” said James, sensing that his skills were being discounted before they’d even begun.

The Agent and her two men looked at each other and chuckled.

“Yes, I’m sure you are, James. I have been working with British intelligence and on their behalf, I have been advising the Bhutan King on a matter of foreign affairs. My specialty is in signals and communications. May I ask what you specialty is?” asked Dargaville condescendingly with one eyebrow raised and a one-sided smile.

“Archaeology, anthropology, and zoology,” replied James. More chuckling.

“Well, thank God we have someone here who is an expert on zoology, that’s a real lifesaver,” she replied.

The two men turned their backs to Agent Dargaville and James and walked over to a pile of backpacks. They each picked one up. With her eyes, the woman suggested James do the same. “Where is my team? I was given a bunch of profiles from which to choose my own team, and not one of them are here. What’s the bloody point in asking me to choose my own team and then ignoring my requests completely?” asked James, now getting annoyed.

“I was the only one available to take this trek with you. If you want to go up into those mountains and get out alive again, you need the right people; people who know what they’re doing, and these people that I’ve brought along fit perfectly into our requirement. They know every square inch of these mountains, and I have every confidence in them. We will be experiencing severe cold, rain, snow, ice, possible avalanches, as well as a very real threat of being hunted down by the Germans. Would you like experts, or people with whom you can have a nice chat?” asked the agent.

Once again, she looked James up and down, with a rather less than impressed expression on her face.

“Is that what you’re intending to wear?” she asked.

“What did you think I’d be wearing, shorts and a bloody vest?” he replied, determined to demonstrate that the agent was not the only one capable of sarcasm.

She looked around at her two men, and instructed them to make sure James was dressed properly before they left, otherwise he would freeze to death.

James had a nagging question which he needed to ask.

“The bloke I met in the hotel said this journey would be a safe one, and you’re telling me that we may be ambushed by the Krauts?” Who’s right, you or him?”

“It’s not just about that. We have possible broken bones to think of. Altitude sickness as your friend will be aware, so I am told. Dehydration and frostbite are other considerations we have to take into account. There are several places I have to check out along our route, and, yes, there is the possibility that we may be ambushed by the Germans.

That lying little shit, James muttered to himself.

The rivalry between James McKinley and Agent Mere Dargaville was obvious as would always be the case whenever there were a Maori and Australian anywhere within earshot with each other, and Dargaville knew this.

“Look. Here’s a fact. You and me, along with those guys there, are going on this trek together. If we are to have a good chance of coming out of this alive and in good health, we need to work together. You need to forget that I’m Maori, and I will try to forget that you are not,” she said, with the sentence dripping in more sarcasm.

Gervesh walked towards James. He pulled a pistol from his hip holster and held it by his side. James’ cocky Australian personality suddenly disappeared and he looked nervous, very nervous. Gervesh held up the pistol to James for him to take, and, with the exception of the earlier chuckles, he spoke for the first time.

“For extreme circumstances.”

“You’re a real conversationalist, aren’t you,” said James.

His quip was met with a blank stare showing little, if no emotion.

James stood there holding the gun, not quite sure what to do with it. With a frightfully fast and smooth move, Agent Dargaville swiped it from his hand, spun it in her hand with expertise, and handed it back.

“Get your new clothes on, James, we’re leaving soon,” she said with a wink and a smile. “Yeah, right.”

No danger involved my arse.

Over the course of that day, the group made their way over the mountains with one of the Sherpas leading. With every thousand feet in increased altitude, the temperature was dropping by an average of 3 degrees centigrade, and everyone in the team was now starting to feel the bite of the cold. As she had stated would happen, James was trekking directly behind Agent Dargaville.

“So, can you talk about any of this, or is it all top-secret among you spooks?” he asked. “All in good time, Mr McKinley, all in good time,” she replied without looking back. “Oh, come on, give a guy a break, I’m going to find out sooner or later,” he protested.

