Standing over the abbot, the colonel mocks his honorary title. “If you’re so holy, Rinpoche, pray yourself off the floor.” Sung kicks the lama’s throat. “I won’t say it again. Get on your feet.”
The abbot clutches his neck. With his other hand he reaches into his mouth, explores the bloody orifice, and extracts a broken tooth. Holding on to the edge of his desk, the abbot raises himself in stages. He is almost upright when the colonel’s second-in-command intervenes. “Sir, if he hits his head again, we may lose him.”
The colonel reacts with a sardonic grin. Despite the rebuke, the lieutenant finishes what he was saying. “We have other means—”
Sung directs the lieutenant to follow him. The colonel lights into the junior officer as they reach the far corner of the room.
“You’re insubordinate.”
“Sir, I was—”
“The abbot won’t tell us anything. This exercise is to intimidate the younger monks.” The lieutenant is about to rejoin the other soldiers when Sung squeezes his arm. “Don’t ever question my decisions. The next time will be your last.”
“I wasn’t being disrespectful, Colonel.”
“Get back with the others.”
The abbot is propped against his desk and smiling peacefully as Sung returns to the middle of the room. He gets out, “My friend—” before Sung bitch-slaps him across the cheek. The abbot falls headfirst until another monk rushes forward, grabs him around the waist, and lays him on a rug.
The colonel claps his hands. “Excellent catch.” He walks up to the monk and breathes in his face. “Do you understand Mandarin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Losang Gyatso.”
Sung steps on the monk’s bare foot.
“Did you socialize with Gendun?”
“Ours is a small community.”
“Answer my question.”
“He and I seldom spoke.”
“You were friends.”
Losang is impassive. “Everyone is my friend.”
“Do you know what he did today?”
“I heard people talking—”
“Why didn’t you notify anyone?”
“—After you arrived.”
“What are they saying?”
“That he set himself on fire.”
“You were involved.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“You must’ve known.”
“I had no idea he would do that.”
“Did he tell you he was going to Beijing?”
“He didn’t, but I heard about his trip.”
“What did you hear?”
“That he was attending a seminar.”
“What was the subject?”
“I don’t know the specifics.”
“Other monks said you assisted him.”
“They couldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t.”
The colonel shoves Losang against the abbot’s desk.
“Identify the other conspirators.”
“I don’t know of any.”
Sung curses Siddhartha. When the monk’s face registers disapproval, the colonel punches his midsection. The blow doubles him over. But only for a moment. The monk straightens up as if nothing happened. The colonel winces and rubs his knuckles as he walks toward the lieutenant. “Are the inquisitors here yet?”
“On their way, sir.”
“Make sure they interrogate this one first.” He motions for two soldiers to step forward. “Until then, keep him in isolation.”
One of the privates puts Losang in handcuffs. The other places a spiked collar around his neck and fiddles with the fit until it’s tight against his skin. They’re taking him away when the colonel orders them to stop. He unfolds the photocopy he was carrying in his pocket and walks full circle around the monk.
“There was a second suicide at the motorcade.” When Losang doesn’t respond, Sung twists his ear. “But you know all about that.”
“A soldier said a girl was involved.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that a denial?”
“It’s the truth.”
Sung holds the page in front of the monk’s face. The grainy black-and-white image is of a man and woman standing in front of a mountain. They are showing off their bad teeth, wrinkled clothing, and unkempt hair.
“Who are the people in the picture?”
“You were talking about a girl.”
The colonel torques Losang’s collar. “Now I’m asking about the people in the photo. Let’s try it again. Do you recognize them?”
The monk studies the picture. Then meets the colonel’s gaze.
“I’ve never seen them before.”
CHAPTER 5
BRANNIGAN FEELS BETTER after his nap.
His head is still throbbing. But his stomach has settled down. He normally battles a migraine attack by sequestering himself in a dark room, lying down, and keeping his eyes closed. He can’t do that tonight. It’s the engineers’ last evening on the Silk Road Express. They’ll expect him to party until last call. Even when he leaves, he won’t go right to bed. He has to pack his belongings and get ready to disembark at the crack of dawn.
He slides off the bed and checks the time. The cocktail party has already begun. He didn’t tell anyone—other than Kylie—that he was ill. The others will be talking about why he’s absent again. He worries his photophobia will come back and doesn’t turn on the lights. He enters the bathroom and steps into the narrow shower stall. He feels dizzy and holds on to the grab bar. The spray is more dribble than massage, but the hot water eases his pain.
The week has gone by quickly. It began at Beijing’s Peninsula Hotel. Global’s chief security officer, Harry Dyer, arrived two days early. The former FBI assistant director deactivated the bugs the Chinese planted in the engineers’ suites and their private dining room. In addition to his daily sweeps, Dyer vets Brannigan’s electronic devices. He’ll be aboard the Silk Road Express the entire trip and serve as Brannigan’s wingman when they helicopter from Kashgar to the Tarim Basin.
