Free Jack Higgins - Chavasse 02 by Year of the Tiger Page A

soldiers brought coffee and a tin of assorted biscuits.
    â€œDon’t tell me the army of the People’s Republic is going soft on me,” Chavasse commented.
    Kurbsky shook his head. “My own private stock, I assure you. I always find that a few little luxuries make all the difference on a trip like this in rough country.”
    Chavasse swallowed some of the coffee. It was good and he grunted his approval. “Taking a leaf out of the old empire-builder’s book, eh? Dinner jackets on safari in darkest Africa and all that sort of thing.”
    â€œThank God for the English,” Kurbsky said solemnly. “At least they gave the world respectability.”
    â€œAt any time a most dubious virtue,” Chavasse said, and they both laughed.
    â€œHow is London these days?” Kurbsky asked.
    For a moment Chavasse hesitated, and then he shrugged. After all, why not? “When I left there was a steady drizzle blowing in from the river, bringing with it all the signs of a typical English winter; there wasn’t a leaf in sight in Regent’s Park, and five nuclear disarmers had chainedthemselves to the railings outside 10 Downing Street.”
    Kurbsky sighed. “Only in London! I was there last year, you know. I managed to catch Gielgud in The Cherry Orchard one evening. A memorable performance—for an Englishman playing Chekhov, of course. Afterwards we had supper at Hélène Cordet’s Saddle Room.”
    â€œFor a Russian abroad, you certainly visit the right places,” Chavasse told him.
    Kurbsky shrugged. “It’s a necessary function of my work to mix with all classes and to try to see something of every facet of your society. How else are we to understand you?”
    â€œThe sentiment does you credit,” Chavasse told him. “Although I can’t say it’s one I’ve frequently encountered among Russian journalists.”
    â€œThen you have obviously been mixing in the wrong circles,” Kurbsky said politely.
    One of the soldiers brought more coffee. When he had moved back to the fire, Chavasse said, “One thing puzzles me. I thought things were strained between Moscow and Peking. How come the Chinese are letting you run loose in their most closely guarded province?”
    â€œWe have our differences from time to time. Nothing more than that.”
    Chavasse shook his head. “Don’t kid yourself. You people like to make cracks about American political immaturity, but at least they had thegood sense to realize before the rest of the world who the real enemy of peace was. China’s your problem as well as ours. Even Khrushchev’s got the brains to see that.”
    â€œPolitics and religion,” Kurbsky sighed, and shook his head. “Even friends quarrel about such matters. I think it is time we turned in.”
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    In spite of the quilted sleeping bag which Kurbsky gave him, Chavasse was cold. His head was splitting and he was again conscious of that slight feeling of nausea.
    He looked out through the tent flap and concentrated on the flame of the spirit stove, trying to will himself to sleep. One soldier had wrapped himself in a sheepskin rug beside the stove and the other paced up and down on guard, his rubber boots drubbing over the frozen ground.
    Chavasse thought about Kurbsky, remembering some of the things the Russian had said and the way laughter had glinted constantly in the grey eyes. A man hard to dislike. In other circumstances, they might even have been friends.
    He dozed off and awakened again only an hour later, his teeth chattering and his face beaded with sweat. Kurbsky was kneeling beside him, a cup in one hand.
    Chavasse tried to sit up and the Russian pushed him back. “There is nothing to worry about. You have a touch of the mountain sickness, that’s all. Swallow this pill. It will help.”
    Chavasse took the pill with shaking fingers and washed it down with cold coffee from the