One of the Sherpas towards the front yelled for everyone to stop, and a split second later a huge boulder came tumbling down the mountain right in front of the group.

“Let’s keep conversation to a minimum, shall we? Don’t underestimate the vibrations from our voices in these environments, they could easily set off an avalanche,” said the agent.

The group continued - now in silence - all quite shocked at the danger they had just witnessed. They were far more alert now, as if they hadn’t already been so. A yell came from upfront. It was the voice of Babu Chiri. A crevice had opened up, and he had fallen through it. He’d managed to hold on to the edge and was dangling by just one hand, holding on to his icepick. Agent Dargaville lunged forward and dived down onto her front, distributing her weight over as much area as she could, and grabbed the man’s wrists. James jumped down behind her, and wrapped his arms around the back of her knees to anchor her into position.

“Hold on, do not let go. Pasang, get some rope,” she barked.

Pasang did as instructed. He tied a loop at one end and tossed it over the edge. “Put your foot in the loop.”

After waggling his leg around wildly for a few seconds, Babu Chiri finally found the loop in the rope and managed to thread his foot into it. The rest of the group grabbed the rope at various points and heaved until he was safely back with them. Everyone was breathing heavily, not least Babu Chiri.

“Shit. That was too bloody close for comfort,” observed James.

“Call it an easy introduction to what we will be experiencing along our way,” said Agent Dargaville, smiling.

When I get back to Nepal…IF I get back to Nepal, I’m going to find that little Batsa bastard and shove his head where the sun doesn’t shine, James promised to himself.

After a few moments of rest, the group continued. The weather was now deteriorating, with the wind getting stronger, the cold getting fiercer and the snow falling harder. On top of that, the day was coming to an end, and the light was fading. They would have to find somewhere with shelter to stop for the night soon.

Dargaville stopped and turned to the group. Everyone was breathing hard due to the thinner air. She asked Pasang to pass her the radio. He removed his backpack and knelt down to remove the huge communications kit. There was a crack, and a split second later, the snow and ice collapsed beneath his knees. In a flash, he was gone, so fast that no one heard his screaming as he fell into the abyss of a frozen hell.

The rest of the group were frozen in terror and shock. Dargaville took the initiative and told the others to move back slowly and calmly, which they did. Gervesh wobbled and fell backwards, passing out momentarily. James crawled over to him and brought him around with a couple of slaps on the face. He threw James off.

“It’s the altitude, I’m fine.”

They all sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplating the fate which Gervesh had met, and one which they could all meet with the wrong placement of a single foot.

“That poor unlucky bastard,” observed the Australian.

“Gervesh was a good man. He didn’t deserve that,” said Dargaville.

“Yeah, I’m sure he was, but, he’s gone and he’s not coming back. And, in case you haven’t noticed, nor is our bloody radio,” said James impatiently.

“It’s a shame that you, our veteran climber didn’t see the cracks,” said Dargaville to James, accusatorily.

“How the bloody hell do you expect me to see the cracks when I’m almost at the back of the goddamn line?” he retorted, growing angrier now.

“You love to argue, don’t you, Mr McKinley?”

“Too bloody right I do, especially when you try to pin that poor bugger’s death on me!”

They both looked down, realising that they were both in the wrong, and more importantly, that they could stand right where they were and have a slanging match until the end of time, but it wouldn’t bring back Pasang.

James pushed past the others, turned back and said, “Now I’m going to be at the bloody front,” before marching off, prodding the snow carefully before taking each step. The rest of the group followed without further argument.

Babu Chiri called out and motioned for the group to stop. He pointed downwards, and there, at the foot of the mountain on which they were now standing, was situated a small village with several tiny dwellings.

After some conversation, and at Dargaville’s insistence - albeit much to the chagrin of everyone else, not least James - the group started climbing back down the mountain which had taken so much effort to climb, and which had also claimed the life of their friend. Dargaville had said that she needed to speak with whoever was down there, and also, it would be an ideal place to rest overnight. Must better than sleeping out in the open, she assured them.

