Bones of the Earth

by Eliot Pattison

  “If I reported that a foreigner had stolen a gun from a Public Security officer, you would be the most wanted man in all of Tibet.”

  “Please do,” Pike shot back. “The press conference with all the American reporters will be stunning.”

  “Wo cao ni!” Kim spat.

  “Unladylike,” Pike chided, and stuffed the pistol into his belt.

  Shan stepped in front of the American to shield the woman from him. “When does Lieutenant Huan leave for the mountains?”

  A satisfied sneer grew on Kim’s face. “He left hours ago to take the news to Jiao. I called him as soon as I left the Potala.”

  Shan and Pike exchanged an alarmed glance. She had played them, dragging out their interrogation.

  “Huan and Jiao won’t just take that phone with the video when they reach that camp whose location you so helpfully provided, they will eliminate all witnesses to his doing so. By the time you get there, all those Tibetans will be dead!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Talons had a new image painted on the flat rock face above them, a garuda, the ever-watchful bird protector. “No one here,” Tan said as he, Shan, and Pike approached the campsite. Shan glanced at his watch. “Two more hours,” he pointed out. They had bought time by calling Major Xun and telling him Tan and Shan wanted to meet with the leaders of the Amban Council to negotiate the custody of the phone they sought and resolve their mutual problems. Xun, though confused at first, had quickly warmed to the suggestion. “You’re sure this is the place?” Tan asked then Shan pointed to the shadowed juncture between two of the stone claws, where a figure in a gray cloak stood up. Tan held up a hand as Shan was about to introduce Lhakpa. The colonel didn’t want to know the Tibetan’s name. He had readily agreed to loan Shan a helicopter but only if he joined the expedition. The vengeance he sought was not against Tibetans.

  In the gnarled trees just beyond the stone claws, a fire burned in a ring of stones, with rolled blankets beside it. As Shan stepped to the campfire he made out Jaya and the hail chaser in the shadows of the trees, the latter working his mala, his staff leaning on the tree beside him. The ragged old weather wizard took no notice of them, other than pulling his staff closer.

  Jaya gestured to the little spring that wound through the shadows of the trees, then saw Ko limp into the clearing and helped him to a flat rock, handing him her own water bottle as he sat. Shan’s son had also stubbornly insisted on joining. He had been slowed not by his injuries, which were rapidly healing, but by the complex horoscope chart Shiva had given him before their departure. Every few minutes on the hike up from the flat where the helicopter dropped them he had paused to study it.

  “I was getting worried that they would stop you,” Jaya said, nodding toward the nearby cliff. Shan look down and with a sinking heart saw ten figures walking up the steep switchback trail that led to the Talons from the dam site. Three wore the uniform of Public Security, the others the coveralls of Jiao’s cleanup crew, now with rifles slung on their shoulders.

  A cold fist seemed to close around Shan’s heart as he saw Pike extract the pistol he had taken from the woman in Lhasa. The American’s fury smoldered more intensely with each passing day, and now he gazed down at their new opponents with the eye of the starving predator who had finally found his meal.

  “It’s not our way,” Shan said to him.

  “Your way? You mean let them get away with it all and live a long life because they will be punished in their next incarnation? I don’t have time to wait forty years so I can step on the bugs they become, Shan. Not my timetable. Not my way. It wasn’t your daughter they killed.”

  “There’s been too many bullets fired already,” Shan said. “If we use guns on our side, the Tibetans believe the gods will abandon us. It’s not the Buddhist way.”

  “Tell them my god abandoned me a long time ago. They won’t need to touch a gun.” Pike popped out the magazine and checked its load. “Tell them to have their gods turn their backs. I’ll only need a few minutes.”

  “You’ll never survive.”

  “Survival isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “We have two hours before the young ambans arrive.”

  “I’ll take a nap.”

  “No. You’ll come with me to see the work of the Tibetan gods. You owe the Tibetans that much.”

  The shelves past the black felt wall held no artifacts when Shan led Pike past them, but the American lingered at the array of weapons and tools at the rearmost shelf. Pike lifted the heavy maul and hefted it with an approving nod. “Blue?” he asked.

