Contracts by Matt Rogers (i like reading txt) 📕

or coming very close. Then he wrestled the laptop off him, taking care not to crush it in the process.

He got to his feet, handed it back to Perry, and watched almost every worker in the field descend on them.

Slater pointed to the guy clutching his face, moaning, rolling back and forth in the dust.

‘Thief,’ he said.

No one responded.

Out of the corner of his mouth, King muttered, ‘Let’s get out of here before we get mobbed.’

They hurried up the steps into the village.

75

King couldn’t believe how fast Slater had recovered.

Slater was striding it out behind them, tackling the uneven cobblestones underfoot with ease, keeping pace with their stride. In Gokyo he’d been a shell of himself.

Altitude’s a bitch.

They weaved their way up through the south-west side of Lukla, passing townspeople who shot them curious looks. There were no foreign trekkers in sight — they were either cooped up in their teahouse rooms recovering, or somewhere along the trail en route to the town.

He kept a hand on his weapon, but held it under his jacket. Each breath seemed to supercharge him with energy, and he realised he’d been feeling the same effects as Slater, only to a much lesser extent. Now he could taste the oxygen, and it was glorious. Maybe if they’d undertaken the trek over a couple of weeks, they’d have had time to acclimatise.

He was in a state of limbo. Raya’s death hung thick and oppressive over him, and he stopped himself reaching for his phone to call it in. Then Violetta would know they failed, and Aidan Parker would know they’d lost his daughter. The consequences threatened to suffocate him, weigh him down, dump him in a vat of misery and never let up.

He couldn’t let it get to him until he was back on home soil.

Then he could start to digest it.

Perry muttered, ‘Jason…’

King looked up. There was a platoon of soldiers coming down the staircase they were ascending. He counted a dozen men in army gear, all moving in sync, all brandishing handguns in holsters at their waist and grey packs over their shoulders.

He froze.

Slater pulled to a halt to his left.

Perry stopped to his right.

Then they merged into single file to let the group past.

Everyone made eye contact. King looked from soldier to soldier, searching for any hint of suspicion. He found none. They nodded politely to him, Slater, and Perry in turn. Five of them hurried on past. They had places to be. Then a few more. Then another.

The last three stopped.

They pulled up alongside them all on the staircase, more inquisitive than their peers. One of them said, ‘Where is your guide?’

‘We don’t have one,’ King said.

‘How did you get here?’

‘We walked.’

The three soldiers exchanged a glance. Then the one that spoke English turned back to them and said, ‘Many of our guest houses will not accept you if you do not have a guide.’

‘We’ve managed so far,’ King said. ‘We’ll be fine.’

The man’s gaze wandered to the laptop tucked under Perry’s arm. ‘What is that?’

Perry lifted it up so everyone could see. ‘What do you think?’

‘Looks valuable. You shouldn’t carry it like that. Put it in a bag.’

‘Thanks. I’ll take that into consideration.’

Everyone stood there, bristling, staring at each other. King didn’t have a clue what this was. If it was hostile, then he should act now, getting the jump on them before they could go for their guns. But if it was just a friendly enquiry…

Perry stepped forward, put a hand on the guy’s shoulder, and said, ‘It’s fine.’

The man scrutinised him for a beat, then nodded and turned away. He set off down the staircase. His two comrades followed. No one looked back.

King waited for them to get out of earshot, then raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you telepathic or something?’

‘They needed prompting,’ Perry said. ‘We look like tough guys — they probably thought we were here to cause trouble. Best to give them a gentle reminder that we’re not here for that. I looked them in the eyes. I stood my ground. They appreciated that.’

Slater muttered, ‘Didn’t realise social skills were a superpower.’

‘Ninety percent of my job is just being courteous,’ Perry said. ‘You get the hang of it after a while. You learn when to step in, and when not to.’

‘What’s your magic lamp telling us now?’ King said.

‘That we should find a room and sort out this mess. And then make our way back to Kathmandu.’

‘Good plan.’

They ventured up to the top of Lukla, past the tourist commotion around the airport, past the popular teahouses. They went down back-alleys and through routes that ordinarily lay dormant. Then they found a simple wooden lodge near the town outskirts, and Parker said, ‘Perfect.’

King was grateful they’d reached shelter, because it seemed another rapid turnaround was occurring. Now Slater was in better condition than he was. The man was practically springing from foot to foot, whereas every step that King took felt slow, laborious, weighed down with invisible lead.

What’s happening?

Slater noticed. He pulled up alongside King and said, ‘Now look at us.’

‘We’re seesawing back and forth,’ King said.

Every word took considerable effort.

King said, ‘I think the Gokyo Ri climb is catching up to me.’

‘It didn’t look like fun.’

King trudged into the teahouse, waited on a hard wooden bench as Perry and Slater acquired a room from the owner, and let the brain fog seize him.

76

When they got into the room, Slater saw King eyeing one of the single beds.

Probably debating whether to collapse onto it or not.

In the end, the man opted not to. He went over to the corner of the small room, put his luggage down, and put his hands on his knees.

Trying to recover.

There was little light filtering through the overcast sky in the first place, but most of it still got caught on the curtains. They were heavy and coarse, made of some cheap beige material. Slater crossed the room and drew them closed, giving them the shadowy atmosphere they needed to discuss