“And what is it exactly that you wish to speak to a bunch of bloody mountain nomads about, your top-secret spook shit, which, by the way, you haven’t even spoke to me about yet?” asked James.

Dargaville spotted something out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed James’ arm and dragged him down to the ground with her. A split second later, an arrow appeared in the snow right where he had been standing. It if hadn’t been for her lightening reflexes, James would now be talking about the day with Pasang in a new dimension.

“Nepali, Nepali, we are here from the Bhutan King,” shouted Dargaville in fluent Nepalese, surprising James, if that was at all possible after the events of the last 48 hours.

The Nepalese hunter shouted back: “Woman, I cannot allow you to…”

He paused and observed Dargaville taking a bottle of water, drinking a mouthful of it, and handing it in his direction as an offering. The hunter stood still, and she tossed the bottle to him. It landed at his feet and he picked it up, removed the top and sniffed the contents with a great amount of suspicion.

“Nepali, we are close to the Tibetan plateau, yes?”

The hunter nodded, still fully on guard.

“I need to speak to you and your kin,” continued Dargaville.

Babu Chiri then spoke up. As good as being fluent in the local dialect was, it never hurts to have a native present and involved in the conversation too.

“She is with me, and she is ok. You do not need to fear her. She needs to speak with you, her friend may be injured.”

The hunter beckoned for the group to follow him, and they all headed down the mountain towards the village.

James caught up to Agent Dargaville, and as much as it hurt for him to do so, he thanked her for saving his skin. He also asked how she knew the hunter was aiming at him.

“Well, he wouldn’t assume that a mere Maori woman would be in charge of the group, now would he, Mr McKinley?” she replied, causing James to smirk for the first time in many hours.

Chapter Eight

The Small Village at the Bottom of the Mountain.

The group, led by the hunter arrived at the village and stood by the dwellings. Dargaville asked him, continuing to converse in Nepalese, if he had seen the Nazis. The hunter looked confused and said nothing. Now, several of the other village dwellers had started to gather around, curious as to the identity of their new guests. Dargaville tried a different tactic.

“Have you seen the men with the lightening on their sleeves?” Now, the hunter understood.

“Ah, they were here before, but now they have gone,” he confirmed. “What did you tell them?”

“We told them that they would find Yeti in the mountains,” said the hunter, smiling for the first time.

James was now wondering if Yeti was some Nepalese word, or if they were actually talking about the Yeti itself.

The hunter continued: “Many of our villages fled. They were afraid that the men with the lightening would kill them if they stayed here.”

Dargaville nodded understandingly. Which way did they go?” she asked.

The hunter pointed in what seemed like a random direction.

Just then, a Monk appeared and joined the group. He was fully robed and badly mutilated. He was holding a lock of red hair - or fur - which he held out and offered to Dargaville.

“What’s this?” she asked.

The hunter told her that some time ago, the Yeti had been to the village and had attacked the Monk, hence the reason of his appearance now.

James’ earlier rhetorical question to himself now didn’t need answering at all.

Strewth.

For the first time, the hunter spoke in English, talking directly to James.

“He says it’s Yeti hair. They live deep in the mountains. They are feared by all around here.”

“Right. I see,” said James, unsure of what else to say under the circumstances.

Dargaville told her group that then needed to move out and head in the direction which the Nazis had been sent, and the hunter objected.

“Much snow is coming, you cannot trek in these conditions. You must stay here overnight, you will be safe.”

“Thank you, but we must find the Germans, the men with the lightening. That is why we are here. We are here to find out why they are here.”

James looked forlorn at the prospect of climbing up that bloody mountain again, rather than staying in a nice warm hut in the small village.

They thanked the hunter - and the other villagers - and went on their way, climbing the mountain in the same direction from which they had arrived.

James and Dargaville were now walking side by side, at last forgetting their cultural rivalry.

