"But these lakes are manmade."
"The natural salt lake is there. In fact, eleven of them. In layers, underneath us. We just moved clay to build surface ponds. We pump up the brine into our ponds for evaporation." Fowler pointed toward three small sheds across the valley floor, ganglia in a network of pipes. "Three wells do all the work."
"But where is your plant?"
"In the ponds. With the right concentration we can precipitate out boron particles. Each lake is periodically drained and we harvest the product that has accumulated on the bottom. The trick is to maintain the concentration. Get it wrong and we wind up with table salt. Or a stew of metals too expensive to separate."
She led them down the dike to where it intersected the gully of the Dragon's Throat.
"But you said it was a landslide that blocked the valley," Shan said.
"We moved it. Too unstable. The dam needs to be packed clay. Just finished this one, our last dike." Shan saw that the pond beside them, noticeably lower than the others, was still being filled by the wells. The American pointed toward the far end of the plateau and handed Shan the binoculars. "The farthest pond is being harvested."
There was a mound of brilliant white material near the pond.
"We have a crude processing unit, to slightly refine the product. Once we start production, we will seal it into one-ton bags and ship it to the world." He realized she was looking elsewhere as she spoke, toward a cluster of workers in the middle of the pond complex. He turned the binoculars to the workers and saw that it was two separate groups. Neither seemed to be working.
"The world?" he asked.
"Some to factories in China," she said distractedly. "Much of it to Hong Kong for shipping to Europe and America."
Shan studied the dull gray equipment beside the second group. "Why would Tan send them when your permit is suspended?"
"The Ministry of Geology suspended the permit."
"Who signed the order?"
Rebecca Fowler paused, as though considering whether to respond. "Director Hu."
"Of the local Ministry of Geology office?"
"Right. But I explained to Tan that if we shut down now, we lose all the material in the ponds. We design the process so our commercial products precipitate first. If we wait, they get contaminated. Could lose six months' work. He agreed we should continue to process our sample batches on the grounds that the permit only applies to commercial scale production."
"But then everything stops?"
"Unless we can figure out what's going on."
"You're saying Hu gave no reason for the suspension?"
It was as far as Fowler would go. She took two steps away and looked up at a rock face at the end of the pond. Shan studied her for a moment, trying to understand if she was upset because of Prosecutor Jao, Director of Mines Hu, or himself, then followed her gaze to the rock. The cliff rose at least three hundred feet, nearly perpendicular. Suddenly he saw movement on the rocks, two white ropes dangling down the face from the top.
Fowler turned to look at the gully. "You can see all the way to the valley," she observed.
But Shan did not turn. The ropes were moving. There were two figures at the top, in brilliant red vests and white helmets.
Suddenly Yeshe called out with surprise. He was looking down the Dragon's Throat. "The 404th! You can see-" He caught himself and cast an embarrassed glance toward Shan, who swung the binoculars around. It took only a moment to follow the Dragon's Throat to the base of the range. They were twenty miles away by tortuous mountain road, but there in plain view was the 404th's worksite, no more than three miles distance as a raven would fly. Adjusting the focus, he picked out Tan's bridge, the tanks of the knobs, and the long rank of prison trucks.
He felt the glare of the American and lowered the glasses.
"My chief engineer showed it to me," she said with an accusing tone. "It's one of your prison projects. Slave labor."
"The government often assigns compulsory work crews to road construction," Yeshe said, suddenly self-righteous. "Beijing says it builds socialist awareness."
"I've been talking to the UN about it."
"Personally," Shan said, "I am in favor of international dialogue." He felt a sharp gun-barrel jab in his back. Sergeant Feng had arrived behind him. Shan turned. Feng's thumb was extended toward Shan and his eyes were smoldering.
The action was not missed by Fowler. She seemed about to say something when suddenly a loud whoop echoed across the rock face. They turned to see the two figures dropping down the cliff on the ropes, kicking off the rock as they fell.
"Crazy fool," Fowler muttered. "It's Kincaid. He's teaching the young engineers. He's going to do Everest before his tour is finished. Wants to go up with a team of Tibetans."
"Everest?" Yeshe asked.
"Sorry," Fowler said. "Chomolungma is what you call it. Mother mountain."
"It means 'goddess mother of the world,' " Yeshe corrected.
As the figures landed at the base of the cliff, they made exhilarated leaps into the air and embraced. Moments later they began moving onto the long dike, the lean man with brilliant eyes and ponytail Shan had seen at the cave and the young Tibetan Shan had seen driving the truck and later at Tan's office.
"I'm Tyler," the American introduced himself. "Tyler Kincaid. Just Kincaid will do." His smile faded as he saw Sergeant Feng. His eyes settled on the sergeant's pistol. "This," he said with a distracted jerk of his thumb, "is Luntok, one of our engineers."
"Kincaid works the magic in the ponds," Fowler explained.
"Nature does the magic," Kincaid said impassively. He spoke with a slight drawl, the way Shan had heard characters speak in American westerns. "I just give her the opportunity."
