“Today the real work begins,” the deputy director boasted. “The agitators are no match for our twenty-first-century technology.”
The drone soared still higher, tracking the slope then buzzing the team of workers who were preparing the foundation for the new control house high up the slope near the road. Some of the men put down their tools and waved for the camera. Others pulled down their hats and lowered their faces. Public Security was also working on what they called personal trackers, small drones that would be programmed with facial recognition to locate and follow individuals suspected of antisocial behavior.
The drone climbed steadily toward the outcroppings, and as Shan glanced back at the flight controller, he saw a second vehicle pull up with four more knobs. They climbed out and began checking weapons. He watched in helpless agony, knowing they were waiting for the orders that would come from Huan as soon as the drone discovered the location of the Tibetans hiding above. If Lhakpa and Jaya were discovered, they would be sent to a reeducation camp, or worse.
“Watch the bird!” the director suddenly shouted, and Shan turned to see him reaching for Jiao’s radio. “The bird! The bird!” he cried.
Shan saw that indeed a large bird of prey had appeared over the outcroppings and seemed interested in the drone. He had heard more than one story about eagles and lammergeiers attacking drones.
“Do you see a woman up there?” came Huan’s voice over the radio. “I thought I saw her in the camera, but she faded into the shadows.”
Ren darted to his car and returned with binoculars but seemed to have trouble finding the drone in the lenses. Tan grabbed them from him and watched with a widening smile.
The bird never bent its wings as it soared up and down, in an undulating pattern, getting ever closer to the machine.
“Scare it away!” the deputy director shouted into the radio, and the drone abruptly changed course for the bird. As it did so, the long-winged bird jerked upward, then dove.
“No!” came Huan’s furious voice as the bird hit the drone. “No, no no!” he squawked. “Someone shoot that damned bird!”
The bird jerked upward, then seemed to hover a moment before diving again, seemingly mindless of its own safety. Tan handed Shan the binoculars and he watched as it crashed into the propellers on the left side. The drone seemed to stagger then, to Jiao’s furious expletives, flipped sideways, careening toward the vertical rock wall of the pass. It slammed into the cliff, showering down bits of white plastic.
Tan said nothing, just unfolded the photo that had been overlaid with Gekho’s body and made a show of positioning it according to the axis of the valley before holding it up for the director to see. He pointed to the bottom of the image, where the drone had gone down. “Public Security,” the colonel solemnly declared, “just got squeezed in the god’s ass.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As they drove away, Shan tried not to be conspicuous in scanning the outcropping. He was certain he had seen someone there. The distance had been too great for Ren and his colleagues to understand what had happened, but he recalled how Jaya had collected newspapers, tape, string, and dried sticks. She had brought the drone down with one of her kites.
Tan seemed to be having difficulty in suppressing his amusement. He had briefly watched through the binoculars and was canny enough to understand that even eagles and lammergeiers have to flap their wings from time to time. The colonel disliked Public Security nearly as much as Shan, but neither of them had many opportunities to see the knobs embarrassed.
Director Ren was visibly upset. Clearly, he was not an engineer in any technical sense. He was an overseer, a Party diplomat, and his job was mostly to polish the image of his project to a high sheen. He was miserably failing with the most important man in Lhadrung. Tan herded the director back to the car and made sure they drove away without Jiao before he pressed Ren harder.
“A report will have to be submitted, Director,” the colonel pointed out. “That was a very expensive piece of military equipment. If you like, I can certify it was an accident. If only I had been consulted when someone decided to use my railcar, I might have been able to call it a loss on one of my training exercises. But I can still try. Whom should I speak with?”
Ren was still recovering from his shame. “Speak with?”
“The one who approved the use of the army’s equipment for a civilian project. Corners were cut. Maybe we can take advantage of that. It must be someone else’s fault. I would hate to see your record stained.”