“You seem to know their language,” she suggested.

“Oh, you know, I’ve picked up a few words here and there on my travels. I’m not quite as stupid as I look, or as you have assumed I am,” said James, deadly serious.

“I would not be trekking with someone, and essentially placing my life in their hands if I thought they were in any way stupid,” replied the agent.

“Finally, she admits the truth!” muttered James, smiling once again.

Once again, Babu Chiri stopped and pointed off into the distance. With the fading light, it was almost impossible to make anything out, but they could just about see what appeared to be a flat plateau, and a row of tents. They all ducked down.

James took his binoculars and looked into the distance. “Can you see anything?” asked Dargaville.

“Not much. There’s not enough light left, but it’s definitely some kind of camp by the looks of things.”

The group edged carefully and slowly towards the plateau. The suddenly found themselves standing on an ice field. It cracked, and Babu Chiri held out his hand, indicating for them to stop.

“How thick is it likely to be?” asked James.

The Sherpa stamped his foot gently. Again, with more force. The sound was solid rather than hollow.

“We’re good,” he said confidently. “Remove your backpacks. Slide them ahead. It will reduce your weight, and if there is thin ice, the packs will tell us. Better we lose a pack or two than ourselves.”

The rest of the group complied, pushing their respective backpacks ahead of them on the ice as far as possible before edging forward themselves.

Another crack. This time it wasn’t just a noise, the ice actually cracked. Dargaville slipped due to the slight slant they were now standing on and fell to the ground. James grabbed her by the arm and stopped her from falling into the frozen water now visible at the edge of the tiny island they were now standing on. For a fleeting moment, he thought that there may have been evidence of a slight connection between the two of them, although she wouldn’t admit to it even if he did have the courage to ask. She grabbed his binoculars.

They edged forwards for a few more minutes, and to their relief, found that they had finally cleared the ice field. They were safe, for now, at least.

Tau, who had until now been quiet, spoke up.

“Look,” he said pointing into the distance towards the camp.

Dargaville once again took the binoculars, and through them in the dim light, she could clearly see a Nazi flag waving in the wind.

There was no movement from the tents. They all agreed that they should camp exactly where they were until first light. They unpacked, set up their tent and settled down for the night, using each other’s body warmth as insulation, which James, laying behind Agent Dargaville, found himself enjoying more than he probably should have been given the circumstances.

Chapter Nine

The Next Morning.

The wind had died down, and the group had managed to enjoy a relatively peaceful night.

All woke up as the sun rose above the mountain peaks, and felt well rested. Out came the binoculars once again. They could now see the camp in more details with the new day’s light.

The German camp looked abandoned and dilapidated. “So much for German cleanliness,” observed Dargaville. “What a shithole,” agreed James.

They packed up everything, and moved cautiously towards the tents. As they approached, there was still no sign of movement. They made their way towards the largest tent of the row.

Their hearts were pounding, not knowing what to expect. Dargaville, James and then the Sherpas entered and immediately realised that whoever had once been here had left some time ago.

“We can use this as our more permanent camp from now on. It’ll be warmer than those things we have been lugging around,” suggested Dargaville.

“First you drag me up here under false pretenses, and now you want me to wake up on bed sheets that some Nazi bastard has been sleeping in?” protested James.

They started looking around to see what they could find of interest. There wasn’t much. But, one thing that did strike them as strange, was the fact that the lanterns were still full of oil. The entire group was wondering why the Germans would have got up and left in such as hurry, leaving such valuable supplies behind. Lanterns provide both light and heat, two valuable commodities when trekking the mountains of Nepal, surely?

Covering a desk was a tarpaulin which James removed. Under it, were stacked several manila folders containing sensitive documents. On top of the pile was a letter, written in German, addressed to Himmler himself.

What the bloody hell is up here that could be of interest to Himmler, James asked himself.

