Eleven

After breakfast the next morning, Tom and I took in the stunning view of snowcapped Kibo, the name for the rim of the dormant Kilimanjaro volcano. The sky was absolutely cloudless and the sight was spectacular, with a snow line of brilliant white cast against the azure sky.

Not everyone was planning to summit and as a result would not be moving up to High Camp. Cavendish would be staying here, as would Noblet. Hooker was planning to summit but Diana wasn’t, at least not that I’d heard. Stern wanted to, but from what he was telling me, I wondered if he’d be allowed on the summit team. I had no idea what Fowl was up to. Then there was the president, his son and two friends. Porters and a couple of Secret Service agents would also stay behind, as would anyone not feeling well. They’d remain here, as we’d be returning to this camp for the night after summiting. From here we’d take a different route in the descent, dropping to our exit at Mweka Gate and from there traveling, the same day, back to the lodge while the president would go directly to Air Force One. We’d be on a plane the next day.

These last two days we’d essentially been making our way around the upper edge of Kili, positioning ourselves for the final assault. Today we’d move up aggressively a half mile in elevation to position ourselves at High Camp, also known as Barafu, from where—at midnight—we’d begin summit day.

There were at least two sites at Barafu where we could make camp. Msingi would push us as far as he could to shorten the distance for the next day so we’d likely camp at the one closest to the summit route. For all the talk of how easy this climb was, summit day was grueling, and the shorter he could make it the better for us all.

We set out in a steep ascent across the Alpine desert, surrounded by boulders scattered as if placed by a violent explosion—which they had. Various rock formations were bizarre in the extreme. The softer surrounding land had eroded away, often exposing formations top heavy with a rock precariously poised like oversized sombreros.

Our pace was extremely slow, held that way by the guides, but no one complained, as most were leg-sore, struggling to breathe, while suffering from a headache as well as some version of the trots. We also knew that we’d get very little sleep once we turned in, and no one was looking forward to our midnight departure.

During our frequent pauses I gazed across the vast Tanzanian plain and the Serengeti spread below in muted amber. It was as spectacular a view as I’ve ever witnessed. When I looked ahead along our route I spotted a floating mist to our right, partially obscuring Mt. Meru, a nearby dormant volcano.

The Kili summit is unlike any of the other Seven Summits. Because the mountain originated as a volcano, it rose from a flat expanse of land about it. As was the case with such formations, the center of the cone had long ago collapsed and was surrounded by an irregular lip. Along this lip were three notable peaks. We’d camped near one, Shira. Ahead of us were Mawenzi Peak and our objective, Stella Point near Uhuru Peak.

Ninety minutes into our trek the terrain flattened and the region became very dry. Kibo was now to our left, and we had a wonderful view of Rebmann Glacier, which we could see for the first time. The sun splashed on its dazzling white surface, giving it a fierce beautiful glow, set as it was with a portion of its edge etched against the clear azure sky.

Since we’d left camp today the thin atmosphere had kicked in with full force. My headache was burning in my skull, and I sucked in air like an exhausted marathoner at every pause in the climb. Stern and Tom were doing no better while Fowl was gutting it out with his usual indefatigable persistence. I had no idea how he did it. He had to be hurting, but there was no sign of it as he steadily moved, keeping up with us, climbing just behind Stern.

Shortly after noon we passed a vacant campsite without pausing. Msingi was pressing for us to go as far as we could. Without stopping for a meal we moved upward into clouds, and the air became even colder. The terrain about us was bleak and forlorn. The surrounding mist limited our vision to perhaps 30 feet, and the line of climbers ahead and behind was ghost-like, resembling specters.

Some four hours after we set out, Msingi brought us to a halt. When we stopped, all I could hear was the ragged breath of those climbing near me, sucking air. We were at 16,000 feet. High Camp was already being assembled on a narrow, stony ridge that was completely exposed to any gale. We’d been lucky with the weather so far, and given the early glory of the day I expected our luck to hold for the duration. I didn’t want to be up here when the monsoon hit. Below it would be warm, torrential rain which brought life to the crops. Up here it would be a yowling blizzard.

We lay our packs and hiking poles aside, then collapsed into camp chairs with little comment. The mist persisted wetting everything in sight, and I pulled my jacket more tightly about me. Our meal was served at four, after which Magumbo urged us to turn in.

“You’re kidding, right,” Stern complained. “It’s still daylight. How are we supposed to sleep?” With the mist, the late afternoon light was a murky gray.

“You must try,” Magumbo said with a broad smile. “We leave tonight in the dark. Very tough day tomorrow. You must at least rest.”

We’d all read the material and knew this was coming. Summit day would be long and exhausting, yet none of us immediately took his advice. I could see no sense in turning in before dark, as I wouldn’t sleep a wink. I’d left on summit days before with no more than a catnap, and I expected I’d survive it again. Others felt much as I did and were playing cards, watching DVDs or listening to their MP3 players.