Ren brightened. “My deputy did all that. Someone in the Lhadrung military depot arranged it, and Major Xun said we should take advantage of a military shipment to keep things quiet. Jiao was hoping to surprise”—the director glanced uncertainly at Shan—“to surprise them,” he said with a gesture toward the top of the mountain.
Tan weighed the response for a moment. “Does Major Xun visit you often?”
Ren stiffened. “Our first official visit from the Lhadrung government was that of Inspector Shan.”
“So he visits, just unofficially.”
“They are friends, Jiao and Xun. Served together somewhere before this. They have meetings.”
“Meetings?” Shan asked.
“Like a working group. That Public Security lieutenant from Lhasa, he’s in the group too. It’s all kept very quiet, since Jiao says they are working on special Beijing assignments, very confidential stuff.”
“Surely you know everything your own deputy does,” Tan chided.
“Everything the Party wants me to know.”
“Spoken like a true patriot, comrade,” Tan said, patting Ren on the shoulder.
Ren nodded gratefully. “Even in the army there are secret missions outside the usual command structure.”
“Damned right,” Tan rejoined. Ren did not see the way the colonel’s jaw clenched. It wasn’t amusement he was suppressing now. It was anger.
“They even have a name for their group, derived from those old officials who used to enforce the emperor’s word out of Lhasa. They call it the Amban Council.”
“A clever name,” Shan said after a moment’s reflection. “Tell me something, Comrade Director. Who came up with the name for this project?”
“Believe it or not, it was Deputy Director Jiao. People in Beijing loved it. He wrote a note for our website that says Tibetans believed a mythological bird lived here, a garuda it was called. There is some rock formation on the mountain that the Tibetans call the claws.”
“The Talons,” Shan corrected.
“Yes, yes, the Talons. Jiao says the name pays homage to the Tibetan people.”
“A garuda has only four claws,” Tan observed, to Shan’s great surprise.
Ren shrugged. “Beijing loved it.”
The colonel exchanged a pointed glance with Shan. The name had nothing to do with Tibetans. The sign of the Five Claws was a symbol of the ambans, and of the imperial power in Beijing. In old China mortal punishment was imposed on anyone outside the government who used the sign, because, for centuries, five claws had been the symbol of the imperial five-clawed dragon.
* * *
The banquet the director threw for the colonel was surprisingly elegant. The modular buildings, arranged in rows behind the office and mess hall, looked identical from the outside, but the one closest to the mess hall had been transformed by Deputy Director Jiao into what he called his executive club, for his senior managers and visiting dignitaries. It had been divided into a lounge, furnished with thick Tibetan carpets and overstuffed chairs, and a dining room, with a small kitchen and bar in the rear. The lounge walls were hung with framed photographs of the director and deputy director with various officials. Next to the photographs hung another artist rendering of the completed dam and the lake behind it. Along the bottom of the painting were images of joyful Chinese children turning on light switches, electric railways, and spotlights sweeping across skyscrapers of eastern cities. The dining room was hung with portraits of Party chai
rmen and several framed vintage political posters.
Pinned to the bulletin board by the bar were three pages captioned Master Development Plan Summary. With a chill Shan read a paragraph on the second page explaining how his beloved Yangkar would become the administrative center for the project. The first office building would be constructed on what was a vacant lot currently used as the town square. Shan closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the agonizing vision of Yangkar as a modern Chinese town, then turned toward the dining room. His years in Tibet had taught him to fight one disaster at a time.
The food was simple but the wines and liquor expensive, and Tan, who could hold his alcohol better than any man Shan had ever met, made sure the director matched his own consumption of vodka. Tan had insisted that the Public Security officers join them, ostensibly to show his appreciation for their service in such a hardship post, but in fact to allow his four commandos more freedom in following Shan’s instructions for reconnaissance. A sullen Lieutenant Huan sat beside Jiao at the other end of the table. Twice Shan caught Huan staring balefully at the colonel and each time Jiao nudged him then refilled his glass and offered a toast.