Outside the tent, Gervesh and Tau had found a pile of crates stacked up under some snow drifts, again, covered in tarp, and upon which all carried the Nazi insignia.

“It’s as if they all disappeared suddenly,” said Dargaville.

James then appeared from the tent carrying a bundle of documents, and handed one of the folders to his ‘boss’. She starts to read, and her eyes open wide with astonishment.

The Sherpas had, by now, found something else, something even more intriguing; they were brushing off snow from a wooden board. When they removed that, it uncovered the entrance to an opening in the ground, which looked like it was the beginning of some kind of shaft leading straight down into the ground.

“Get the climbing gear,” commanded Agent Dargaville.

Are you sure you want to do this?” asked James warily, knowing what the answer would be. “It’s just that I climb up mountains, not down holes.”

Dargaville let out a small chuckle, in a sign that the Australian’s humour may finally be getting through to her.

“We’ll get some rest for a couple of days while we read through the rest of those documents, and we’ll go down into that hole first thing in the morning. Come on, let’s see if the Krauts left anything to eat or drink.”

At first light, two days later, James was the first one to open his eyes. Immediately to his right hand side, Mere Dargaville was still very much asleep, and very close to him. He could smell her hair, and see the curves of her body. He was thinking things which she probably wouldn’t appreciate.

To his left hand side, was Tau, snoring loudly.

Can’t have everything in life Mate, James said to himself.

James stepped outside the tent to write his name in the snow, and found the other two Sherpas along with the group of ever-loyal Gurkhas keeping watch. They really were amazing guys. Always willing, never complaining. Luckily for the group, the Germans had left some cans of food behind which they opened, and everyone ate breakfast together.

“We go down after breakfast,” announced Agent Dargaville.

“I should go down alone,” said James, earning an inquisitorial look from all around the table.

“It seems that no one is likely to come out, but you and the guys need to stay up here and make sure no one goes in while I am down there. There is also the fact that if I get swallowed, never to appear again, you can get the information to your intelligence guys better than I ever could.”

“You seem committed, all of a sudden, Mr McKinley,” said Dargaville.

“Well, I’m in it now, so, may as well be in it up to my bloody neck,” replied James, flashing his trademark toothy grin.

“I will go with you,” offered Babu Chiri.

James looked at him long and hard before agreeing.

Both men emptied their backpacks which they had been carrying since leaving Nepal, and filled them with as many grenades and explosives as they could fit inside. These were yet more assets mysteriously left behind by whoever had occupied the camp in the past.

They secured their ropes, and hung over the edge of the hole, ready to go. “Good luck,” said Dargaville, speaking more to James than to Babu Chiri.

James, with his youthful Australian confidence was the first to start the journey downwards. He used one hand to guide the rope, and the other to hold the lantern he had taken from the Nazi’s tent. After around the first 20 feet he stopped. There wasn’t anything to see, but he could hear water flowing. He looked up, and Babu Chiri was there just above him, following like a faithful Labrador.

A little while later, the wall seemed to disappear, and James noticed that there was what appeared to be a tunnel leading from the wall of the hole they were now a good sixty feet into. He looked around, and opposite, there was another.

“We’re gonna run out of food and water before this is over,” he muttered.

He and Babu Chiri managed to crawl their way into the first tunnel and edged forwards.

Not far in, they started to see something which would, at first sight, have seemed impossible given that they were in what was arguably one of the most remote locations in the world: there were statues carved into the thick heavy rock of the walls.

James held up his lantern, trying to decipher the meaning, or even the origin of these hand-carved works. He’d never seen anything like it.

“Let’s go further in, Mate. We need to start marking our way every ten feet with chalk, we haven’t a clue where we’re heading, or how far we’re heading, that last thing we want is to get bloody lost down here,” said James.

After around half an hour, they were continuing their exploration of the tunnels and James signaled for Babu Chiri to stop. They both stayed perfectly still on their hands and knees, and could hear something far off into the distance. It sounded like the sound of rhythmic drums, a single beat every few seconds.

