Murder on the Silk Road

by Stefanie Matteson

  “They’re stupas,” Victor replied. “Reliquary chambers of famous monks who have died. Mementos of the monks were deposited inside—papers and sutras and things like that.” He leaned over to look out the windshield. “Here’s the main section of the cave complex coming up now.”

  Here the cliff was taller, and there were four or five levels of caves. Stucco fronts had been added to protect the entrances, and balconies and staircases built to improve access. If the dormitory caves had reminded Charlotte of a cliff dwelling, these caves reminded her of a retirement condo.

  “If you’ll look behind the trees, you’ll see what looks like a nine-story pagoda,” Victor continued. “Actually, it’s the façade of the Cave of Unequaled Height, which is the centerpiece of the cave complex. It’s believed to be Lo-tsun’s original cave, although it’s since been greatly enlarged.”

  Charlotte could just make out the ornate orange-tiled roofs of the many-tiered pagoda through the verdant fringe of green lining the cliff base.

  “The Cave of Unequaled Height houses, a colossal Buddha that is one and a half times the size of the Great Sphinx of Egypt. And,” Victor continued, “if you’ll look to the other side, you will see two tall stupas.”

  The passengers’ heads all swiveled to the left.

  “If you look directly between those stupas, you’ll see another stupa near the top of the ridge of the Mountain of the Three Dangers. That stupa is dedicated to Lo-tsun. Legend has it that it’s located on the exact spot where he saw his vision.” Victor leaned over again to look out the windshield. “Well, here we are.”

  Near the end of the fringe of green they crossed a concrete bridge and passed under a gaily painted archway consisting of a series of rooflets capped with green tiles and supported by red pillars. A few minutes later they pulled into the guest house courtyard. Charlotte checked her watch: they had been traveling for precisely forty-three hours and forty minutes.

  They emerged from the stifling bus into a courtyard that was shielded from the sun by gnarled old apricot trees thick with fruit; in their refreshing shade, it was cool and quiet. Wind chimes tinkled in the breeze, and birds twittered. The gurgle of water came from somewhere nearby. After the heat and desolation of the desert, the lushness of this little oasis was startling.

  They were greeted by a stout, middle-aged man with only one arm. The right sleeve of his rumpled blue Mao suit was pinned to his shoulder to keep it from swinging free. He introduced himself as George Chu, director of the Dunhuang Research Academy. Charlotte recognized the name as that of the man who had written the letter to Bunny Oglethorpe. After a short, formal welcoming speech, he introduced their guide, a fresh-faced young Chinese woman named Emily Lin. Like Chu, she welcomed them in perfect English. Her speech was followed by the appearance of half-a-dozen pretty young service workers carrying washcloths soaked in cool water to sponge off the dust of the desert.

  “All right,” said Dogie with a devilish grin as the girls appeared with their baskets. “Bring on the dancing girls.”

  After the travelers had washed their faces, they were offered dripping slices of luscious melon to quench their thirst. The combination of the pretty girls and the exotic setting created the most romantic of atmospheres, as if they had just arrived at the oasis by camel caravan instead of by minibus. Charlotte thought of the I Ching’s prediction that she would be traveling to “an exotic foreign country.” It didn’t get any more exotic than this.

  Following the melon break, the service workers showed them to the guest house complex, which Charlotte thought delightful, at least by contrast with the drab, Stalinist-era, concrete-block hotels which they were used to. It consisted of half-a-dozen single-story, tile-roofed buildings made of mud brick that had been plastered and whitewashed. The buildings were set amid a network of courtyards shaded by grape arbors and fruit trees, and linked by paths lined with zinnias and dahlias, which were, like most of the flowers planted in China, red. Charlotte’s room was simple: plain stucco walls, a tile floor, twin beds covered with pink chenille bedspreads. It reminded her of a roadside motel, but without the bathrooms. For washing up, there was a white-enameled basin painted with gaudy flowers, and a kettle of hot water. After Charlotte had seen her room, a service worker showed her to the toilet facilities. Each of the buildings had a w.c. at one end, of the typical Chinese hole-in-the-ground variety. But there was only one bathhouse for the complex. A sign on the door said that the water was turned on only between the hours of eight and ten in the evening. Charlotte turned on a tap in one of the sinks. Nothing came out. “Primitive but charming” was exactly right.

