The Skull Mantra (12 page)

“At least surprise. Surprise at every crossroad,” Shan offered judiciously.

The man replied with a short, restrained laugh and settled into the seat beside Shan. Shan covered his file with his hands.

“Haven't seen you before. Assigned to a unit in the mountains?”

“In the mountains,” Shan grunted. The outer office was not heated, and he had not removed the anonymous gray coat Feng had found for him that morning in the back of the truck.

“Old man's got his bowl too full,” the man confided, with a nod toward Tan's door. “Reports for the Party. Reports for the army. Reports for Public Security. Reports on the status of reports. We don't let bureaucracy interfere like that. No way to get things done.”

Feng's head lurched backward. He began to snore.

“We?” Shan inquired.

With a theatrical air the man opened a small vinyl case and handed Shan an embossed card.

Shan studied the card. It was made of paper-thin plastic. Li Aidang, it said. The name had been a favorite of ambitious parents a generation earlier. Li Who Loves the Party. Shan's gaze drifted to the title and froze. Assistant Prosecutor. Tan had done it, he thought, he had summoned an investigator from outside. Then he read the address on the card. Lhadrung County.

He rubbed his fingers over the words in disbelief. “You are very young for such a responsibility,” Shan said at last, and studied Li. The assistant prosecutor could not have been much past thirty. He wore an expensive backdoor watch and, oddly, some kind of Western sporting shoes. “And a long way from home.”

“Don't miss Beijing. Too many people. Not enough opportunity.”

There was that word again. It was odd to hear an assistant prosecutor speak of opportunity.

Madame Ko reappeared.

“Obviously he doesn't understand—” Li began in a patronizing tone. “It's about the arrest. He needs to sign authorizations. He will want to inform the—”

Madame Ko moved out of the room without acknowledging Li. As Li stared after her a sneer grew on his face, as though he had made some mental note of particular delight. He leaned forward and studied Feng's slumped figure. “If this were my office, they'd show some respect,” he began, his voice thick with contempt. Then Madame Ko emerged, opened the door to the adjoining conference room, and nodded for Li to enter.

Li gave a tiny snort of triumph and strode into the room. Madame Ko silently pulled out a chair for him at the table, then left him staring at the side door that opened into Tan's office, closing the door behind her as she reentered the waiting room.

“I wonder,” Shan said, “if the colonel is planning to go in there.” He wasn't sure she had heard as she moved into an alcove, but she answered with an amused nod as she returned with two cups of tea. She handed Shan one and sat beside him.

“He is a rude young man. There're so many like that today. Not raised well.”

Shan almost laughed. It was how his father would have described the generations of Chinese raised since the middle of the century. Not raised well. “I wouldn't want him to be angry with you,” Shan said.

Madame Ko gestured for him to drink his tea. She had the air of an elderly aunt readying a boy for school. “I've worked for Colonel Tan for nineteen years.”

Shan grinned awkwardly. His eyes wandered to the lace doily on the table. It had been a long time, much longer than just his three years' imprisonment, since he had drunk tea with a proper lady. “At first I wondered who it was who had the courage to give the petition about the release of Lokesh to the colonel,” Shan said. “I think I know now. You would have liked him. He sang beautiful songs from old Tibet.”

“I am old-fashioned. Where I came from we were taught to honor the elderly, not imprison them.”

What distant planet was that? Shan almost asked, then
saw the way she was looking into her cup and realized that she needed to say something.

“I have a brother,” she abruptly confessed. “Not much older than you. A teacher. He was arrested fifteen years ago for writing bad things and sent to a camp near Mongolia. No one talks about him, but I think about him a lot.” She looked up with an innocent, curious expression. “You don't suffer, do you? I mean, in the camps. I wouldn't want him to suffer.”

Shan took a long swallow of tea and looked up with a forced smile. “We just build roads.”

Madame Ko nodded solemnly.

In the next moment a buzzer sounded and Madame Ko pointed toward the colonel's door. Li burst out of the conference room, staring uncertainly at Shan. As Madame Ko herded Shan into the colonel's office, he heard Li exclaim, “You're him!” in disbelief, just as she closed the door.

