“Where are you taking me?”
The Spaniard ignores the inquiry and draws the rope tighter. Norgay sees what’s happening and replaces Gato out front. The Cat moves to the left side of the captive and holds his arm to prevent him from falling. They pass a piton and keep going. Halfway to the far anchor, Norgay stops and forces the man to sit down. He presses his shoulders downward until he’s supine. Gato swings the captive’s hands over his head and stretches the chain so that it reaches the spike.
The captive yells, “Dammit. What are you doing?” when Norgay unties his shoes and tosses them to the side. He quiets down after Four Fingers kicks him in the ribs.
Norgay jerks the leg shackles until they reach the far piton. He and Gato connect the hardware so tightly there’s virtually no slack at either end. The captive is immobile and slung like a hammock between the two anchor points. The only thing moving is his urine. It’s flowing freely across the slab.
Norgay slips off Colonel Sung Yang’s hood.
“Why did you uncover my head?”
“So we can talk freely.”
Norgay is the only captor who’ll talk to the colonel. Gato and Four Fingers don’t speak Chinese, and Sung demonstrated last night that he understands very little Tibetan.
“But now I know what you look like.” When Norgay ignores his comment, Sung stutters, “Why are you speaking Mandarin?”
“It seems like the best choice.”
“Were you in my hotel room?”
“That isn’t important.”
“It is to me.”
“Two of us were.”
“Are you monks?”
“Funny you should ask.” Norgay isn’t smiling.
“Beijing ordered their punishment.”
“I was in Potala Square—”
“I had no choice—”
“—When you decapitated them.”
“That wasn’t my decision.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not responsible—”
“We’re not here to avenge the Buddhists.”
A grinding noise is getting louder. Sung rolls his head to the left and watches Four Fingers sharpening a knife against a rock.
“Who are you?”
“Patriots.”
“Why me?”
Norgay shows him a girl’s picture.
“Do you know this child, Colonel?”
“How do you know my rank?”
“Answer my question.”
“I’ve never seen her before.”
Norgay twists Sung’s forelock. “Are you sure?”
“I already told you—”
Norgay holds a DVD in front of the colonel’s face. He turns it so Sung can read the name on the label. “Then what’s this?”
When the colonel averts his eyes, Norgay smacks his head with the tape measure. “You raped and tortured that girl.”
“Rape? She’s a prostitute.”
“Say her name.”
“Why? You know it.”
“Say it or I’ll—”
“Haven’t you ever had a whore?”
Norgay brandishes his hammer. “She wasn’t a piece of meat.”
“All right . . . Nima.”
Norgay holds up a second photograph.
“Why are you showing me that?”
“Who’s in this picture?”
“How would I know?”
“It’s the same girl.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Look again.”
“At what?”
“Her face.”
“It’s burned off.”
“Because of you.”
“I wasn’t in Beijing.”
“The girl was dead before she got there.”
Norgay signals Four Fingers to join them. The colonel clanks his chains when he sees the undertaker take off his gloves and shift his carving knife from one hand to the other. “Make him put that down. I’m a Chinese officer—”
“You’re an abomination.”
“My men will track you down.”
“They’ve been trying for years.”
“It won’t be long—”
“You’re right. I have nothing to lose.”
A vulture lands on the slab and struts toward the colonel. He has a close-up view of the bird’s dark wings and yellow beak.
“Get that thing out of here.”
Gato throws a rock at the vulture. Although he misses, the noise startles the creature. The bird hops twice, spreads its wings, and rejoins the flock.
“If this is about money—”
Norgay cuts him off. “It’s not.”
“What do you want?”
“We’re going to end your miserable life.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“That isn’t negotiable.”
Sung’s eyes are swimming. “There must be something—”
“Do you know how we bury our relatives?”
“If you’re threatening me—”
“We call the ceremony jhator . . .”
Sung is transfixed by what’s circling overhead.
“Colonel?”
When Sung fails to respond a second time, Norgay presses a boot against his forehead. “Focus on me—not them.”
“Why are you doing this—”
“The ground is too hard to dig graves—”
“—To me?”
“—So we perform sky burials.”
“You’re barbarians.”
“It’s how we honor the dead.”
“I’d feed them to the dogs.”
“Our ceremony is almost that simple.” Norgay waits until the colonel stops heaving. “Except the vultures don’t have teeth. That’s why the undertaker cuts his subjects into small pieces. Regrettably, he hasn’t been able to improve the birds’ table manners. You’ll still be alive when they begin their meal.”
“Let me go.”
“Think of today as making amends.”
“I’ll forget this ever happened.”
“You wanted to know what’s negotiable.”
“I won’t come after you.”
“A reprieve isn’t one of them.”
“What if I told you—”
“I almost forgot the good news—”
“—How to hack into our computers.”
