* * *
Shan disposed of his hat on the first block after crossing the Jamalinka bridge, his sweatshirt on the second. The news of the cavern had excited him and saddened him, and now scared him. He had warned Cao to hide all evidence of the cave, and stop all discussion of it, even offered to drive him back to his dig site, but the quiet scholar had not replied, simply gazed at him defiantly.
Shan longed for the peace of Yangkar and realized he might at least make it back in time for one of his treasured breakfasts with Marpa. The anticipation put a new energy in his pace and he had eagerly pulled out his keys as he approached his car. But as he reached for the driver’s door a voice spoke over his shoulder.
“Not just yet, Comrade Constable.”
He turned to face Lieutenant Huan in a well-pressed Public Security uniform, fixing him with a smug smile. Two knob soldiers appeared out of the shadows, flanking Shan. One held a pistol on Shan as another frisked him.
Shan fought to keep his voice level. “Am I under arrest?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Huan said. “Nothing so formal. I am just inviting you to what they used to call a struggle session. You know, where the wayward receive an overdue socialist recalibration.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You are adrift in a treacherous sea, Constable,” Huan proclaimed as he closed the interrogation room door behind him. “You are so far over your head you might drown at any moment. You have one chance, and that is to go back to Yangkar and resume counting your piles of yak dung or whatever it is you do there.”
Shan pulled the pad of paper from the center of the table and wrote down a phone number then pushed it toward the arrogant knob officer.
“What’s that?” Huan asked with a sneer.
“Colonel Tan’s private phone in Lhadrung. Just clear it with him and I’d be happy to go home.”
Huan looked like he had bitten something sour. He ripped the paper in half. “Tan’s a dinosaur. He’s already extinct, just doesn’t know it. His friends in Beijing are gone, already turned to fossils.”
“A dinosaur who still shakes the ground he walks on. Funny, I had thought you had recently experienced the sharpness of his teeth.”
Huan’s eyes flashed with anger. “He had no authority over me!”
“He had you transferred out of Lhadrung,” Shan pointed out. “And then there was that unpleasant suspension from the promotion lists.”
“The bastard made suggestions and headquarters just went along because they were so used to Tan getting his way. Those days are over. The old man has no idea what he was dealing with.” Huan fixed Shan with a simmering gaze. “I won’t let some ordinary fool get in my way again.”
“No one would consider me just an ordinary sort of fool,” Shan replied in a level tone. “But surely it is impossible that a lowly constable could interfere with a Public Security officer in the Lhasa headquarters.”
“A constable waving a made-up badge as Tan’s inspector. A constable who has the nerve to be defiant to the Public Security Bureau. Yes, you are no ordinary fool. You are a blind, self-destructive fool.”
“I ever endeavor to follow the shining light of socialism,” Shan stated. It was one of the scripted responses from the old struggle sessions. Many subjects had been brutally beaten before finally mouthing the prescribed words.
“You just prove you are another dinosaur by speaking slogans from decades ago.”
Huan himself wasn’t much older than thirty, and struggle sessions had been a favorite Party tool in the sixties and seventies. “I’m impressed, Lieutenant, that you are so well versed in the ancient lore of the motherland,” Shan said.
“The history of the socialist dialectic is taught in every Red Hammer school,” Huan said, referring to the special summer schools run for the children of Party elites. “I also learned of the importance of silencing reactionaries before they can inflict harm to the motherland.”
“Reactionaries. I confess I never fully grasped that word. Everything in life is a reaction. You saw two soldiers die in a hailstorm. You reacted out of your own personal animus against a harmless old Tibetan. No one agreed with your charges. Your superiors reacted by sending you out of Lhadrung. You reacted by sending the Tibetan to administrative detention. He reacted by causing an earthquake at his camp, at least by your theory. Who is the reactionary, Lieutenant? I am not the one charging crimes based on ancient myths.”