The lights on their lanterns both flickered and went out at the same time. By what they saw, it appeared that they’d blown out, except that neither men had felt the slightest bit of air. On the contrary, it was now getting increasingly warm and muggy as they journeyed further into the tunnels. Now, with no light pollution, they noticed something in the distance, something that appeared to be a soft green glow. Their eyes had now become more accustomed to the dark, and they both glanced at each other. Neither men was smiling.

As they progress, they get to the source of the glow. It was incredible! The rocks in the walls, the roof and the floor of the tunnel were actually glowing green! As they continued, the glow became more intense, and the drums grew gradually louder.

After more crawling, they turned a corner and the glow was now almost blinding. The carried on following their noses and as their eyes adjusted, they found themselves witnessing the last thing they would ever have expected - they were standing before a circle of Monks, and it was they who were banging the drums. On their travels, the Sherpa and James had both seen things which normal people would have difficulty in believing, but this was really stretching it. They both stood watching, their mouths wide open.

There was a sudden splash of water on James’ face. After he’d finished shaking his head like a dog when it gets wet, he opened his eyes, and a Monk stood before him, staring down at James, but was not saying a word.

James’ vision started to blur. The oranges from the candles which the Monks were using for lights, the glow from the lanterns which he and Babu Chiri were using, the greens from the glowing rock all merged together, becoming a vision of something psychedelic. James started to lose his balance and he knew he’d been drugged.

“What have you done to…,” he said before clumping down onto the floor.

He looked up, and the Monk handed him a cup. Looking around, Babu Chiri was also drinking from one similar. He took a sip. Not long afterwards, he was unconscious.

Chapter Ten

Sometime later - James had no idea how long he’d been out - he woke up, his head feeling like a train had just passed through it ear-to-ear. The green glow was now softer again, and the drumming was still present, but much more subdued.

He looked around, and out of the corner of his eye, noticed the same Monk. He was sitting, looking at, and observing James.

“Where am I,” he asked. Nothing.

The Monk handed him a bowl. It was difficult to see exactly what was in it due to the low light, but it felt like meat. James took a piece, and placed it into his mouth. One thing he’d learned as an explorer, was never to pass up on food, whatever it was.

This, however, was nothing like he’d ever tasted before. He spat it out. His eyes, once again getting used to the dark light, focused on something which sat directly in front of the Monk. It was an arm, a human arm, and bedside it lay a jacket.

It wasn’t any jacket. This jacket bore the Nazi insignia on the sleeve. “Where’s my mate, where’s Babu Chiri?” asked James.

The Monk said nothing, and simply pointed upwards. Too much for James to process, he once again passed out.

Once again he came around, and, like before, he could have been out for one minute or ten hours for all he knew. The first thing he noticed was that the volume of the drums had become louder again. He could see all of the Monks, and they were all sitting around in a circle, chanting along to the beat of the drum.

Over to the other side of the circle, was what appeared to be some kind of beast, and it was walking off away from the circle of Monks. It was dragging something, and upon focusing his eyes, James managed to make out that it was the body, the very dead body of his friend, Babu Chiri. He, and the beast, whatever the hell it was, disappeared into the darkness.

Something tells me that they aren’t going to give me any bloody leniency, he thought to himself.

With all of the strength he had left, he picked himself up and left along the tunnel from which he had arrived. Due to his disorientation and general state of shock, James failed to remember to follow the chalk marks. Without knowing it, he was soon inside, and following the path of an entirely new tunnel.

Unlike the first one, this tunnel was lit by candles every few feet, and after walking for what had seemed like an eternity, he noticed a body lying on the ground. The man’s eyes were wide open and hallow, the face drained of all colour. The look on the face of the body suggested that he had died in pain, and terror. James would never know it, but he was looking down at the body of Alfred Fedder. His body was missing both legs. James threw up all over Fedder’s torso, an action, which had he not been under such gloomy circumstances, he would have found amusingly ironic.