The Chinese weren’t keen on letting him fly but relented after reviewing his credentials. Certified and instrument rated, Brannigan owns a Robinson R44 and commutes between Manhattan and his Shelter Island beach house. He upgraded his skills last spring by training on a jet-powered Bell 407. The unfamiliar terrain doesn’t faze him. The sandstorms in western China can’t be worse than what Harry encountered during Desert Shield. Navigating in Xinjiang Province should actually be safer than in New York City. The airspace will be far emptier than the skies over Kennedy and LaGuardia.
His first sighting was on the day before the opening dinner.
Brannigan was on his way to the gym when he saw her checking into the hotel. She stopped him dead in his tracks. Her well-turned ankles are what he noticed first. Moving up from there, he wasn’t disappointed. The willowy blonde was tall and well dressed. Her mod hairstyle, short and playful, accentuated her figure.
He wondered about her face. That could have ruined it all. But he never got to see her features. Intent on her registration form, she didn’t turn around. He assumed she was attached and tried to forget about her. Even if she were unattached, it wouldn’t do him any good. He was leaving Beijing in a few days and heading west.
Brannigan thought he was joining the wrong party.
There she was again, the blonde with the exquisite curves. She had exchanged her business attire for a shimmering black dress. Although he only saw her left side, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He still wasn’t sure he was at the right event. But when he canvassed the room, he recognized more than half the men. They were part of his group.
He shook hands with two engineers and their wives. One couple was German, the other Japanese. After the usual small talk—great to see you again, business has been terrific, we took the most fabulous vacation—h
e asked about their families. They knew not to inquire about his.
He had an unobstructed view of the blonde. That changed when another spouse joined their group and got in the way. He pretended to need a napkin, circled around her to get one, and restored his sight line.
She had to be married to one of the engineers. He knew he had no basis for feeling deprived, but did anyway. He tried to identify her husband. There were no candidates in the immediate vicinity. The blonde and two other women were off by themselves. He presumed they were swapping domestic tales and talking about their children.
He surveyed the entire room and took a head count. He already knew the denominator. All the professionals on the trip, eleven engineers and one geophysicist, were men. The males listed on the manifest—including Brannigan—added up to a total of twelve. All the other men indicated they were bringing spouses. There were only ten women in the room including the blonde. The females were one short.
He counted the guys. Same result. The manifest and the actual numbers didn’t match. He scanned the room again. Using his fingers, he came up with the same tally. There were ten other men, eleven counting him. One member of the male contingent was somewhere else. He surmised that the missing guy, and his or someone else’s wife, were outside the banquet room. They were probably smoking, calling home, or in the WC.
He was too worked up to think straight. He ran the numbers a third time and reached the same inescapable conclusion. The blonde must be married to one of the guys in the group. He took another look at the men in her vicinity. The blonde’s husband was still nowhere in sight. Brannigan finished his conversation with the German and Japanese couples. He couldn’t remember a single thing they discussed.
There was only one thing on his mind, and she had joined a larger group, mixed gender this time. Maybe that would help him identify her spouse. He and the mystery girl were twenty feet apart. He was still limited to a left profile view. She was too beautiful to be real, and he began to free-associate. Conjuring up an image from The Phantom of the Opera, he fantasized that her right cheek was horribly disfigured.
A Caucasian male was standing next to her. The man was tall and handsome, late thirties or early forties, Brannigan’s age. The beauty and the unknown guy were having different conversations. He had to be her husband, but there wasn’t much chemistry between them. Brannigan wondered if they were already bored with each other.
The blonde turned his way. He thought she caught him staring. His face felt warm as he looked in a different direction. That’s when he saw Claude Fournier, a friend and colleague, approaching her. The elderly Frenchman kissed the blonde on each cheek and gave her a big hug. She smiled and returned the endearment.
That exchange eliminated the younger candidate. Brannigan muttered, “Good grief. Has Claude dumped Monique for this young babe?” He wished he had never seen the blonde. Lost in thought, he retreated to the front entrance.
He ordered a beer and stood by himself. He wasn’t alone for long.
“Michael. What a lovely surprise.” The owner of the familiar voice was behind him. When he turned around, she asked, “Why aren’t you mixing?”
“Hello, Monique. I just got here. Where have you been hiding?”
“The ladies’ room.” She was waving a tissue in her left hand. “This is my third nosebleed since we left Paris. Am I still dripping?”
“The evidence has vanished. You look great.”
“Merci beaucoup.”
“I’m glad you and Claude are making the trip.”
“So are we. He’ll be thrilled you’re here.”
She took his hand and headed toward her husband. Along the way she lifted a glass from a serving table. One taste was enough. Her wry smile rated the wine—a Great Wall Cabernet—as inferior to her favorite Bordeaux. She returned it to a busboy and asked Brannigan the question of the day.