Huan took an abrupt step toward Shan and with a lightning-quick snap of his arm slapped him. “Why are you in Lhasa?” he shouted.
Shan shook his head to clear his eyes. “Metok Rentzig.”
The name caused the knob officer to hesitate. “His case is closed.”
“Colonel Tan is fastidious. He can’t believe there can be conspiracy of corruption without other conspirators.” For an instant Shan saw worry on Huan’s face. “Corruption is never a solitary crime,” he added.
“The prosecution file was handled by Public Security, the most advanced investigative service in the world. Other suspects were reviewed. There was insufficient evidence to pursue anyone else.”
“Then I will have to admit to the Colonel that I am wasting my time. But I did want to ask you something. Why did you take the Ice Ball Alley road that day when you brought prisoners into Lhadrung?”
Huan frowned. “The damned Tibetan driver. It was a long, boring drive from Larung Gar. He said we could cut hours off our journey by taking the old road.” The lieutenant moved back to the door and locked it, then stepped to a chair with a stack of files in front of it. “None of that explains why you were at the university dig today.”
Shan weighed his words. Here was a link he had not foreseen. The dead professor’s deputy and Huan were communicating with each other. “Surely the acting director at the dig told you I was escorting a grieving father who sought the comfort of experiencing his daughter’s final days.”
“A grieving father who had no connection to you or Lhadrung County.”
“I met him in connection with the incident on the train. I speak English. He had suffered a terrible loss. It seemed to be the compassionate thing to do.”
An icy grin rose on Huan’s thin face. He sat and opened one of the files. “The incident on the train is being investigated by my office and the Lhasa police as a possible homicide. Your American Cato Pike is a prime suspect.”
A cold lump formed in Shan’s gut. “What happened on that train is under military jurisdiction.”
“The victim was found in the military’s compartment, yes. But he was a civilian. There is a protocol. All crimes discovered on the Lhasa train are the responsibility of the Lhasa authorities. I have witnesses who say the American visibly disturbed the victim, that he followed him, some say chased him, toward the back of the train. That was outside the military compartment. Assault with intent to commit a felony is a serious charge in itself. The medical report indicates the American struck him, another felony.”
Shan had not seen the report and had very expressly ordered the train doctor to send the report only to Tan’s office. Huan had intercepted it. “Like I said, call Colonel Tan. He will correct any misunderstanding.”
“If you were found to be protecting, even aiding the suspect, then you too are guilty of a crime, comrade, a crime clearly in my jurisdiction.”
“So this is why you sent someone to Yangkar to find me,” Shan stated. “Was she going to interrogate me herself or just drag me back to Lhasa?”
Huan hesitated, not masking his confusion. “I sent no one. Do not try to distract me, comrade. I have enough to detain you. The colonel can call me, when he misses you in a day or two.”
Shan gave an exaggerated sigh. “So much paperwork. Just think of it. Public Security detaining an inspector working for the military governor. Public Security interfering with an investigation into matters that may affect the security of the motherland. Public Security has its lawyers. The army has its own lawyers. We will write our reports, then the lawyers
will write theirs, which will be ten times as long. Then the provincial Party authorities will get involved. They’ll start citing the scriptures of Chairman Mao to let everyone know they have the ultimate authority. And eventually Beijing will step in. Generals and Party officials on special joint committees. By then they will view the whole thing as an embarrassment to the state and ask, who is the imbecile who started it? The answer will be obvious, the unreliable officer who started a prosecution based on myths and religion that the government could never officially acknowledge. Remind me. Who will be called the reactionary?”
Huan’s face flushed with fury. “You won’t dare start those wheels moving!” he hissed. “You are more vulnerable than me!”
“Not true. I have no ambition to higher office or higher rank. But not so with you. What was it last time? Three years’ loss of seniority? It’ll be four years next time, even five, and a posting to some Himalayan hill station that’s covered in snow nine months of the year.”