Tan was at his window, his back to Shan. The drapes were fully opened now, and in the brilliant light Shan could see the details of the back wall for the first time. There was a faded photograph of a girl with a much younger Tan beside a battle tank. To its left hung a map with the words
nei lou,
classified, printed boldly across the top. It was of the Tibetan border zones. Over the map hung an ancient sword, a
zhan dao,
the stout, two-handed blade favored by executioners of earlier centuries.

“Our man was picked up this morning,” Tan announced without turning.

About the arrest, Li had said.

“In the mountains, where they usually hide. We got lucky. Fool still had Jao's wallet.” Tan moved to his desk. “Public Security has an active file on him.” He shot an impatient glance at Shan. “Sit down, dammit. We have work to do.”

“The assistant prosecutor is already here. I assume I will be turning over my work to him.”

Tan looked up. “Li? You met Li Aidang?”

“You never said there was an assistant prosecutor.”

“It wasn't important. Li isn't capable, just a pup. Jao did all the work in the office. Li reads books. Goes to meetings.
Political officer.” Tan pushed forward a folder bearing the red stripes of the Public Security Bureau. “The killer was a cultural hooligan since his youth. 1989 riots in Lhasa. You know about the ‘89 Insurrection?”

Officially, the riot that had started when monks occupied the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa had not occurred. Officially, no one knew how many monks had died when the knobs opened fire with machine guns. In a country that practiced sky burial, it was easy to lose evidence of the dead.

“Several years later there was an incident here,” Tan continued. “In the marketplace.”

“I have heard. Some priests had been mutilated. The local people call them the Thumb Riots.”

Tan ignored him. Was it true, Shan wondered, that Tan indeed had been the one to order the amputation of thumbs?

“He was there. Most of them got three years hard labor. He got six years, as one of the five organizers of the disturbance. Jao prosecuted him. The Lhadrung Five, the people called them.” Tan shook his head in disgust. “They keep proving my point—that we were too easy on them the first time. And now, to lose Jao to one of them—” His eyes smoldered.

“I could make a list of the witnesses the tribunal will expect,” Shan said woodenly. “Dr. Sung of the clinic. The soldiers who found the head. They will want a spokesman from the 404th guards, to talk about discovering the body.”

“They?”

“The team from the prosecutor's office.”

“To hell with Li. I told you.”

“You can't stop him. He works for the Ministry of Justice.”

“I told you. He's political. Just doing his rotation to build up chits back home. No experience with serious crime.”

Shan caught Tan's eye to be certain he had heard correctly. Did Tan consider that there was part of the Ministry of Justice that was not political? It was no coincidence the Chief Justice of their country's supreme court was also the chief disciplinarian of the Party. “He works for the Ministry of Justice,” Shan said again, slowly.

“I'll say he's too close. Like investigating the murder of his father. Judgment blinded by grief.”

“Colonel, at first we had the death of a stranger which might have been covered up by an accident report. Maybe no one would have noticed. Then we had a strike at the 404th because of the death. A lot more people will notice. Now, you not only have a crime against a public security official, but also the arrest of a recognized public enemy. Everyone will notice. There will be intense political observation.”

“I don't believe you, Shan. The politics don't scare you. You hold politics in contempt. That's why you're in Tibet.”

Shan expected to find amusement on Tan's face. But it wasn't there. His expression was one of curiosity. “You want to withdraw because of your conscience, am I right?” Tan continued. “Do you believe our inquiries will be less than honest?”

Shan pressed his hands together until the knuckles were white. He had lost again. “There used to be struggle sessions, in my department in Beijing. I was criticized for failing to understand the imperative of establishing truth by consensus.”

Tan stared at him in silence, broken at last by a sharp guttural laugh. “And they sent you to Tibet. This Minister Qin. He has some sense of humor.” Tan's amusement faded as he studied Shan's face. He rose and moved back to the window. “You are wrong, Comrade,” he said to the window, “to think men like me have no conscience. Do not hold me responsible for your failure to understand my conscience.”