“Are you summiting?” I asked Stern.

He looked at me as if I’d asked a silly question. “I’ve come this far, haven’t I?” After that he tried settling in, but the wet was getting to him. When a wind kicked up, Stern and Tom changed their minds, while Fowl wandered off to the group above. Calvin, materializing out of the mist, joined me as I was considering what to do and flopped into a chair.

“How are the feet holding up?” I asked. I’d noticed he was limping. He’d lost some toes on Everest, and I knew that his feet tended to become extremely painful under the stress of the cold.

“They’re all right. They’ve felt worse, but I’ve been thinking that I’ll make this my last real climb. It’s a young man’s game, after all, and I’ve left enough of me on these mountains.”

“How are the summiters doing?”

He laughed lightly. “Diana and Christopher just had an argument. He doesn’t like her talking to you, and she doesn’t like him telling her what to do. I take it she split up with him yesterday. What he was really upset about, though, was access to the president.”

“How’d it turn out?”

“He’s on the summit team, of course—that was the deal for the pool reporter. Now she plans to go, as well.”

“That doesn’t make any sense if they’re fighting.”

“She’s the press secretary. I don’t think she wants him near the president unless she’s there, not now. Before there was some trust, but no more.”

“How’s the president’s group holding up?”

“Not well,” he said lowering his voice. “The reason I came down here was to get away from the other argument. The medical team had a talk with Tony and he wants the president to turn back. He’s irritable and complaining constantly. The president can be very pigheaded when he decides he wants something. He snapped at Onesphory earlier. Now he and his friends are considering climbing with you to the summit. When he heard that, the president got even madder.”

“I take it Tarja is doing well?” She was a naturally gifted athlete and stayed in excellent condition; you can’t be a temptress if you get flabby.

“You know Tarja.” Yes, I certainly did. Calvin seemed on the verge of saying more. After waiting a time, I finally asked. “What?”

“Oh, it sounds petty to even talk about it. No one is what they seem, not really. Well, maybe Fowl or Stern, I suppose. But the rest of us are really frauds dressed up as adults.” I couldn’t argue with that. “Still, it’s disappointing.”

Now I saw it. “You mean the president?”

Calvin nodded “I’ve always been non-political, but recently I realized I’d bought into the line that the man grows into the office. Maybe it was once true; it’s not now. He’s arrogant, self-centered, self-absorbed in the extreme. No one else around him seems to matter, not even that wonderful young man, his son. You’d think he’d be glad to have a son, especially a son like Opie. Instead, he’s utterly indifferent to him. He just pays lip service to a relationship. The talk up there is endless politics and fundraising. I don’t know how they stand it.”

“It’s likely always been that way. If you’d been close to Caesar or Napoleon—or Churchill, for that matter—it would be hard to keep any illusion.”

“I suppose.” He sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll try and get some sleep.”

“You’re going to summit?”

“I’ll give it a try, but if it turns too difficult I’ll go back to Karanga and wait for you with the others. Two of the medical team are moving up so they don’t really need me though the president is pretty angry they talked to Tony. See you in a bit.”

Tom was awake when I joined him at eight. We talked quietly for a time, then, to my surprise, I drifted off.

My climbing dream returned that night. I don’t have it on every climb, but it re-occurred enough to haunt me. In it, I’m always just above the Hillary Step on Everest.

My friend Derek Sodoc is dying. The blizzard that had trapped us is raging and the day is ending. If I remain to comfort him until darkness falls I’ll die, as it’s impossible to descend the Step alone in the dark. More than one body has been found dangling on it from a rope.

Derek’s arm is extended and frozen. His face is frostbitten. Even if there was a way to get him off the mountain his arm, feet and nose will have to be amputated. As it is, there is no hope he’ll live. In fact, for some minutes I believe him dead, but then, unexpectedly, his ice-encrusted eyelids flutter open and he speaks in a hoarse whisper I can just make out what he’s saying above the wind by pressing my ear to his blackened lips.

This dream is, in part, a recollection of what had been the reality.

I struggle to breathe, feeling as if I am suffocating, just as I did on the actual climb. During this time I’d avoided my dwindling oxygen reserve to save what little of it remained for my descent.

I’m cold, colder than I’ve ever been in my life. And I don’t know how long I can stand it.

Whenever I attempt to leave Derek summons me back. No one wants to die alone.

“Don’t leave me,” he says. He grips my arm. The snow swirls and bites into me. The cold creeps against my skin. I’m being smothered.

I jerk my arm away from him and shout for him to leave me alone. “For God’s sake, just let me go!”

“Scott! Scott! Wake up!”

Tom was shaking me. I bolted awake.

“It’s just a dream, Scott. A dream.”

I’d had it before, Tom knew. “I’m…I’m okay now. Thanks. Did I hurt you?”

“You slapped me a good one. This is Kili. Remember?”

“Yeah. Africa. I’m okay now.”