Huan quieted. He stood and went to the window, where he lit a cigarette as he stared out over Lhasa. The Potala, glowing on its well-lit hill, seemed to hover over the darkened city. “Such an imagination,” the lieutenant said. “You are out of your element, comrade, in a minefield you cannot navigate. You will come to realize I am doing you a favor.” He turned and exhaled smoke toward Shan. “Do you want a blanket to sleep here on the table or shall I take you down to the holding cells?”
Shan refused to be provoked. “While I’m here perhaps you can give me the contact information for Officer Daoli.”
A snarl formed on Huan’s lips.
“You know, the officer in Hong Kong who did that amazing fieldwork. Not only uncovering Metok’s secret account but also spotting the corrupt Tibetan on the streets on the very day he set up the account. What a workhorse! And what a memory, considering Metok had not yet been identified as a criminal!”
“Details of our secret investigations are never disclosed,” Huan warned.
Shan held up his hands as if to concede the point. “You would know the bureaucratic rules better than a lowly constable. Who should it be then? The banking authorities?”
Huan hesitated. “I don’t follow.”
“The secret fund. The corruption money. It is the property of the state now. You must never have been involved in the feuds that always arise over the allocation of such windfalls. Colonel Tan will want to make a claim, of course, since it relates to a project in his county. The old veterans from the early days in Tibet called them gate fees. You know, the way warlords used to charge a toll for passing through their territory. No bribe may be received without sharing a piece with the warlord.”
Huan studied him with a treacherous gleam, then shrugged. “You have only a year or two but I doubt you’ll survive that long.”
“A year or two?
“The master development plan, Constable.”
“You mean the work the Institute is doing for Deputy Director Jiao.”
“Exactly. Yangkar is the closest town to the project. It is to become the administrative center for the dam. Hundreds of immigrants. New office blocks and dormitories. Deputy Jiao will be in charge, the mayor if you will. He will want his own constable.” Huan laughed at the stunned expression on Shan’s face. “Let’s do the cell then. No one will be able to release you without my approval. It’s such a busy time for Public Security in Lhasa. I may not be available to the jailers for two or three days.” As he unlocked the door it flew open, pushing him back.
“Lieutenant Huan!” came a worried voice from the corridor. “There are some—”
“Fool!” Huan interrupted. “You were not to interrupt me, Sergeant! Do you not understand that—” Huan’s own words were cut off as his sergeant stumbled into the room, shoved from behind. His nose was bleeding. The pocket of his tunic was torn.
“There you are, Inspector Shan!” Lieutenant Zhu exclaimed as he pushed past the stunned Huan. “What a difficult man you are to locate!”
Two soldiers in fatigues, holsters at their waists, stepped in behind Zhu, who himself now wore his uniform and a weapons belt. Two more mountain commandos were visible in the corridor.
“Inspector, you must have forgotten your appointment with Colonel Tan!” Zhu continued and nodded to Huan. “Gratitude for keeping him in one place for more than an hour,” he added, then grabbed Shan’s arm and pulled him out of the room.
Shan smiled at the furious Huan as he left. The surly knob did not understand that he had provided a new piece for Shan’s puzzle.
* * *
The sun was inching over the horizon, glinting off a new strand of razor wire, when they arrived at the 404th People’s Construction Brigade. Zhu had insisted Shan ride in his car so Shan could sleep in the back seat during the hours-long drive to Lhadrung as one of the soldiers followed in Shan’s own car. The resourceful young lieutenant, who had been watching Shan and seen him taken by Huan, had brought friends from the city barracks. He now insisted that Shan stay quiet as they reached the prison gate. The guard waved Zhu through, then Shan’s car, driven now by a sleepy army clerk they had roused from sleep in the Lhadrung barracks.