“—The vultures haven’t been to a funeral all week.”
“You’ll be able to—”
“They’ll make quick work of you.”
“Tell your butcher he won’t be far behind.”
“Unlike you, he’s looking forward to that.”
The colonel watches Four Fingers put on his fingerless gloves. “I’ve never seen uglier hands. We must’ve used a rusty axe.”
“The infection almost killed him.”
“He shouldn’t complain.”
“About losing his fingers?”
“I would’ve whacked them all.”
Norgay translates their conversation into Tibetan. The circles under his uncle’s eyes darken. “He didn’t really say that.”
“Word for word.”
The undertaker moves his nephew aside. He kneels next to Sung and pulls out his knife. His first cut is sudden and deep. He pushes the bolster inward until the tip hits a gusher. The colonel’s left shoulder is spouting blood. The second gouge is wider and longer. Four Fingers twists the serrated edge until the shaft reaches the initial wound. The pain transforms the colonel’s screams into a demonic howl. The last stroke—more lateral than penetrating—widens the gape. After sheathing his blade, Four Fingers tugs on the amputated muscle and it falls onto the slab.
“You pricks will die for this.”
Four Fingers throws the meat off to the side. A large female leaves the flock, swoops down, and cuts in front of another vulture. The bird grasps the flesh with its beak and flies away. Sung is screaming as he heaves rust-colored bile.
“End it. Kill me.”
“Not yet. We have a lot
to talk about.”
“Not anymore—not after that.”
“Now more than ever.”
“Go to hell. I won’t tell you anything.”
“In that case, we’ll keep going.”
Norgay nods at the undertaker. Four Fingers selects the left pectoral muscle. Once his knife is inside the chest, he changes the blade angle. That allows him to dig deeper, expand the incision, and core Sung’s nipple. When he finishes carving, he lays several clumps of tissue next to the colonel’s head. Sung lost consciousness during the procedure. But the pain seems to have revived him. He rants, “You’ll never get away with this.”
“We already have.”
“All of you will be dead by sundown.”
“No we won’t, but you will. You can avoid a lot of pain if—”
“Why should I—”
“Because I’ll let you choose how to die.”
The colonel is coughing up blood. “Not this way.”
“Then you better cooperate.” Norgay lays his 9mm on the slab. “My gun is one option. I’ll pump a bullet into your mouth or—if you prefer—the back of your head. Either way, you’ll die instantly.”
Sung’s corneas are crimson. “No.”
“Cyanide is probably more to your liking.” When Norgay opens his pill holder, the colonel’s tongue almost flicks the tablet into his mouth.
“Not so fast, Colonel.”
“You said I could choose.”
“After you answer my questions.”
“My men won’t give you a choice—”
“I won’t need one. They’ll never take me alive.”
“—They’ll cut your balls off.”
“I’ll add that to our list. Of the four, which do you prefer?” The colonel seems to be dissociating. “If you don’t answer—”
“The cyanide.”
“If you lie to me—”
“You pompous bastard. Get on with it.”
“How many Tibetans are you running?”
“I had three.”
“Had?”
“I was relieved of their command.”
“Are there others?”
“Headquarters sent eight more.”
“What are their names?”
The colonel slurs seven names.
Norgay writes them down. “I need the other four.”
“We never met.”
“Who’s in charge of your Tibetans?”
“A Beijing general.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jiang Shìlín.”
“Is he PLA?”
“Not anymore.”
“What’s his job?”
“Director of counterintelligence.”
“For the entire country?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“Where’s his office? I’d like to visit him.”
“The Department of Construction Building.”
“On Dangre Zhonglu?”
“Yes.”
“Great place to hide.”
Sung’s moaning has gotten louder. “I want my pill.”
“When do the Tibetans brief him?”
“7:00 a.m.”
Sung vomits again. The emesis is laced with blood.
“I answered your—”
“One more. Where do they live?”
“Old Town.”
“Give me their addresses.”
Sung’s left cheek has gone limp and appears to be paralyzed. His chains stop clanking and his eyes don’t track. Screaming, “Answer me!” Norgay pummels the colonel’s face. Gato places a hand on his partner’s shoulder.
“He’s done, Norgay.”
“No he’s not. He’s faking.”
“C’mon, we have a lot to do.”
Every blow splatters blood onto Norgay’s arms and chest. Leading him away, the Spaniard whispers, “Get ready to go or I’ll leave without you,” then trots to the car.
Four Fingers reaches for his sledgehammer and axe. “Your friend’s right. Get off the mountain. I’ll finish the job.” Norgay grabs the rag hanging from the undertaker’s pocket. He wipes the blood off his hands and tosses it in the fire.
“Work your magic, Uncle.”
