For Henrietta, that morning in May was much like the rest at that time of year. She got up at 6:30 a.m. precisely and turned on her aging, vinyl-covered radio to listen to the BBC World Service, its languid eloquence one of the last reminders of her youth as she prepared herself for another busy day. She then made a cup of tea with milk, some toast and marmalade, and ate her breakfast, reading, as always, the previous day’s copy of the Daily Telegraph and that day’s Kathmandu Times.
Sanjeev Gupta, her assistant, would arrive promptly at nine o’clock, and that was her signal to start work. Until then she enjoyed the slow solitude of her morning ritual, calling it her “calm before the storm,” a particularly apt choice of words during the premonsoon season between late May and early June. It was always her busiest time of the year and she knew when it was coming.
From the window of her apartment, she would watch the monsoon’s arriving rainclouds be momentarily halted by the barrier of the world’s highest mountains. They would stack so high into the sky above Kathmandu that they themselves formed another barrier to block the fearsome jet-stream winds that pummeled the heights of those same mountains for the rest of the year. The resulting “window” of calmer conditions on high was when the expeditions made their summit attempts and, as soon as they did, Henrietta would vet every single expedition that claimed success.
Given the season, it was no surprise that her first call of the day came in on the dot of nine. Just as Sanjeev was letting himself in through the front door of Henrietta’s apartment, she picked up the phone on its second ring and said simply yet imperiously, “Richards.”
The speed and brevity with which she answered seemed to fluster her caller for a moment, much as intended. After a pause, a voice said, “Henrietta? Jack Graham speaking.”
“Hello, Jack,” she replied, tone warming to the familiar sound of the longtime British ambassador to Nepal, a colleague and close friend of many years. “Bit early for you, isn’t it? To what do I owe this honor?”
“Yes, I know. Sorry to disturb, but I have top brass from the Department for International Development here with me all morning so I needed to speak to you first.”
“Not a problem. How can I help?”
“Edward Shay, the new US ambassador, invited me to dinner last night, wanting to pick my brain about something. As I am sure you know, he’s only been here for a few weeks, first ambassadorship for him and all that. Solid chap, actually, I think he’ll do well. Anyway, yesterday he was being absolutely hammered by DC because a sixteen-year-old American has been killed on Everest. The boy is or, should I say, was the son of a Mr. Nelson Tate, billionaire, big political donor, you know the type, and evidently the man has been raising merry hell at the highest levels ever since. Have you heard anything about this?”
“Yes, I did hear some early chat yesterday about a death on the north side of the mountain but no details as to who it was.” She wearily sighed to herself before continuing. “I really wish they would stop this ridiculous record-breaking to be the youngest or the fastest or whatever it is going to be next. I mean sixteen is just too young to be up there. The death of such a young climber is going to be a major tragedy for the mountain. It’ll be a big story.”
“Well, that’s the point actually, Henrietta. We need the full story. Shay has told Washington he is going to compile a detailed report on precisely what happened to the almost inevitably named Nelson Tate Junior. It won’t bring the boy back, of course, but it may bring some closure to Tate Senior—and we both know that the preparation of a bloody good report always buys some time. He was asking me who I thought was the leading expert on Everest in Kathmandu and, naturally, I said you. They’ll pay you for it, of course.”
“But if it was a Tibet climb, isn’t this something for the US authorities in China to pursue?”
“You know as well as I that the Chinese have long denied the US request for a consulate in Lhasa. They have no one officially on the ground there and whilst the US Embassy in Beijing is evidently kicking up a fuss, the Chinese will undoubtedly respond to it by just hiding the facts of the matter behind some simple statement until it all goes away. I told him that the only hope they had of really getting to the truth would be through you from Nepal.”
“I can’t disagree with that. The truth is definitely my game. Do you know who the younger Tate was climbing with, Jack?”
“Yes, it appears that Nelson Tate Junior was with No Horizons. Sarron.”