“Wasn’t this Dickie Chang’s project?”
“That was the plan. His mother had a sudden illness.”
“Sorry to hear that. Give him our best.”
His head was racing as they approached the blonde. It wasn’t until he was three feet away that she turned and he saw her entire face— the high cheekbones, creamy complexion, and green eyes. Her emeralds danced when she smiled. She was even more beautiful close-up. He wanted to say something witty. Instead he felt tongue-tied.
All that came out was, “Hello, I’m Michael Brannigan.”
Her reply was a demure, “Pleased to meet you.” That was enough for him to pick up on her accent. She could’ve been from the UK or South Africa. Something about her diction made that seem unlikely. He has trouble distinguishing Aussies from Kiwis, but was reasonably sure she grew up on one side of the Ditch or the other.
Claude interjected, “This lady is the top geophysicist in the Eastern Pacific.”
Brannigan sneaked a glance at her ID badge. He was familiar with her employer, Windsor Earth Sciences. Global hired the Sydney-based company to minimize the risk of drilling-induced earthquakes. One of his recent jobs shut down for six months after injection wells shook a nearby town. He didn’t want that happening again.
The blonde was blushing at the compliment. Brannigan’s frontal lobes rallied before she responded to Claude’s praise.
“She may be brilliant . . .”
He paused for effect and sipped his beer. The people around them stopped talking and moved closer. The blonde’s eyes were trained on his. They conveyed something between curiosity and amusement.
“. . . But there’s one thing she’s not—”
Claude was about to come to her defense.
Brannigan cut him off by pointing at her badge.
“—Fred Ward.”
The blonde waited for the laughter to fade. “Thanks for noticing.”
She smiled after he offered his right hand. Hers wasn’t immediately forthcoming. She made him wait for what seemed like an eternity. His entire body tingled when their fingers finally touched.
“If you’re not Fred—”
“I’m Kylie Ryan.”
She took back her hand before explaining the substitution. “Fred’s daughter has soccer playoffs. As for this,” she wiggled her badge, “I’ll get a new one in the morning.”
Monique detached the magnetic name tag and dropped it into an empty glass. “Seriously dear, why bother? I can’t imagine you’ll need one.”
CHAPTER 6
THERE HADN’T BEEN a man in Kylie’s life for quite a while.
She has never been short of admirers. But that hasn’t led to romantic relationships. She politely rebuffed all of her potential suitors. Kylie considered herself damaged goods and didn’t want to get hurt again. That changed when she came to China.
Kylie was intrigued the moment she saw him.
The physical attraction was strong and immediate, and Michael passed the test most men fail. He didn’t ruin things when he opened his mouth. His high preliminary scores only meant he had made it to the next round. She still had to make sure he wasn’t married or a womanizer. He checked out in both respects.
She knew he was interested in her. He tried to hide his feelings but wasn’t very good at it. She caught him looking at her from across the room. Michael eliminated any remaining uncertainty after they introduced themselves. His eyes were all over her ring finger. He sighed out loud. The relief on his face was unmistakable.
She didn’t expect to meet a guy like this on an engineering trip. His name wasn’t even on the program. Any number of things could have gone wrong. None did. They had a smashing time together. Every day was better than the one before.
Most men were in a hurry. Michael had been okay with the pace. They had time alone in Beijing and a lot more during the train trip. He commanded her full attention during their first dinner in the capital. When she finally looked around, the only other people in the room were waiters and busboys laying tomorrow’s place settings. He laughed when she asked, “Where did everyone go?”
They extended their evening by closing the Peninsula piano bar. Kylie ran her finger across his coat pocket while they waited for the elevator. “You’re handy with a name tag.”
“I’m not usually that forward.”
“You’re chock-full of pickup lines.”
His only response was a smile.
“Aha,” she said. “I was right.”
“This is hilarious.”
“How many come-ons do you have?”
“None that work. The other guy always got the girl.”
“There you go again.”
“We were having such a good time together.”
She yanked his tie. “What do you mean ‘good’?”
“It beats awful.”
“I had a wonderful time. Didn’t you?”
“Darn close. I was right on the edge.”
“Bummer. I pulled out all the stops.”
“Do you know what I like best about you?”
She couldn’t tell if he was serious. “My perspicacity?”
“That won second place. C’mon, it’s obvious.”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“Looking you in the eye.”
That was her excuse to move closer and look into his. She was struck by the way his irises changed color. All evening they were green. Now they appeared sky blue.
He acted embarrassed. When he stepped back, she stood on her tiptoes. “You better enjoy it while you can. Tomorrow night, I’m wearing heels.”
The following day they were up early and off to the Forbidden City.
They visited the Temple of Heaven in the afternoon. That evening they shared a Peking duck at the hotel’s five-star restaurant. Michael was considerate and surprisingly protective. He was still concerned about the minor injury she suffered that morning. He asked about it during dessert.
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