Shan tried not to show his impatience as he sat through the meal, declining all liquor, and listened to a short, slurred speech by Director Ren that ended with the announcement that in the morning the colonel would be given the honor of pressing the detonator to collapsee the steep slope above the imploded cavern. The cave mouth, Ren explained, was still visible and presenting a great distraction to the Tibetan workers, who still went there to pray and leave offerings. With his usual efficiency, Ren stated, the deputy director had devised a plan to eliminate the distraction.
Shan nodded to Tan as the dinner guests finally rose, and the colonel made a show of good-naturedly helping the tipsy director out of the building, surrendering him to one of his junior managers.
Tan’s commandos, all from Lieutenant Zhu’s team, met Shan behind the mess hall and were about to report what they had found when a shadowy figure appeared around the corner. The soldiers crouched into the darker shadows, pulling Shan with them as the man stopped and pulled out a cigarette. As his match flared they made out Colonel Tan, in battle fatigues now. “Did you really think I would miss the fun?” Tan asked, then motioned for them to carry on.
The soldiers reported that the cleanup crew, all looking like military men, were closely guarding the equipment yards, and that several of the Tibetan workers had voluntarily gone back into the wire-enclosed compound for the night. Only one man, a young Tibetan, was in the infirmary, where the nurse was drowsily watching another movie on her computer. The cement factory was working through the night, and a reduced crew at the southern end of the valley was continuing work on the huge forms that would eventually be filled with thousands of tons of concrete. A small toolshed behind the equipment yard had armed guards outside it.
“I need a truck, and not the one assigned to us,” Shan said.
The sergeant in charge gestured to the row of pickups parked behind the mess hall. “Take your pick,” he replied. “We just returned from urban warfare training. Very first thing they teach is how to hotwire any vehicle.”
Tan insisted on coming and sat beside the sergeant with the air of a battle commander as he drove them out of the compound, switching off the headlights as they reached a dirt track Shan had marked that day. The going was slow, with only a gibbous moon to light their way, and it took nearly a quarter-hour to reach the flat in front of the cave mouth. Shan found a flashlight in the glove box and the sergeant handed Tan the powerful light he carried on his equipment belt.
The collapse of the cavern had started twenty feet inside the entrance, and the base of the sloping pile of shattered rock it had created began several paces inside, leaving the outermost portion of the entry walls still intact and visible to their lights. Even that small section revealed the working of multiple cultures. On each side intricate images of Bon deities had been painted above a row of elongated stick-figure shapes, some carved into the rock and some in faded paint on the surface. Shan made out horses, yaks, and deer among the ancient shapes. An angular image he would not have recognized except for the photos Cao had shown him he knew to be a horned eagle.
Tan aimed his light at each of the more detailed images painted above the more primitive shapes. “Demons,” he observed.
Shan recognized several of the images. “Apchi, Begtse, red Cumara, and Pehar,” he said, pointing to each as he named them. “Protector demons, yes,” he confirmed.
Tan’s light lingered on a flaming sword held in a hand that extended out of the wall of rubble. “Warriors,” he said in an approving tone. “That one died fighting.”
Shan gazed forlornly at the debris. Somewhere deep inside it covered the bodies of the two dead archaeologists.
“That’s not Buddhist,” Tan said. Shan followed his light to a small unobtrusive mark in ochre that was no bigger than his hand. It was the Christian cross Shan had seen in Cao’s photo.
“It was the Valley of the Gods,” Shan said. “I think all gods were welcomed here.” The Jesuit explorer described by Cao had stood in the cave entrance more than three centuries earlier, and had no doubt felt the same excitement that Shan experienced in knowing that devout hands had been at work here for thousands of years. His cross wasn’t there to preempt anything. It was just a greeting from the devout of the West.
Tan silently paced along the images. “Why exactly are we here?” he asked at last.
“You heard the director. They are going to finish the job tomorrow.”