  She was doing her best to wash up in her wash basin a few minutes later when there was a knock on her door. It was Victor, letting her know that dinner would be served in twenty minutes in the dining hall.

  Charlotte and Marsha arrived a few minutes early, and took seats at one of the tables, which, in typical Chinese style, was set for eight. They were joined a few minutes later by Bert and Dogie, who explained that Lisa was taking a nap. Bert took the chair next to Marsha. After forty-odd hours on the train, the attraction between them appeared to be blossoming into a full-fledged romance. With them was a Professor Peng, whom Bert introduced as the director of the Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology. He and Bert were old friends, having worked together on several digs in other parts of the world. Peng (the Chinese rarely used their given names) had also just arrived, but by airplane rather than by train. He would be representing the Chinese in their negotiations, and would also be heading up the Chinese delegation to the expedition. He was a genial-looking man in his forties, with walnut-brown skin that was stretched tightly across his face, and smile lines radiating from the corners of his eyes.

  They had just completed introductions when they were joined by another man. He was tall and fat, with a ruddy complexion, wire-rimmed glasses, and a picturesque handlebar mustache. Unlike Bert and Dogie, whose idea of sartorial elegance was limited to blue jeans and Western shirts, the newcomer was a men’s fashion magazine image of the Western explorer in Central Asia: khaki Bermuda shorts, a fashionably rumpled linen safari shirt, and a red paisley silk scarf tied casually around his neck. But he wore them well. Add a monocle and a bush hat, and he might have been Teddy Roosevelt.

  “Larry!” Bert exclaimed, as the new arrival clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I wondered when you were going to turn up.” Rising, he shook Larry’s hand warmly and then introduced him to the others.

  His name was Larry Fiske, and he was another member of Bert’s team, a paleontologist from Yale. He had already been in Dunhuang for a week, and was staying at his camp out in the desert.

  “We just arrived a little while ago,” said Bert. “I was planning to look you up right after dinner. We’re chomping at the bit to hear what you’ve found. What about it?” he asked eagerly. “Is there anything out there?”

  Larry’s eyes gleamed as he twirled the waxed tips of his mustache. Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew a pack of cigarettes and offered it to the others at the table.

  Peng took one, as did Charlotte. Though she wasn’t a smoker, she enjoyed a cigarette now and then. Then Larry took one for himself, and lit all three with a gold cigarette lighter. Leaning back in his seat, he took a long draw.

  “Okay, Fiske,” said Dogie. “Let’s quit this cigarette shit. We want to know what you’ve got. Pardon the language, ladies,” he added.

  Larry smiled, showing large teeth that were stained yellow from nicotine. He leaned forward. “I have found”—he paused for dramatic effect—“the richest fossil grounds that I have ever seen in my entire life.”

  “No shit?” said Dogie.

  Larry raised his right hand in a mock oath. “No shit.” He continued, this time speaking more rapidly: “It is absolutely paved with fossils out there.” He spread out his hands to illustrate. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a veritable paleontologist’s El Dorado.”

  “Damn,” said Dogie. His gaz
e was directed at the open door of the dining hall, where Gene Orecchio was standing with a young Chinese man.

  As Dogie spoke, Orecchio spotted them and started for their table, the young Chinese trailing behind. “May we join you?” he asked as he reached the table, indicating the two empty seats.

  “Of course,” said Bert, trying to be accommodating.

  Orecchio’s companion wore baggy Chinese trousers with a tie-dyed T-shirt, and a woven friendship bracelet of the type common among American students. He also wore round wire-rimmed glasses that accentuated his high, sharp cheekbones. His shoulder-length black hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “I’d like to introduce my new acquaintance,” said Orecchio. “This is Ned Chee,” he said. “Ned is a visiting scholar at the Dunhuang Research Academy. He’s from the University of California at Berkeley.”

  Charlotte reflected that she should have known by his T-shirt, bracelet, and ponytail that he was Chinese-American rather than Chinese, The Chinese government still frowned on any “unseemly” displays of individualism in style.