“Please leave—”
“This monster has to disappear.”
“They’re probably looking for him right now.”
“Make sure the birds eat everything—”
“Your car is driving away.”
“—Right down to his last fingernail.”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ve never seen them this excited.”
“How will you get rid of all this blood?”
“I’ll scrub the altar till it shines.”
CHAPTER 19
JIANG’S FLIGHT WAS emblematic of his Tibet mission.
Dense smog forced his plane to circle Beijing Airport for over an hour. The pilot ultimately diverted to a military base in Tianjin. The general’s drive to the capital was even worse. Road debris punctured his front tires. He didn’t get home until 3:00 a.m.
China’s western frontier has been consuming all his time. Yesterday was a prime example. Despite Hong Kong’s importance, one of his aides had to suppress the riots in Victoria and Kowloon. The problems in the hinterland will continue to dominate his waking hours. His emphasis out there is about to change. Tibet currently occupies his front burner. Long term, subjugating Xinjiang Province will be the bigger challenge.
Jiang and the president just began their weekly meeting. They’re in Lao’s office sitting on opposite sides of his kidney-shaped desk.
“You look tired, General.”
“Sorry about that, sir.”
“Were you out on the town?”
“Nothing quite that exciting.”
“Get some sleep tonight.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“What did you learn about the monk?”
“He didn’t act alone.”
“Who assisted him?”
“Other monks.”
“Same monastery?”
“Yes.”
“Were they at the parade?”
“No. They never left Tibet.”
“What were their roles?”
“Planning and logistical support.”
“Where are they now?”
“They aren’t.”
“Was the Dalai clique involved?”
“Not this time.”
“What about the girl?”
“We haven’t identified her yet.”
The president’s glare is ice cold.
“The monks must’ve known her name.”
“They didn’t even know she was involved.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“I’m sure of it. They weren’t lying—not after what we did to them. All the monks admitted they were involved and ratted each other out. They wouldn’t have absorbed more punishment to protect the girl.”
“You’ve disappointed me, Jiang.”
“We’ve turned over every rock—”
“Except the right one.”
“Mr. President—”
“Shut down the investigation.”
“We can’t. Something else came up.”
“I don’t care about the loose ends.”
“It’s more than that.”
Jiang hands the president a report. Lao scans the first paragraph and looks up. “When did your officer go missing?”
“A few days ago.”
The president reads the next section then lays the report on the corner of his desk. “And you still don’t know who abducted him?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Have you met Colonel Sung?”
“Yes, sir. Last week.”
“What did you think?”
“That he was a slacker.” Jiang hands the president a disc. “My impression changed after we searched his home and belongings. He’s much worse than I thought.”
“What’s this?”
>
“One of his pornographic films.”
“I don’t care what he watches.”
“The colonel does more than watch. He’s in the video.”
“Having sex?”
“That’s the least of it.”
“How did you get them?”
“They were under his floorboards.”
“Put it in my DVD player.”
“Don’t watch the footage, Mr. President.” The general hands Lao an eight-by-eleven-inch envelope. “This describes what he did to the girls. It’s graphic enough.”
Lao puts on his bifocals and finishes reading the summary. He rolls it up and taps it against the edge of his desk. “Is his kidnapping related to this?”
“It’s one of the theories I’m pursuing. He may have crossed one of the local pimps—or gotten involved in something more complicated. We don’t know if he filmed the dead girl. If he did, I’d certainly check that out.”
“Where did they grab him?”
“A hotel room.”
“What was he doing there?”
“Getting ready for several other girls.”
“Did they break into his room?”
“I don’t think so. There were no signs of a struggle or forced entry, and they wrote a message on the bathroom mirror. They wouldn’t have done that unless they were in the room waiting for him.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?”
“Highly unlikely.”
“Why would they kill him?”
“He told them what they wanted to know.”
“Why not keep him around? He could help them in the future.”
“The colonel didn’t have access to classified information. He’s a low-value asset. Sung would’ve told them everything he knew in a few hours.”
“How do you know what he said?”
“They eliminated our entire Tibetan network. He was the only person who could’ve fingered them.”
Lao is staring at the light blinking on his phone.
“Keep searching for him.”
“It’ll be a waste of time. We’ll never recover his body.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because of where we didn’t find him.”
CHAPTER 20
BRANNIGAN IS BACK at Matilda Hospital.
It’s the same drill as last time—sitting in the lobby waiting for an escort. He’s debating whether to change seats. He peeks around his Sing Pao Daily News at the person sitting next to him. The middle-aged woman is wearing the largest face mask he has ever seen. He wonders if she has an infectious disease or is simply paranoid about other people’s germs. When he sneezes, the woman makes the decision for both of them. She springs to her feet and hurries to the far end of the lobby.
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