Eliot Pattison - Mandarin Gate

Shan had no words. “I am just the ditch inspector,” he said at last. “A very bad one, since I have neglected my duties for many days.”

“You are the one who keeps clear water flowing. Clear water keeps us alive.”

“I am the one who is arrested and beaten and tortured. I cannot be trusted with this. Liang would burn it, just to spite me. You think I can walk through that gate but I can’t.”

“You must understand something,” Yuan said in the voice of an old lama. “It isn’t valuable because it is so old. It is valuable because of all the risks taken for it, and with it, for so very many years. There are still censors that keep the government in check. We need them more than ever. I think, my friend, you stepped through that gate on the day Jamyang died.” Yuan handed the pieces of towel to Shan. “There is so little I can do. Let me at least do this. One of my great-uncles kept it on him in the last war. He said it made him bulletproof.”

“You think too much of me, Yuan. I can’t even understand who Jamyang was.”

The professor extended a piece of paper to Shan. “Sansan found this. The symbol on Jamyang’s paper. A hammer and a chorten.”

Shan studied what looked like a printout of a website page, with the hammer and chorten featured prominently at the top. He looked up in confusion. “The Chinese Tibetan Peace Institute?”

“In Chamdo. On the grounds of an old monastery.”

Shan shrugged. “He was trying to build bridges between people. The Bureau of Religious Affairs has many such places.”

“You misunderstand. Sansan dug deeper. There is no connection to Religious Affairs. The institute is an arm of Public Security.”

* * *

Lung Tso and Jigten were waiting with his truck at the stable when Shan arrived.

“That last date on the paper Jamyang gave your brother is the night of the full moon,” Shan stated.

“What of it?”

“You spoke about a young monk you dealt with at the monastery,” Shan said. “Dakpo. He ran away three days ago but he has to be back for the full moon, because that is when you have a truck taking a cargo for India. I think he is party to your secret business with Chegar. Where did you take him?”

“Ah yi,” Lung muttered. “You never stop.”

“Not until the killer is caught, no.”

“Damn it, Shan. My world is based on secrets.”

“So is the killer’s. Where is he?”

Lung glanced at Jigten, who waited by the truck. “Fine,” he spat. “Chamdo. He knew we run to Chamdo twice a week, to the warehouses where shipments arrive from the east. He was desperate to go, said he would help with the loading of the truck if need be. He borrowed some work clothes and rode in the back.”

Shan had somehow known. He pressed the badge of Yuan Yi, sewn back into its towels and tucked inside his shirt. “Then I am desperate too. When is your next truck to Chamdo?”

They were twenty miles up the highway when Jigten flipped his cigarette out the window and cursed. “They’re following us. I slow down, they slow down. I speed up, they speed up.”

Shan leaned to look out the side mirror and his heart sank. The grey Public Security vehicle was the only car on the empty road but it was hugging the rear of their big cargo truck. “Pull over,” he told Jigten.

“To hell I will. We’re going to Chamdo,” the shepherd spat with unexpected vehemence. Genghis had been scheduled to make the run to the remote city but at the last minute had been seized with terrible stomach pains. Jigten, lingering in the garage, had readily volunteered to replace him.

“I admire your spirit but I doubt they are here for you.”

Jigten frowned but began to downshift. The truck eased to a halt with a hiss of air brakes. As Shan opened his door to confront his tail, the top of his head felt as it were burning again.

But there was no team sent to retrieve him for Liang. A solitary figure in a rumpled uniform climbed out of the car.

“Lieutenant Meng, we left your district miles ago,” Shan declared.

“I recall that your registration papers don’t allow you out of the county,” she replied.

“We have already established my scofflaw tendencies. But what’s your excuse?”

Something like defiance burned in her eyes. “Three people were murdered in my district. One of the men assigned to Liang says the bullet we took from the murder scene is just sitting on his desk. You were right. He never sent it to the lab. And yesterday there was a general notice, an alert for all Tibetan offices, about an official German delegation arriving in Lhasa to recover the body of a victim in a climbing accident three hundred miles from here. They took Rutger and dropped him off a cliff. The only one who is doing anything about solving those murders is you.”

“Those are dangerous words, Lieutenant. Especially for someone who’s been broken in rank already. Take my advice and go home. You’re only a lieutenant this time. A sergeant’s pay is hard to live on.”

Meng shrugged. “Less paperwork. More time in the field. I enjoy the fresh air.”

“You’ve been in Tibet too long. I sense a perilous contamination.”

“What are you doing?”

“You said it before. I am the only one interested in finding out why Jamyang and the others died.” He studied Meng. Behind the weariness on her face was a glint of determination. “Go home,” he repeated. “Go back and do whatever it takes to get Major Liang out of your district.”

“The highway’s being shut down for twelve hours starting at noon. Prisoner convoys. There will be checkpoints and guards everywhere. You’ll never make it through without an escort.”

“I fear for you, Lieutenant. I sense you are dangerously close to an antisocialist act.”

Meng leaned against her car. Her gaze became distant, aimed toward the far horizon. “I have a confession. I was ordered to make sure a canvas was tied around that statue of the Helmsman after you smashed his face. But I went back last night and cut the ropes holding the canvas, let it blow away in the wind. And I didn’t even leave. I sat on a bench and stared at him. I remember a story I heard once about an emperor with no clothes. No one would ever call him naked. A dog came up and peed on the pedestal. I laughed out loud. I felt more free than I had in years.”

Shan stared at the woman, not understanding the flood of emotion her words released inside him.

“I checked what Liang said about that monk in Rutok,” she declared. “There was no report of an immolation in Rutok. He lied to us, like you said. He started asking me about that dead lama, Jamyang. About whether I could find his body, about where he had been living, who his friends were.” The wind tugged out a strand of her hair. She let it hang across her face, then turned away as she felt his gaze. “Who was he, Shan? Who was that lama?”

“I don’t know. I am following his ghost to Chamdo.”

She had no reply.

“What exactly are you proposing to do?” he asked.

“I am going to pull in front of you and escort you to Chamdo. We’re going to find his ghost together.”

* * *

The journey to the northeast was much slower than Shan would have liked but after an hour, when they encountered the first roadblock, he knew they would never have had a chance without Meng. With a knob officer as an escort they were able to crawl past several groups of heavily guarded trucks. In the middle of the afternoon they were forced to stop not for another checkpoint but for a disabled truck that had broken down in the center of the road, blocking both lanes. Two dozen men in threadbare denim had been off-loaded and allowed to sit on the bank at the edge of the road.