He studied Shan, then lowered his voice. "You were at the cave. With Tan," he said with a tone of accusation. "We want to know about that cave."
"So do I. I need to know why you were there."
"Because something is wrong there. Because it's a holy place," he said.
"Why would you say that?" Shan asked.
"It is one of those places the Buddhists call a place of power. At the end of a valley. Facing south. A spring nearby. A large tree."
"So you've been there before?"
Kincaid make a sweeping gesture toward the mountains. "We climb a lot of ridges. Luntok saw the trucks. But we didn't need to see them to know it might be important. The topography shows it all."
Suddenly an airhorn blew, a long unceasing howl that hurt the ears. A worker appeared beside Fowler, panting from a run across the dike. "They're going to fight!" he shouted. "They're going to destroy the equipment!"
"Goddamned MFCs!" Tyler snapped at Fowler. "I told you!" He darted toward the trouble, Luntok close behind.
The Tibetan workers had formed a line in the middle of the valley. A huge gray bulldozer on which half a dozen of Tan's engineers perched had been stopped by a makeshift barricade of smaller trucks and earthmovers. The soldiers were firing the bulldozer's airhorn in staccato blasts, like a machine gun. The Tibetans sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the vehicles.
Kincaid appeared between the lines, standing with the Tibetans, haranguing the soldiers.
Shan offered Rebecca Fowler the binoculars. She seemed reluctant to take them. "I never meant for this-" she began. "If anyone got hurt I couldn't live with myself." She turned to him, as if surprised to have said the words to Shan. Anguish filled her eyes. "Make them leave."
"Who?"
"The soldiers. Tell Tan we'll find some other way to meet the schedule."
"I am sorry. I have no authority."
"Of course you do," Yeshe suggested. "You are a direct representative of Colonel Tan. You will report any impropriety to him." Yeshe seemed torn by indecision, then bolted toward the soldiers. He was not about to have an incident at the mine delay completion of his assignment. He was, Shan reminded himself, a man with a destination.
The soldiers began raising and lowering the
blade of their bulldozer, giving the machine the appearance of a hungry monster, impatient to chew its food. Kincaid moved back and forth, vigorously gesturing at the ponds, at the mountains, and the equipment sheds.
"Mr. Kincaid," Shan observed, "is an unusually zealous man." He saw Fowler's confused glance. "For a mining engineer."
"Tyler Kincaid is a treasure. Could have his pick of jobs in the company. New York. London. California. Australia. He chose Tibet. Is he zealous? We're eight thousand miles from home, trying to open a mine with unproven technology in an unproven location with an unproven workforce. Zealousness struck me as something of a credential."
"His pick of jobs. Because he is so qualified?"
"That, and his father owns the company."
Shan watched Tyler Kincaid as he moved to the lead soldier and shook him by the shoulders. His father owned the company, and Kincaid was at what had to be the most remote, inaccessible outpost of the company anywhere on the planet. "He said something. MFCs. What does it mean?"
"Just his way of talking."
"Talking about what?"
"Bureaucrats, I guess." She saw that he would not give up, and shrugged. "An MFC is a Mother Fucking Communist," she explained, and turned back toward the workers with an amused grin.
Yeshe arrived in front of the soldiers and began pointing toward Shan. The bulldozer blade stopped and the soldiers peered toward the dike in obvious uncertainty. Kincaid used the reprieve to dart to the administration building, from where he reappeared at full speed carrying a black box. Fowler raised the glasses for a moment, gave a grunt of amusement, and handed them to Shan.
Kincaid had a portable tape player. He set it in front of the bulldozer and began playing American rock music, so loud Shan could hear it from the dike. The American engineer began to dance.
At first both sides just stared. Then a soldier began to laugh. Another soldier joined the dance, then one of the Tibetans. The others all began laughing.
Fowler sighed. "Thanks," she said, as if Yeshe's intervention hadbeen Shan's idea. "Crisis averted. Problem still not solved," she said, and began walking toward the office.
Shan moved to her side. "Have you thought about a priest?" he asked.
"A priest?"
"The Tibetans won't work because they believe something has released a demon."
Fowler shook her head sadly, surveying the valley. "Somehow I can't believe it. I know these people. They aren't pagans."
"You misunderstand. It's not that most of them believe a monster is roaming the hills. What they believe is that the balance has been disturbed, and an imbalance produces evil. The demon is just a manifestation of that evil. It could be manifested in a person, in an act, even an earthquake. The balance can be restored with the right rituals, the right priest."
"You're saying all of this is symbolic? Jao's murder wasn't symbolic."
"I wonder."
She turned to gaze down the Throat as she considered Shan's suggestion. "The Religious Bureau would never permit a ritual. The director is on our board."
"I was not suggesting a Bureau priest. You would need someone special. Someone with the right powers. Someone from the old gompas. The right priest would make them understand they have nothing to fear."
"Is there nothing to fear?"
"I believe your workers have nothing to fear."
"Is there nothing to fear?" the American woman repeated, threading her fingers through her auburn hair.
"I don't know."