  “Ned has been here for eight weeks,” said Orecchio as they sat down, the geologist taking care to sit in the seat farthest away from Dogie. “This is his second trip to Dunhuang.”

  He spoke grudgingly; it was clear to Charlotte that Ned had attached himself to an unwilling host. If Ned had been here for eight weeks, however, he was probably desperate for fresh company.

  “What are you working on here?” asked Marsha.

  “My doctoral dissertation in art history,” he replied. “It’s on sculpture from the Northern Wei Dynasty.”

  “Then you must have known Averill Boardmann,” said Marsha. “He was supposed to be here with us, but …”

  Charlotte made a mental note that Ned might be useful in tracking down the Oglethorpe sculpture. If he’d been at the Academy for eight weeks, he would know if the sculpture had been returned.

  “Yes, I worked closely with him when I was here last year,” Ned replied. “I was very sorry to hear about his death.”

  After introductions were completed, the conversation turned back to dinosaurs, with Bert recapping Larry’s story for Orecchio.

  “It’s just as we had expected,” said Peng, explaining that satellite navigation photos had helped them pinpoint the Dunhuang area as having the type of rock formations that could be expected to yield bone.

  “Better,” exclaimed Larry. “It’s better than we ever could have expected. In our wildest dreams,” he added, flinging out his arms expansively. “Best of all, it’s practically a stone’s throw from our doorstep.”

  Charlotte wondered if he was on drugs, so overwrought were his gestures and rapid-fire his delivery.

  “Just where is the site?” asked Peng.

  “In the foothills of the Mountain of the Three Dangers,” he replied, flinging an arm toward the east wall of the dining hall. “About a mile and a half due east of the Cave of Unequaled Height.”

  “Isn’t that where the monk Lo-tsun saw his vision of the thousand Buddhas?” asked Marsha.

  “Yes. I was thinking about calling it the Thousand Buddhas Site, but I decided on the Dragon’s Tomb Site instead. The Chinese call dinosaur fossils dragon’s bones.” He turned to Bert, and continued: “It’s not at all like Montana, Bert, old man—a bone here, a bone there. It’s literally paved with bones, and they’re not all broken up. I’ve been finding fully articulated skeletons, as neatly laid out as a skeleton in a coffin.”

  “What exactly have you been finding, Larry?” asked Orecchio. He tried to phrase the question casually, but the tremor in his voice revealed his eagerness to find out what the site held in store.

  “Yeah, Lar,” said Dogie. “Let’s get our chips out on the table. Have you just got some more duckbills or have you got somethin’ really excitin’?”

  “For the uninitiated among us, duckbills are duckbilled dinosaurs, not platypi,” explained Bert as a waiter arrived with a plate of thin-skinned mutton dumplings, and the usual tray of beer and orange soda.

  “I’ve found duckbills all right. Try a nest of baby duckbills with skeletons intact for starters. But that’s just the icing on the cake. Yours truly, Lawrence Alexander Fiske, the third”—he puffed out his barrel-shaped chest and thumped it with one fat fist—“has made the greatest dinosaur fossil find of the century. Or maybe the second greatest. Far be it for me to be the one to deny the great Roy Chapman Andrews his due.”

  The faces of the other paleontologists were incredulous.

  “And what is that, pray tell?” said Bert as he passed the plateful of dumplings around. He was clearly skeptical.

  “I’m not going to tell you, I’m going to show you.” He nodded deferentially to the group. “You are all cordially invited to my camp tomorrow for Show and Tell time. A luncheon buffet and champagne will be served afterwards. Shall we say around ten?” He turned to Charlotte and Marsha. “I would be delighted if you ladies would join us.”

  “Not even a hint?” pleaded Dogie.

  “Okay, a hint,” said Larry. “It’s not only what I’ve found, though what I’ve found is extraordinary enough in and of itself.” He paused to cast a sidelong look at Orecchio. “It’s where I found it.”

  “Where he found it,” Dogie repeated, rolling his eyes to the heavens as he nibbled on a dumpling that wobbled precariously between the tips of his chopsticks. “Don’t tell me that you’ve found the skeleton of the mythical duckbill who survived the cosmic zap.”

  “You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out, won’t you?”

