27

FRIENDSHIP BRIDGE

Xangmu, Nyalam County,

Tibetan Autonomous Region of the People’s Republic of China

At first the petty cash seemed to be doing its work. The Snowdonia Ascents team, alongside another climbing team that had been on the mountain of Cho Oyu and a tour party of wealthy Indians returning from a pilgrimage to Kailash, had been ushered to the front of the immense queue at the border booths that monitored Friendship Bridge. There, a portly official, overfed on graft and grease, stood alongside them, personally attending to the team’s smooth progress back into Nepal as quickly as possible.

The processing of their stack of passports and CMA climbing permits began quickly, but stalled when a back-and-forth dialogue between the passport clerk and the fixer rapidly became heated. Resolutely shaking his head, the clerk raised a telephone and asked urgent questions. When the phone was put down, he said nothing, but restacked the team’s documents and pushed the pile to one side. Soon after, two senior PLA officers arrived with four guards. One of the officers stepped inside the booth, exchanged words with the clerk, and collected the documents. The other aggressively dismissed the bribed official, who left as rapidly as his stumpy legs would carry him. That officer then ordered the soldiers to direct Quinn’s team from the line and lead them to the slab-sided white office building that overlooked the bridge. The Englishman asked Gelu what he thought the problem was as they filed in.

“It seems that it is because we were on Shishapangma, Mr. Neil,” the Sherpa replied. “The clerk said there was a new directive for all travelers in that region. That it was not so easy.”

“What directive?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Neil,” Gelu said as he gave Quinn a steely look. “Maybe because of earthquake? Maybe because of those soldiers, that helicopter search you saw? Let us just be calm. No problem, Mr. Neil. I’m sure.” Gelu gave Quinn another look that seemed to silently add the words, “For all our sakes, I hope.”

Inside the building, they were all herded into a large waiting room and momentarily abandoned. Some of the team sat at the tables and chairs that dotted the room while others paced. All of them started grumbling.

Quinn tried to settle his clients, then turned to the window at the rear hoping that it was indeed going to be “no problem,” as he looked out at Nepal on the other side of the ravine rising up in a steep wall of green foliage. It was zip-line close. Below the window a one-hundred-foot drop plummeted down onto the rocks and rapids of the torrential river that raced away beneath the high and suspiciously empty bridge.

No one is crossing, Quinn thought as a different team of border officials and soldiers entered the room making loud demands in Chinese. Gelu looked at Quinn, staring at him as he translated, “Everyone must put cameras, computers, and cellular telephones on the table.” Heart lurching at the unexpected instructions, Quinn stepped back tight against the window while others in the team grumpily got up from their chairs to reach into pockets and day-packs, intent only on doing as they were told and getting out of there as fast as possible.

The first devices handed over were collected up by border guards and taken to a white-shirted Chinese technician who plugged the first into an electronic monitor. Quinn watched him almost instantly begin to scroll a button on his keyboard and pull his face close to the screen. It was clear that the man was scanning the contents. The technician quickly repeated the process on the next cellphone.

Noticing Quinn make no move toward his day-pack or his pockets, one of the soldiers gestured that he too should come forward and put what he had on the table, stabbing at the surface with a finger to demand he hurry it up. Quinn just shook his head in return, trying, nonchalantly, to indicate that he didn’t have anything despite the incriminating weight of his phone multiplying in the right cargo pocket of his trousers with every passing second.

The young soldier, immediately sensing a challenge, pushed toward Quinn gesturing for the Englishman to raise his arms to be searched. Gelu quickly and deliberately inserted himself between them to offer the soldier his own old clamshell cell just as the first devices to be analyzed were returned to the table.

Big Al, the Cockney, reached for his Samsung, saying loudly, “That one’s mine, mate.” The soldier intent on Quinn would not be deterred.

He pushed past Gelu to get at the Englishman just as a huge roar of “What the fucking hell?” made everyone in the room jump.

“Those fucking bastards have wiped my sodding phone.” The big Londoner continued to shout as he looked at the screen of his smartphone. “Everything’s been deleted!”

Hearing this the Norwegian, Rasmussen, instantly leapt for the table. With both hands he grabbed his precious camera like a loose ball. Hugging it to his chest, he turned and said loudly, “My photos! No bloody way, man!” Other soldiers immediately pushed through the climbing team to take Rasmussen’s camera from him. Tightly wound at best, it was the last straw for the miserable Viking who went completely berserk. He began to swear and shout, dodging and weaving, kicking and punching out wildly. Tables and chairs went flying and equipment smashed to the floor as all the soldiers tried and failed to corral the raging Norwegian. There was a distinctive popping sound from somewhere beyond the doorway and a green metal canister arced into the center of the room spewing vapor like a small rocket. The grenade clattered onto the floor to spin violently, releasing a cloud of tear gas into the enclosed area. Coughing and choking people began to scramble for the door or toward the windows.

Quinn opened the window he was standing at and forced his head out to escape the caustic fumes. Squeezing his streaming eyes to some semblance of focus, he quickly pulled his cellphone from his pocket. His fingers raced to send a message while he locked himself rigid against the window frame, his upper body sticking out over the ravine until it showed as sent.

When two masked soldiers grabbed at his jacket to pull him back inside, Quinn dropped his phone into the raging waters far below and didn’t resist. Moved into another room, the soldiers emptied his pockets but found only a wallet and a small fabric toy of a once white horse. They looked at both items suspiciously but found nothing more.