They walked on in silence.
"It's not exactly something that was covered in my environmental impact statements," Fowler said.
"It was not necessarily the result of your mining work."
"But I thought that was the whole-"
"No. Something happened here. Not Jao's murder, because so few know about it. Something else. Something was seen. Something that scared the Tibetans, that had to be explained to their way of thinking. A ready explanation would be the excavation of the mountain. Every rock, every pebble has its place. Now the rocks and pebbles have been moved."
"But the murder is involved, isn't it." It was not a question. "The demon. Tamdin." Her voice was almost a whisper now.
"I don't know." Shan studied her. "I did not realize you were so upset about the murder."
"It's got me spooked," she said, looking back at the workers. The machines were backing away from each other. "I can't sleep at night." She looked back at Shan. "I'm doing strange things. Like talking to total strangers."
"Is there something else you need to tell me?" As they approached the compound, Shan noticed movement at the end of the farthest building. A line of Tibetans extended out of a side door, mostly workers but also old women and children in traditional dress.
Rebecca Fowler seemed not to notice. "It's just that I keep thinking that they're connected. My problem and yours."
"You mean Prosecutor Jao's murder and the suspension of your permit?"
Fowler nodded slowly. "There is something else, but now with my permit suspended it will just sound spiteful. Jao was on our supervisory committee. Before he left here on his last visit, Jao had a big argument with Director Hu of the Ministry of Geology. After the meeting, outside, Jao was yelling at Hu. It was about that cave. Jao said Hu had to stop what he was doing at the cave. He said he would send in his own team."
"So you knew about the cave before their argument?"
"No. I didn't understand their argument. But later Luntok mentioned the trucks he had seen. I didn't connect any of it until I went to the site that day. Even then I was so upset with Tan that it was only afterward I remembered Jao's argument with Hu."
They were nearly at the truck, where Yeshe and Sergeant Feng waited. She paused and spoke with a new, urgent tone. "How do I find the priest I need?"
"Ask your workers," Shan suggested. Was it possible, he wondered, that she would defy Hu, even Tan, to keep her mine open?
"I can't. It would make it official. Religious Affairs would be furious. The Ministry of Geology would be furious. Help me find one. I can't do it myself."
"Then ask the mountaintops."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's a Tibetan saying. I think it means pray."
Rebecca Fowler grabbed his arm and looked at him desperately. "I want to help you," she said, "but you can't lie to me."
He responded only with an awkward, crooked smile then looked longingly toward the distant peaks. He would never lie to her but he would always believe the lies to himself if they were his only hope of escape.
Chapter Seven
News flash," Sergeant Feng muttered to the commando in battle fatigues who stood at the 404th gate. "The Taiwan invasion is going to be on the coast, not in the Himalayas."
The 404th had the appearance of a war zone. Tents had been erected along the perimeter. New wire had been strung on top of the barbed fence already in place, a vicious-looking strand with razor-sharp strips of metal dangling from it. The electricity had been cut off, except for the wire leading to a new bank of spotlights at the gate, leaving the compound in shadow as the last glimmer of dusk faded across the valley. Bunkers of sandbags were being built for machine guns, as if the Bureau troops expected a frontal assault. A freshly painted sign declared that a fifteen-foot strip inside the fence was now the dead zone. Prisoners entering the zone without authorization could be shot without warning.
The commando raised his AK-47 rifle. There was a raw, animal quality in his countenance that made Shan shiver. Sergeant Feng shoved Shan violently through the gate, knocking him to his knees. The knob studied Feng a moment, then, with a reluctant frown, stepped back.
"Got to show them who's in charge," Feng mumbled as he caught up with Shan. Shan realized it was meant to be an apology. "Damned strutting cockbirds. Grab the glory and move on." He stopped, arms akimbo, to survey the knobs' bunkers, then gestured toward Shan's hut. "Thirty minutes," he snapped, and moved back toward the brilliantly lit dead zone.
Trinle was on his feet as soon as he saw Shan.
"I must speak with him," Shan said urgently. Choje was on the bunk behind Trinle, as still as death.
"He is near exhaustion."
Suddenly Choje's hands moved and folded over his mouth and nose. He exhaled sharply three times. It was the ritual of awakening for every devout Buddhist. The first exhalation was to expunge sin, the second to purge confusion, the third to clear away impediments to the true path.
Choje sat up and greeted Shan with a flicker of a smile. He was wearing a robe, an illegal robe, which had been sewn together from prison shirts and somehow dyed. Without speaking he rose and moved to the center of the floor where he dropped into the lotus position, joined by Trinle. Shan sat between them.
"You are weak, Rinpoche. I did not mean to disturb your rest."
"There is so much to be done. Today each hut did ten thousand rosaries. Many of the men have been prepared. Tomorrow we will try for more."
Shan clenched his jaw, fighting his emotions. "Prepared?"
Choje only smiled.
A strange scraping noise disturbed the stillness. Shan turned. One of the young monks was reverently spinning a prayer wheel, fashioned from a tin can and a pencil.
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