“I couldn't have said it better.”

Tan turned with a look of confusion that quickly soured. “Don't twist my words, dammit!” he spat, and marched back to his desk. He folded his hands over the Public Security file. “I will say it only once more. This investigation will not be the responsibility of young pups in the prosecutor's office. Jao was a hero of the revolution. He was my friend. Some things are too important to delegate. You will proceed as we discussed. It will be my signature on the file. We will not have this discussion again.”

Shan followed Tan's gaze to the door. It wasn't simply
that Tan didn't trust the assistant prosecutor, Shan suddenly realized. He was frightened of Li.

“You cannot avoid the assistant prosecutor,” Shan observed. “There will be questions about Jao that will have to be answered by his office. About his enemies. His cases. His personal life. His residence will need to be searched. His travel records. His car. There must have been a car. Find the car and you may find where Jao met his murderer.”

“I knew him for years. I myself may have some answers. Miss Lihua, his secretary, is a friend. She will also help. For others you will prepare written questions which I will submit. We will dictate some to Madame Ko before you go.”

Tan wanted to keep Li busy. Or distracted.

The colonel pushed the Bureau's file toward Shan. “Sungpo is his name. Forty years old. Arrested at a small gompa called Saskya, in the far north of the county. Without a license. Damned negligent, to let them return to their home gompas.”

“You intend to try him for murder and then for practicing as a monk without a permit?” Shan could not help himself. “It might seem—” He searched for a word. “Overzealous.”

Tan frowned. “There must be others at the gompa who could be squeezed. Going rate for wearing a robe without a license is two years. Jao used to do it all the time. If you need to, pick them up, threaten to send them to
lao gai
if they don't talk.”

Shan stared at him.

“All right,” Tan conceded with a cold smile. “Tell them
I
will send them to
lao gai.”

“You have not explained how he was identified.”

“An informant. Anonymous. Called Jao's office.”

“You mean Li made the arrest?”

“A Public Security team.”

“Then he has his own investigation underway?”

As if on cue there was a hammering on the door. A high-pitched protest erupted, and Madame Ko appeared. “Comrade Li,” she announced, her face flushed. “He has become insistent.”

“Tell him to report back later today. Make an appointment.”

A tiny smile betrayed Madame Ko's approval. “There's someone else,” she added. “From the American mine.”

Tan sighed and pointed to a chair in the corner shadows. Shan obediently sat down. “Show him in.”

Li's protests increased in volume as a figure flew through the door. It was the red-haired American woman Shan had seen at the cave. Looks of confusion passed between Tan and the woman.

“There's really nothing else to say, Miss Fowler,” Tan said with a chill. “That business is concluded.”

“I asked to reach Prosecutor Jao,” Fowler said hesitantly as she surveyed the office. “They told me to come here. I thought perhaps he had returned.”

“You are not here about the cave?”

“You and I have said what we could. I will file a complaint with the Religious Bureau.”

“That could be embarrassing,” Colonel Tan retorted.

“You have reason to be embarrassed.”

“I meant for you. You have no evidence. No grounds for a complaint. We will have to state that you encroached on a military operation.”

“She asked to see Prosecutor Jao,” Shan interjected.

Tan shot Shan a cold glare as Fowler walked to the window only a few feet from Shan. She wore blue jeans again, and the same hiking boots. Sunglasses hung on a black cord around her neck, over a blue nylon vest identical to the one Shan had seen on the American man at the cave. She wore no makeup and no jewelry except for tiny golden studs in her ears. What was the other name Colonel Tan had used? Rebecca. Rebecca Fowler. The American woman glanced at Shan, and he saw recognition in her eyes. You were there too, her eyes accused him, disturbing a holy place.

“I'm sorry. I didn't come to argue,” she said to Tan in a new, conciliatory tone. “I have a problem at the mine.”

“If there were no problems,” Tan observed unsympathetically, “they wouldn't need you to manage the mine.”