  Shan explained how the objects had been used.

  “Hammer of justice then,” Pike said of the tool. His tone was still grim but his curiosity was roused. “You sure your Gekho doesn’t have some Viking blood?”

  “The Earth-Shattering Maul, they call it. For crumbling the walls of deception.”

  “Exactly,” Pike mused as he leaned the maul against the shelf again. “Hammer of justice,” he repeated.

  “There was a boulder spouting blue flame from its top when we arrived at the scene,” Shan recalled. “When the flames went out we discovered only water. It was taken as a miracle. I still don’t understand.”

  Pike grinned. “Dirty hands. They must have someone who studied a little chemistry.”

  “Dirty hands?” Shan asked.

  “Hand sanitizer. It’s just water and ethanol. Light it on fire and it burns blue until all the ethanol is consumed. Nothing left but water. Buddhist chemists. Very clever.”

  The air was strangely still as they emerged from the trees, and the American paused, though Shan was not sure if it was because he had seen the narrow, treacherous path that edged along the cliff face or if he had heard the faint echo of the mantras from the far side.

  They followed the sound across the face of the mountain. Pike did not hesitate on the tiny goat track but slowed as they reached the cave. The mantras were much louder now. Wisps of juniper-scented smoke wafted from the opening.

  “Taking me to some smoky shrine won’t change anything,” the American growled. “No wild-eyed deity is going to change my mind.”

  “I honestly don’t know what to call what is inside.”

  “I’m not going to fall on my knees and sob for repentance of my evil intentions,” the American said, glancing back and forth from the cave to Shan. “I don’t want to be saved, Shan. But I don’t want to be disrespectful to them.”

  “Are you arguing with yourself?” Shan asked.

  Pike grimaced. “I’m so far beyond saving I don’t even know what saving is.”

  Pike stared in the direction of the chanted prayers. “You’re asking me to go inside her mountain,” he said, pressing his hand against his face for a moment. “Every night I have the same nightmare. I have buried her and later I come back to the grave with flowers and her hand is out of the ground, like she has been clawing back from death. I’m weary of burying her every night, Shan. But I know I will be doing so every night until those bastards are brought to justice. You have to let me make my justice, Shan,” Pike said, then turned as an old dropka woman with a heavily wrinkled face arrived, balancing a bundle of juniper boughs on her shoulder. She stared silently at them, then resolved Pike’s dilemma by thrusting the bundle into his arms and entering the cave. Without another word, the American followed her inside.

  The number of Tibetans inside the chamber had more than doubled. They sat on odd carpets and blankets, all chanting the same mantra now, the invocation of the red Tara, the fierce goddess Metok had invoked. The old woman led Pike along the smoldering braziers, pausing at each to recharge it with new boughs. Pike mutely complied, holding the juniper until he stood at the last brazier, his task complete, and stared at the tunnel that led deeper into the mountain. He did not look back at Shan, just proceeded into the darkness.

  Shan caught up with him by the little gas stove in the long chamber, where the kettle simmered. Yankay sat nearby, on a stack of folde
d blankets, nursing a cup of tea.

  “Nothing is more patient than a mountain,” the hail chaser proclaimed, then gestured to the kettle. “Have some tea.”

  Pike accepted a cup as Shan poured and drank in silence, gazing first at the pool of light at the far end of the chamber then the murals of demons on the wall, given movement by a long row of flickering butter lamps. He seemed to have grown exhausted when he finally spoke. “Who are they?” he whispered.

  “There were a lot of names for them,” Shan said. “The faith testers, the enforcers of the straight path, the protectors of right conduct. I’ve even heard them called the conscience demons. Pilgrims came for hundreds of years to walk along that line.”

  Shan saw that Pike’s hand had gone to the gun on his belt.

  “Now it is your turn to walk it,” Shan said.

  Pike did not take his eyes from the demons as he replied. “That’s why you brought me here, to be mocked by a bunch of Tibetan gremlins?”

  “If that’s what you wish to call it,” Shan said, “then yes. They reflect whatever the pilgrim brings to them.”