After a bit Tom seemed to drift off, while I again revisited Everest in my thoughts. In the end I’d left Derek to die, as I’d had no choice. Alone I couldn’t carry him off the mountain, and he could no longer stand. To climb Everest you have to disregard that safety warning screaming in your head, the one that tells you that you’re going to die if you keep climbing. The summit is the same basic elevation at which passenger jets fly. All of us ignored the warning and he’d pushed on beyond his point of no return.

So I’d left him and now I lived with it. At night, often on climbs, the memory returned.

I didn’t sleep again that night.

Shortly before midnight Magumbo thrust hot coffee into the tent. “Time to wake up,” he said. “The summit waits for you.”

A few minutes later he and a guide returned with pans of hot water. Tom and I washed without comment, struggled into our basic gear, then climbed out of the tent into the frigid night.

No one had an appetite and anticipating that we were served more coffee, or tea if we preferred, and hard biscuits. I pulled on the last of my gear, fastened a lamp about my head then waited for word. Tom was nearly ready, but neither Fowl nor Stern were suited up yet.

“Change your mind?” I asked Fowl.

“Yeah, my legs are killing me. I’m moving down and will wait for you young studs after you knock this thing off.”

“What about you, Stern? You were set to go the last time we talked.”

“To hell with it. This has been about access, you know? Getting the inside story and now they won’t let me summit. Can you believe that? It’s part of my deal, and now they say I can’t go. This whole trip is a waste. When I get back home, my lawyer’s going over my contracts. I’ve been screwed and someone’s going to pay.”

I saw a light bobbing in the darkness, then one of the Secret Service agents, Grant St. Oakes, joined our group.

“Mr. Devlon,” he said politely. “The president would like to see you.”

I left with him. We passed through Diana’s group, but I saw no sign of her or Hooker.

The president’s group, on the other hand, was all action and light, with many headlamps bobbing and focused. The lean figure of the president was decked out in the latest high-altitude climbing gear. He was seated in his expansive chair, sucking on oxygen. I’d never heard of that on Kili before, but it would give him some initial energy and greater comfort for now. Calvin was standing next to him attentively.

Onesphory, along with Brendan and Ian, were finishing preparations, talking endlessly in that teenage jargon that was nearly a foreign language to me. They were excited, their laughter concealing an uneasiness I could detect that they felt.

There was Diana, dressed warmly in a puffy parka, with an unsmiling Hooker beside her. He gave me a dirty look as I entered the light. Both were dressed and ready for the climb. Msingi and the porters specially selected for this elite group were ready to go, gathered off to the side.

Tony Salcito was talking to the Secret Service agents who’d stay with the president’s group. He was planning to return to Karanga camp once it was daylight while Grant would remain with the president and in charge of security. Tony sounded authoritative when he spoke, more so than usual. He spotted me and came over.

“Scott, talk some sense into the man, will you?” he said.

“What’s going on?”

“As you can see, he’s on oxygen. We brought that along for emergencies, but he had a rough night, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe. The boy tried to talk him out of making the attempt, and the president snapped at him.”

“How are his vitals?”

“Calvin says they’re within acceptable ranges, whatever the hell that means. We don’t need this. Something goes wrong and I’ve got a dead president on my hands. And there’s the weather.”

Not again, I thought. “What about it?”

“Looks like the monsoon has arrived early.”

“How much time?”

“It’s due to hit late today, and we should be off the mountain by then, but it’s weather and forecasts can’t be trusted. Talk to him.”

The president put his mask aside and stood up. “Over here,” he said, gesturing for me with two fingers to join him.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” I said.

“How do you do this?” he said. “It’s like I can’t breathe.”

“It doesn’t improve, I’m sorry to say. You don’t feel like it, but at this altitude you’re getting enough oxygen. Your body’s just demanding you give it more. You should keep in mind that we have to climb more than 3,000 feet today. It’s going to get worse. Are you sure you want to do this?” By the time we’d summit, at just over 19,000 feet, the air would have half the amount of oxygen as it does at sea level.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Almost half the climbers turn back at this point. It’s usually the smart thing to do.”

“I’m climbing, Scott. That’s why I want you with me. I can use your expertise, maybe even your help. Okay?”

“As you wish, sir.”

Diana came up to us, and I moved away to let her talk with the president. Hooker was off to the side, looking on anxiously. The president shook his head, and Diana went back to Hooker to deliver the bad news. He didn’t take it well. He turned away from her, muttering something unpleasant under his breath.

Msingi came over to me. “We will climb in two groups. Kubwa Moja, Onesphory, his friends, the medics and the security men will make up one team. You, Mr. Calvin, Mr. Tom, Miss Diana, Mr. Christopher and Miss Tarja will be the other team, just behind us. We leave in five minutes.”

The two groups were formed by the Secret Service agents taking up positions around the president and his team. There was a long delay, then they began to move. It was nearly one in the morning. A minute later the guides, one for every climber tackling the summit regardless of which team he or she was on, broke into a climbing chant.