Nothing’s too bad for those Nazi bastards, he would have told himself.

He turned around, sensing something, and saw the Monk once again standing behind him, who this time, blew some dust into his face. He immediately passed out.

When he woke up, he could feel that he was tied by his ankles, and was being dragged along the floor. He managed to tense his stomach muscles slightly, and bend upwards. It was the beast which was dragging him along. The beast, covered in hair or fur which was of a hue somewhere between orange and red. His mind flashed back to the little village they had stopped off at several days before. The hunter; the Monk holding the red hair; his mangled face; the fact that he repeatedly mentioned the word Yeti.

Back up at the top, Agent Dargaville was still waiting with Tau, and as time went on, she had to admit to herself that James and Babu Chiri would not be returning. She found herself feeling sadness, not only because she had no definitive answers as to what was beneath her, but for personal reasons too.

She turned to Tau, and asked him to pack all of the essentials that he could fit into two backpacks and that it was time for them to leave, and, while he did this, she wrote an entry into her diary.

It’s been 72 hours since we’ve heard anything. The worst has to be assumed. I am tempted - and feel compelled - that both myself and Tau should go down to look for them, but, I feel it would do no good. They both know what they are doing, and if they have not returned, I am confident that something terrible has happened. We already lost Gervesh on the way here, and, should I not make it back, I want it to be known that he, Babu Chiri, Tau and James McKinley all served our cause with dedication, bravery and loyalty. We are all to be assumed to be missing for twenty-one days from the date of this entry. If we have not been heard of following that period, please notify our families that we shall not be returning home.

She signed and dated the letter.

For several days, hungry and cold, she and Tau trekked back towards Nepal, and finally, against all the odds, they made it.

A Safe House, Nepal.

A knock interrupted his sleep. He crawled out of bed, across the room and opened the door. There, stood Agent Mere Dargaville.

“Mr Hughes, Mr Grant Hughes?”

“Yes, and who may you be?”

“I’m Agent Dargaville. I was in charge of the expedition of which your friend, Mr McKinley was a part of,” she said.

“Oh, I know very little about that. I have vague recollections of James talking about it, but I was so ill back then, I can hardly remember a thing,” replied Grant.

“Yes, from what I have been told, you are a very lucky man to have survived. How are you feeling now?”

“Better. What is this about, is there some way I can help you?” asked Grant, a look of suspicion on his face.

Agent Dargaville asked if she could go inside.

“Mr Hughes, there is no good way to say this, so I will get straight to the point. It is with sadness, that I must impart some bad news to you. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your friend, James, is missing, presumed dead.”

“What?” Grant suddenly looked as ill and ashen faced as he had when James had last seen him.

“I cannot go into specifics, I’m sure you will understand why, but James, and other men with whom he travelled with have failed to return from their mission.”

“What are you going to do about it, are you going to send in any kind of a search party?” asked Grant.

“For now, I have to go and report to my superiors. I hope to be able to get a search team together, but I have to wait until they authorise it. I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. I am quite low down in the chain of command, you will understand,” she said solemnly.

“Are you some kind of a bloody joker? If James is in trouble, he needs help, and he needs help now, not after your bosses have spent several days quaffing their bloody single malt scotch before making some kind of half-assed token decision. I’ll go up there and look for him myself,” shouted Grant.

“My Hughes, you are in no position to do that. Firstly, you have absolutely no idea where James and the other men went missing, and secondly, you are still a long way away from being fit enough to trek in the mountains.”

“You can’t just come here into my room to tell me that my best friend is missing, and that you’re going to do bugger all about it! Bloody Kiwis, you’re no better than the damned Poms.”

“I am going to do something about it, all that I can do given my level of authority,” said Dargaville, trying to remain calm and understanding given Grant’s emotions.

Chapter Eleven

British Intelligence Compound, Katmandu.