The prisoners were moving in and out of the washrooms and beginning to line up at the mess hall door for their morning meal of porridge. The clerk from Lhadrung disappeared into the administration building and minutes later the building erupted with senior guards and administrative officers who hurried toward the inner barracks compound. Colonel Tan was notorious for his unannounced audits, and this morning not even the clerk from the town garrison had known there was to be a surprise prisoner census until Zhu and Shan had awakened him. The camp officers had not argued when Zhu explained the procedure, though they seemed surprised that he knew the compound well enough to tell them that a small utility shed behind the mess hall would be used by the audit team. No one seemed to recognize Shan, who wore Zhu’s army trench coat and a cap pulled low over his head. Zhu had quickly accepted that Shan could not antagonize the guards for fear of losing his upcoming family visit. The lieutenant also reminded Shan that Public Security often had its own informers among the prison staff.
The inmates were directed to step inside the front door of the unused storage shed one at a time for a corroboration of their names and registration numbers against Tan’s central records, then leave through the small chamber at the rear that had its own door to the compound outside. Shan had once been locked in the chamber for several days with only water when he been discovered sneaking food to a prisoner too sick to rise out of his bed. The clerk was efficient in processing the prisoners, tolerating Zhu’s impromptu questions for the inmates as Shan listened from the shadows of the back room. He struggled to keep focused on the dialogue, for he was being nagged by the nightmare that haunted his sleep in the car. Deputy Director was going to take over Yangkar. It would be the end of everything he held precious in the town.
Shan forced himself not to acknowledge old Tibetans he had been imprisoned with as they passed through, casting nervous glances at the shadowed figure leaning against crates. Finally, a tired, familiar voice called out in response to the clerk’s question. “Shan Ko, Barracks Nine.”
As Ko entered the back chamber, Zhu shut the door behind him. Shan stepped into the light.
It had been nearly two months since he had last seen his son, and they had only a few minutes at most now, but the weary, determined smile on Ko’s face spoke volumes. His first few months in the 404th, like Shan’s, had been about learning how to survive the brutal conditions of the hard labor prison, but now he was learning about more important things from the older prisoners, most of whom had been monks and lamas.
“Is life really so dull in Yangkar,” Ko said as the door latch clicked shut, “that you wanted to join one of our ridiculous audits?”
“Never boring. And the audit was staged so I could speak with you.”
Ko was no stranger to the intrigues that surrounded his father. He just nodded, but before Shan co
uld continue, he spoke one word. “Yara?”
“She thrives and looks forward to our visit. But for now, I must ask about six prisoners who arrived here a little more than a year ago. They came in a special convoy, from the east, from Sichuan. Try to recall.”
“Of course, I remember because the convoy brought in two dead soldiers. The windshields of every vehicle were shattered, the roofs and hoods all pockmarked. Everyone talked about it for weeks. The old ones said the fools must have come down Ice Ball Alley, a high mountain road that gets hail almost every day in the summer. They say the hail protects an old god who lives in the great mountain above.”
“Who were the prisoners?”
“Six Tibetans, all from that Larung Gar place, the big Buddhist school. Most seemed to be monks, though not all of them. Word was that they had resisted the rationalization, when thousands were forced to leave, though everyone assumed they had done more than simply protest for them to be sent here instead of the Shoe Factory.”
Shan considered the report. Huan had not understood the significance of revealing the name of the teaching center to him. Larung Gar, in the traditionally Tibetan region of western Sichuan Province, had been a highly popular Buddhist learning center, one of the few that had been allowed to grow in recent years. But then the population had swelled to over ten thousand monks and nuns, including scores of Chinese students. After busloads of tourists started arriving, the government had decided it had grown a little too popular and announced that half the population must leave. Without warning it had begun bulldozing homes and classrooms.
“Who were they? Why those six?”
Ko shrugged. “Because they frightened someone in the government. They’re very quiet, very learned. The eldest was from old Tibet, they said, a learned lama named Tsomo. Some of the other prisoners, not just the ones from Larung Gar, were beaten for bowing to him when they saw him. I’ll never forget the day he passed.”
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