“There are dead bodies inside,” Tan said as Shan produced a cone of incense, then watched in silence as he lit it and laid it on a slab of broken stone. In the dust on an adjacent slab, Shan inscribed the mani mantra with his finger. They backed out of the cave and spoke no more until they reached the truck. Then with the brighter light, Tan located four yellow flags on the slope above the cave that marked the caches of explosives laid for Jiao’s demolition of the cave mouth.
When they returned to the parking lot, two of Tan’s men were waiting for them. One silently pointed to a truck in the shadows at the back of the parking lot, at the opening that led to the rearmost row of modules. “The truck has a mop hanging off the back. It has two men inside, like an outer guard.”
“For the toolshed you mentioned that has more guards beside it,” Tan said.
“At the far corner of the equipment yard, yes, sir,” the commando reported.
“So consider it a training exercise, Sergeant,” Tan said. “Neutralize these two. Nothing fatal. Gag them and tie them to a bulldozer.” The soldiers grinned, saluted, and melted into the deeper shadows.
Ten minutes later Shan and the colonel approached the shed. Three of the cleanup crew now stood in front of the door, holding what looked like pick handles. Tan’s scouts marched directly up to them. Sharp words were exchanged, a club was raised, and before the man who held it could swing he was on the ground, with the club against his chest. The other two guards backed up, blocking the door. “We have orders!” one of them spat and raised his own club.
“Stand down!” Tan barked as he emerged out of the shadows with Shan. The men at the door hesitated a moment, then recognized the colonel and with fearful gasps lowered their weapons, butt first on the ground, as if standing at attention for an inspecting officer.
“Corporal Cheng?” the commando sergeant asked.
“Sergeant?” came the man’s equally surprised reply.
“You know this man?” Tan asked his sergeant.
“We used to be stationed together, sir. Cheng’s a prison guard. Or was.”
Corporal Cheng seemed to relax. “Still am, at the 404th. Seconded, the warden calls this duty. He even lets us earn wages here too. Hardship pay he calls it.”
“I don’t recall signing off on that,” Tan stated.
“Head of personnel did, sir. Major Xun.”
“Earning wages for what exactly?” Tan as
ked in a simmering voice.
“Whatever Deputy Director Jiao tells us to do, that’s our orders. He’s in charge of security.”
“Then what’s Public Security doing here?”
“They were called in to clear the high ground. That’s how Jiao puts it. We just keep the troublemakers in line.”
“Troublemakers?” Shan asked.
“Nearly two hundred men here, ninety percent of them Tibetans. Like the deputy director says, the bad apples have to be sorted out to avoid spoiling the whole barrel.”
“Open this door,” Tan ordered. “Now!”
Cheng’s companion lifted his club a few inches off the ground. “Don’t know about that, sir. The deputy director said—” With a quick nod from Tan, his sergeant slammed a fist into the man’s belly. He doubled over, staggering away.
“Open the damned door!” Tan ordered Cheng.
Cheng threw a hasty salute and produced a key. As the door swung open, a fetid stench rushed out.
“Bring them outside, Sergeant,” Tan growled.
Each of the four Tibetans had been beaten, though none seemed severely injured.
Tan seemed to force himself to keep his voice level. “What were their offenses?” he demanded.
Corporal Cheng brightened, not realizing that Tan’s fury was aimed at the cleanup crew, not the prisoners. He pointed at the nearest man, a compact middle-aged Tibetan who cringed as Cheng moved closer. “This one we caught sneaking around the bulldozers in the middle of the night. The next day we found someone had dropped dirt into one of the fuel tanks. This one—” he indicated another of the frightened Tibetans, but then Tan held up a hand.
“Make notes,” Tan said to his sergeant, who produced a pad and began writing.
“This one,” Cheng continued, “was ordered to burn those prayer flags that keep dropping from the sky. We discovered that instead he hung them in an unused shed where these two”—he indicated the remaining Tibetans—“had made an illegal altar, complete with a photograph of the Dalai Lama. The deputy director said they should be sent for reeducation, but they are equipment operators and we need them. Said we would just do our own reeducation.”
Bones of the Earth Page 24