Dargaville entered the office of her handler, Agent Peters. He was a weathered looking man well into his 50s, and was looking over her report without making any attempt whatsoever to hide the look of dissatisfaction which was firmly etched onto his face.

“Sit down, Agent Dargaville,” he said. More silence and more reading ensued.

“Dargaville, this report is terrible. It is not what I was expecting, and I have to say that your, shall we say, rather loose attitude towards out Australian volunteer is most displeasing.”

Dargaville looked away and made every effort to suppress the anger building up inside her.

“You know I don’t mince my words, Agent. The Asia-Pacific missions are about…” Dargaville cut him off.

“My mission was not a complete failure. Until now, we knew nothing. As I have written in my report, in case you have not actually read it properly, Sir, we found Germans on the Tibetan Plateau. They were searching for something in the Himalayas.”

“The Germans, in the Himalayas, you say?” scoffed Peters.

“Yes, Sir. We found documents, in German, and a letter addressed to Himmler. The Germans were searching for the Yeti, along with an underground city known as Agartha.”

“Have you gone insane? An underground city? The Yeti? Your report mentions very little about these matters, Agent Dargaville,” said Peters, his impatience growing.

“That’s correct, Sir, because this needs to stay absolutely confidential, and writing things down does not help that cause. Sir, I need to go back with a full search party to get to the bottom of this,” she said.

“No way, no bloody way in a million years,” was Peters’ reply.

“Sir. We found a small village where the inhabitants had met the Germans. We found the German’s camp with the Swastika flying around in the breeze. We found the documents, the letter written to Himmler. We cannot, we must not drop this, you have to authorise me to go back and see what the hell is going on, Sir,” pleaded Dargaville.

“Agent Dargaville. If you think for one moment that I am going to wreck my entire career - which I have worked long and hard on to get to this position - by telling London that I want to send you back into the wilderness to look for an underground city that’s full of bloody Yetis, you may think again, end of conversation.”

“But, Sir…”

“I strongly urge you to stop right where you are before I have you brought up on charges of insubordination. You have already wasted valuable time, not to mention resources that I could have used for far more important - and realistic - projects. You are responsible for the loss of life of an Australian volunteer. Agent Dagarville, I am having you reassigned with immediate effect. You will join the Canadian branch for further training in covert operations. That will do you no harm at all, I would think.”

Dargaville stood up.

“Sir, I must protest. I have done nothing to deserve this treatment. They are all dead! The mountain literally swallowed them whole, and alive, Sir.”

“Sit back down Agent Dargaville, you are the width of a hair away from crossing the line.”

Dargaville sat, and Peters handed her a file.

“Here are your travel orders. Your duty is not to ask questions, but to act on whatever orders I give you. This investigation is over, and you're on a plane out of this country tomorrow. Pack your bags. Dismissed,” commanded Peters.

“Sir…,” spluttered Dargaville.

“Dismissed, Agent Dargaville, now get out,” yelled Peters. She took the file containing her orders and left the room.

Peters, now alone, started to write his own report ready to send back to London.

German camp was found, but deserted. Nazis believed to have abandoned it and killed in an avalanche. Dargaville survived but rest of team including one James McKinley, and Australian volunteer, killed due to exposure and exhaustion. Mission a failure, Dargaville reassigned.

Peters.

A Note from the Author

Thank you very much for reading my series, your support is very much appreciated.

The reason I have chosen to make these into quick-reads is because they are the adapted novelette forms of the screenplays which have already been written. It is my intention to use the money raised from this series of short books to make my dream a reality and have the screenplays produced.

If you would like to see this happen, you can help! You already have this book, so please be kind enough to leave a review from your source. More reviews means better placement and more exposure, and that means more sales which means that we can see this on our screens in the not too distant future!

Join me on this journey of what will be at least 39 episodes. I am trying for more all the time because it is simply my passion!

Thank you once again, and best wishes to you all. Jason.