  Pike did not react as Shan took the mug from his hand, just kept staring at the frightening images. “I’m tired, Shan,” he finally said, “so damned tired of this world. I thought I would spend my life in the military, but the politicians gutted the role of the soldier. I thought I would spend the rest of my life in the FBI bringing criminals to justice but only discovered that the line between sinner and saint was too blurred for me. I thought I might be a scholar and help a younger generation understand the world, but then I realized that maybe if I left them alone they might have a chance at creating a better world. I lost my heart when my wife died. I lost my soul when my daughter died. If I could be certain you would be able to give those bastards what they deserve, I think I might kill myself right here.”

  “But you won’t,” Shan said.

  Pike’s voice had grown hoarse. “Why?”

  “This is Gekho’s cave.”

  Pike twisted to look at him in confusion. “No. Gekho’s cave is on the other side of the mountain. They destroyed it.”

  “This is Gekho’s cave,” Shan repeated, then extended a hand to help the American to his feet. “This side offers a way out.”

  Emotion roiled the American’s face. His confusion lingered but took on a hint of fear, then dread. Pike took a step forward, then another, walking along the demon gods as if his feet had grown leaden. He halted, then bent to set his gun on the floor of the cave before continuing. As Shan followed a few steps behind, he could hear Pike murmuring something and quickened his pace to listen. “Hail Mary, Mother of Grace,” he heard, then with the next breath, “Om mani padme hum.” Shan realized that he should not be surprised that such a complicated man should have a complicated mantra.

  Halfway down the long chamber Pike paused to look at the Tibetan nurse, now visible as she sat in the light at the far end, but he quickly looked away. He was greeting each of the demons with a respectful nod now and lingered long enough to study the flayed human skins, skull necklaces, and wrathful serpents that adorned the images. At the painting of the particularly demonic black Makhala, Pike bent to set his two ammunition magazines on the floor. His anger had burned away, replaced by despair. He stood like a devout pilgrim before the wrathful demon, who clutched tiny broken humans in his eight hands, then went on to the final image, that of Yamantaka, Lord of Death, whose image was surrounded by flaming skulls.

  Finally, he gazed at the nurse, who still sat bent over her work, heedless of her onlookers. The little area where she worked was partially obscured by boulders and stacks of the rugs and blankets that were used for sleeping.

  Shan stepped past Pike and turned to study him. The American looked sapped of strength, as if he had been physically fighting with the gods.

  “I read that the old pilgrims came to this cave to bury their particular demons,” Shan said.

  Pike’s brow furrowed, as if he had heard a troubling question in Shan’s words. Then Shan stepped backward, leading him into the little alcove. The query on Pike’s face seemed to intensify, then Shan stepped aside and the American froze. The prostrate form on the blankets against the wall was turned away from them but its long blond hair was conspicuous.

  The big man’s voice cracked as he spoke. “You … you found her body.”

  “We found more than that,” Shan said as Pike approached the blankets.

  The woman rolled over. One eye was still bandaged but the other was bright. “Hello, Papa,” Natalie said with a smile.

  The American was paralyzed. “I never…” he sputtered, “I couldn’t … how could I even hope…”

  Natalie’s words were slurred, and her single eye seemed to have difficulty focusing. “Until you’re here,” she said, “there’s no way to get here.”

  Pike sank to his knees and wept.

  * * *

  When they returned to the camp, Ko was lying in the shadows, still studying the perplexing horoscope chart Shiva had given him. Lhakpa was sitting beside him, helping to decipher it.

  “There’s auspicious events ahead,” Lhakpa observed. “And joy and death, but that’s only the first part. Shiva likes to tantalize with the old signs. There’s a barrel, and a blue wavy line like a stream, and two birds. I’ve never seen the like.” He did not mention one of the most obvious of the images, a set of manacles. The snow monk professor pointed to another image. “And a bowl of something white. Milk. Why milk? I can’t see—” He was interrupted by a sharp whistle from above. A young Tibetan sentinel, whom none of them had seen, waved his hands from a perch in the rocks above. Jaya and Ko stepped deeper into the shadows of the trees.