Henrietta shook her head at the news. The mere mention of the name made her skin crawl. The Frenchman’s narrow, hateful face, with its taut, permanently tanned skin and silvering, curly hair pulled back into that irritating ponytail instantly appeared in her mind’s eye.
“Really? Most definitely not my favorite person—or anyone’s, in fact. Did you say anything about Sarron to Shay?”
“No, I thought better not to at this stage. He’s picked up that Sarron is difficult, ‘an Everest maverick’ he’d been told. However, I don’t think he’s fully aware of what a complete piece of work that damn Frenchie really is. Surprisingly our links with the Indian Intelligence Bureau are currently better than the Yanks’, who, I guess, are slightly more focused on the Muslim than the Maoist these days.”
Henrietta nodded to herself. “Yes, probably for the best,” she said pensively. “We don’t yet know the details of Tate Junior’s death. I don’t want to sound callous, but if it was the result of just a fall or an avalanche then why stir up a lot of trouble involving Sarron? It will only make his parents’ suffering worse.” She paused. “However, Jack, if it proves to be not as simple as that, make no mistake, it will all come out about Sarron, and then the Tates will have some very serious regrets as to what their son got into.”
“I know,” Graham replied.
“Tate Senior can’t have done much due diligence before the climb. What a fool!” Henrietta continued waspishly. “It so annoys me when people don’t look further than an expedition company’s success rate. Sarron’s always been smart at selling his expeditions on his summit stats and leaving the nasty surprise of his absolutely loathsome personality for when everyone gets to the foot of the hill. I bet he really laid on the charm at the thought of Tate’s billions. Did Shay give you the names of any others involved?”
“Yes, an English guide called Neil Quinn.”
“Mr. Quinn, indeed,” Henrietta said, stopping to think about what Jack Graham had just told her.
“What’s he like?”
“Nice enough chap, good Everest man. Big guy, strong, must have been on the top eight or nine times now. He’s no idiot either, told me once that he gave up a possible career as a London lawyer to become a professional climber. I have always thought he could have been one of the best in the world, but he’s a bit of a journeyman these days. It’s pretty common really. They start out young and hungry but over time find themselves compelled to pay their bills doing the same old hills time and time again. In Quinn’s case it’s just that the hill happens to be Mount Everest. I am surprised, though, to hear that he was working for Sarron. I would have put him above that. Did Shay say who the sirdar was?”
“I wrote it down actually. Let me look … Dawa Sherpa, could it be?”
“Yes, that would make sense as he often works with Quinn, although I must say he’s another I wouldn’t have foreseen in Sarron’s Base Camp. Dawa’s a legend on Everest and even I would approve the use of such hyperbole in his case. Ho hum, Quinn and Dawa, more bees around the Tate honeypot perhaps? Well, how do we proceed?”
“Shay would like to meet you for lunch to brief you on what he needs and by when. He said he’d send a car to collect you at midday if you were up for it.”
“You can tell him I’ll be waiting.”
“Good. I’ll leave you to agree the rest with him. Don’t forget it’s the Americans. Think of a number for the report and double it. Oh and, Henrietta, one more thing. I have just finished your last book, the one you sent over at Christmas, and I must say, I thought it was excellent. If I read it right, it seemed to suggest that you believed George Leigh Mallory did reach the summit of Everest before he died, an unusually romantic conclusion for someone as scientific in their approach as you.”
“I have my reasons, Jack. I’ll let you know how I get on with Shay and the report.”
Putting down the phone, Henrietta turned to Sanjeev, who had already switched on the computer and quietly started to work. “Sanjeev, as a priority please let me have anything you can find on the 2009 No Horizons Everest North Expedition and, particularly, Jean-Philippe Sarron, Neil Quinn, and Dawa Sherpa. Print it all up as I’ll need to take it with me for a meeting at twelve. I’m also going to put the answering machine on now as I suspect we might be getting more than a few calls from the newspapers today and we’ve got a lot of work to do.”