  The conversation was interrupted by the return of the waiter, this time with a big platter of noodles and another of sauteed mutton, onions, and tomatoes. He also carried a plateful of the unleavened bread, similar to pita bread, that was a specialty of the area.

  “How did you become interested in dinosaurs, Mr. Fiske?” asked Charlotte after they had all served themselves. As Peter had told them, the food here was a lot better than the food on the train.

  Dogie snorted. “Tell Miss Graham, Larry,” he prompted.

  “All About Dinosaurs, by Roy Chapman Andrews,” Larry replied. “I read it in fifth grade, and decided then and there that I wanted to be a paleontologist when I grew up. Some people may snicker”—he glowered in mock anger at Dogie—“but a lot of other paleontologists have come to the profession in the same way. In addition to being a great explorer, RCA was also a great writer.”

  “The difference between Larry and the others is that he never got over his Roy Chapman Andrews fixation,” said Dogie. “RCA collected Oriental art, Larry collects Oriental art; RCA lived high on the hog, Larry lives high on the hog. Wait till you see Larry’s camp—I guarantee you, it’s a sight to behold. Have you ever been to one of Larry’s camps, Peng?”

  “Yes, in Argentina,” the Chinese paleontologist replied. “I think it is of great benefit to a paleontological expedition to have Mr. Fiske as a member of the team,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Larry always makes camp on the site,” Bert explained. “Even when it’s not entirely necessary, like here. And his camps are … Well, let’s just say that when Larry goes into the field, he doesn’t skimp on the amenities.”

  “When Bert and I go into the field, what do we take, Bert?” asked Dogie as he slurped up some noodles.

  “A two-man tent, maybe. Usually just a bedroll and an air mattress. A tent for our equipment, which consists of a couple of folding tables and a couple of folding chairs, a Coleman lantern or two, a camp stove …”

  “Don’t forget to mention the most important piece of equipment—a cooler for the beer,” volunteered Dogie.

  “A cooler for the beer,” repeated Bert. “When Larry travels, he travels like a British lord on safari. China plates, silver knives and forks … A cook, of course. He always has a cook, and a couple of retainers. What else, Dogie?”

  “The silver tea service,” Dogie replied. “Larry always serves tea on the dot o
f four.” He pretended to drink from a teacup, genteelly raising a pinkie on which he wore a turquoise-and-silver ring.

  “I like the crystal decanter of brandy myself,” said Bert. “There’s nothing like a brandy and a cigar under the desert stars.”

  “I try to live up to the standards set by my hero, the great Roy Chapman Andrews,” Larry explained. “And I quote: ‘I don’t believe in hardships. They’re a great nuisance. Eat well, dress well, and sleep well, whenever possible.’”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Charlotte.

  “Speaking of eating well, this is delicious,” said Bert. He waved his chopsticks at the main dish of noodles and sauteed mutton with vegetables. “Don’t you want some, Larry?” he asked, nodding at Larry’s empty plate.

  Larry raised a hand in demurral. “No, thanks. I already ate—a couple of sand grouse that I shot this afternoon. Prepared to perfection by my cook. Tétras au vin à la Dijonnaise. With tarte aux abricots for dessert.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what it is he ate, but I can tell you one thing: it had to taste a damned sight better than the chuck we’ve been gettin’ for the past couple of days,” said Dogie. “What’re we havin’ for lunch tomorrow?”

  “A surprise,” Larry replied mysteriously.

  After the usual fruit for dessert—not apples this time, but the luscious local melon and plump green seedless grapes—Victor came over to their table to announce that the staff of the guest house would be putting on a show, and directed them to a terrace outside the dining hall. As they filed out, Charlotte found herself walking next to Orecchio. The two of them were right behind Dogie and Larry. Dogie was grilling Larry, trying to get him to reveal the nature of his find. “Have patience, my friend,” Larry was admonishing him. “I’m sure you can wait until tomorrow to find out.” Leaning closer to Dogie, he added: “I can tell you one thing, though—it’s a find that’s not going to make the rock jock very happy. In fact, it’s going to blow his precious catastrophe theory right out of the water.” From her position behind Dogie and to his right, Charlotte could see the twinkle in the corner of his eye as Larry imparted this confidence. She wasn’t sure if Orecchio had heard it or not.