  Shan stood with Tan and Lhakpa between the high spines of stone as Jiao, Xun, and Huan finally entered the camp. Huan, his pistol in his hand, kicked at the blankets by the firepit, then raised his gun as Xun peered into the shadows between the rock claws.

  The surprise on their faces quickly changed to smug satisfaction as Shan and his companions stepped into the open. “Three old dinosaurs all in one place,” cackled Huan. “We should call a museum.”

  Jiao, clearly in charge, shot Huan a peeved glance and ordered him to holster his gun. The deputy director studied Shan and each of his friends then decided to speak with Shan. “You know why we are here, Constable.”

  “To conclude all this business,” Shan replied as he returned Jiao’s cool gaze.

  “Exactly. You’ve made it all so convenient. Give us the phone with the video. If we later discover you have duplicated it, then all those Tibetans we sent for reeducation will find themselves transferred to the 404th hard labor prison with ten-year sentences.”

  “You have no authority over my prisons,” Tan hissed.

  “Fifteen years then. And they won’t be your prisons for long, old man.” Jiao looked at his watch, then extended his hand for the phone.

  “You misunderstand,” Shan said. “We are terminating your conspiracy.” He extracted several pieces of folded paper from his pocket. “Your Miss Kim was very cooperative.” He unfolded the papers. “First, a signed confession that she lied to a Public Security officer in Hong Kong, wrongfully telling him that Colonel Tan ordered him to bear false witness, with enough detail to prove that the three of you fabricated a case against Metok to commit murder under cover of the law. Then these,” he fanned out three sheets. “Apparently you all have bank accounts in Hong Kong that cannot be explained. Corruption often carries worse punishment than murder in the motherland. If you try to explain them away by saying Miss Kim made false account records, then you only implicate yourselves more fully in Metok’s murder.” Pike had offered an expression for the tactic which Shan suspected was out of Shakespeare. Hoist on their petard.

  Jiao laughed. Huan put his hand back on his pistol. “So resourceful, to the very end. I respect that, Constable,” Jiao said. “You have a tenacity of spirit that I admire, really I do. Twenty years younger, and you could have joined
us. Was it you who attacked the director with ice balls?”

  “Sorry. Everyone said the mountain god flung that hail, including the director himself.”

  It was Major Xun who spoke next. “You do understand that you are surrounded by our men, all of them armed. I fear we may be looking at another one of those terrible road accidents in the mountains. Do you drive? I foolishly forgot to ask whether Professor Gangfen did.”

  “A real one or another fake one?” Lhakpa asked.

  Xun grinned. “Good. You understand. Can you all fit in one car?”

  “How many times have we said it in training, Major?” Tan said in a disappointed tone. “Never assume you have the upper hand until you have actually seized it.” The colonel motioned Xun to follow him to the cliff edge. It was over two hundred feet to the bottom, but they could clearly see the file of men in coveralls being marched off by Zhu’s men. Zhu, standing on a boulder, waved at Xun and the colonel.

  “In her statement,” Shan continued, “Agent Kim states that you had her reserve three tickets on tonight’s flight to Katmandu. You actually do have tickets waiting for you, though they were reserved out of Colonel Tan’s office. Leave now and you can still make it. From there you can fly on to India or Hong Kong. A new life in the same body.”

  Jiao seemed amused. “Same body?”

  “Stay here and you will be put against a wall and shot. For corruption. For murder. But most of all for lying to Beijing. The Tibetans would expect you to be reincarnated. Something very lowly, I should think. A squirrel perhaps?” he asked, turning to Lhakpa.

  “Moles,” the snow monk replied. “The mountain god needs workers below the ground.”

  Suddenly Huan recognized Lhakpa. “You! The damned professor! I suspected you had escaped, damn you, but only confirmed it in our recent interrogations at the 404th. You’re the bastard who slipped from my custody in that hail storm!” He lifted his pistol, aiming at Lhakpa’s chest.

  Jiao pushed down Huan’s gun. “You know nothing about our relations with Beijing,” he said to Shan.