Eliot Pattison - Prayer of the Dragon

“It was Tashi,” Kohler said, looking into the fire now. “He was the catalyst. He offered to make fraudulent customs forms for me so I could avoid paying duties. He was an amazing forger, a true artist. He practiced in prison by duplicating Buddhist scriptures. Bing discovered him faking passes for the guards at the gulag. Bing knew real talent when he saw it. And then Tashi told him about his magic mountain. Imagine my surprise when Bing asked if I had ever heard of the Sleeping Dragon.”

“But it was you who saw the bigger possibilities,” Shan pointed out. “Ship the gold in trucks to India. At the end of the summer you could convert the gold into Tibetan deities and yaks, the gold painted over to look like a cheaper metal in your little foundry in Tashtul. Then Tashi would take the souvenirs across the border with forged papers. Chodron’s scheme of simply charging the miners a secret tax to was nothing compared to this.” Shan glanced up at Yangke, who listened intently. Tashi had made him a promise, that he would ride all the way to India with the gods. “Heinz thinks on a global scale. He reversed Chodron’s business structure. Instead of taking a percentage from the miners, he would take the gold and pay them a percentage. He assumed the risk in transporting the gold out of China and converting it somewhere else. That’s why some of the miners had so much cash.” He turned to Kohler. “You had already begun to build your market.”

The German offered Shan a respectful nod. “If you want to predict the price of gold, count the number of wars being waged in the world. It’s a bull market.”

“An entrepreneurial miracle,” Shan said in a flat voice. “Except your driver and forger was too entrepreneurial.”

“Driving was merely a sideline for Tashi. Artwork was his passion. You’re on a roll, Shan. Don’t stop now. Except you forgot to point out that no one is hurt by my scheme except Chodron, whom everyone hates anyway.”

“That changed when Tashi violated your rules. He was supposed to stay away from the mountain, wasn’t he?”

“A great kid,” Kohler said. “Except when he got drunk. He had a sweet job at our warehouse in Chamba. I arranged sleeping quarters, a television. All he had to do was stay there until I sent for him in the autumn.”

“But he got bored,” Shan suggested. “He missed his mountain. Maybe he heard Yangke was back and wanted to see his old friend. The secret expedition Professor Ma proposed was too good to pass up. It wouldn’t affect your plan. He’d be back in time to help you run the foundry in Tashtul at the end of the summer, then drive to India. But he was a social creature, and when he saw some miners with Thomas’s vodka he couldn’t resist approaching them.”

“Technically,” Kohler inserted, “it was my vodka. Never in a thousand years would I have guessed Thomas would steal my liquor to sell. Christ, that’s how it all started. My pepper vodka.”

“When Tashi drank,” Yangke whispered, “he would sing old songs of the saints.”

“When Tashi got drunk,” Shan added, “he sang everything. He wasn’t much of a criminal, he just wanted to have friends.”

“But why kill Professor Ma?” Hostene asked in a hollow voice. “Why kill Bing himself?”

“Tashi was out of control. He had to be dealt with, he had to be silenced. I was the chief executive. Bing was in charge of dealing with details.” Kohler said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Bing had Rapaki waiting in the circle of stones that night. He was going to bring only Tashi to him. But the professor woke up. And Bing might have lived if he hadn’t followed us up here. It spun out of my control. You have to take your losses and move on, I told Bing. It had become too risky. But he wouldn’t listen.”

“Because he had a whole new plan,” Shan suggested, “for which he needed no partner.”

Kohler slowly nodded. “Apparently. After Rapaki started working on him he became obsessed with the lost gold. Bing said there was more than enough for both of us.”

“But you had already borrowed the laser pointer,” Shan said. “And you had learned Rapaki’s magic words.”

“Ni shi sha gua, ni shi sha gua. .” Kohler’s mocking mantra faded away. Gao had returned, and had been listening.

The German seemed to shrink under Gao’s gaze.

They left Yangke watching Kohler and lay down in the little alcove at the rear of the cavern, though Shan could tell from the sound of their breathing that his companions were also unable to sleep.

“I don’t understand.” Hostene’s voice floated through the darkness. “Kohler was going to get all the gold he could need. Why did he need the monks’ gold?”

“He wasn’t coming for the monks’ gold,” Shan said.

“That was all Bing’s idea,” a new voice interjected. For the first time Abigail seemed free of the effects of the morphine. “He was waiting when Thomas and I came through the passage that morning. He hit Thomas, then tied me up and blindfolded me, and took me away to some other rocks. I was grateful when Kohler finally appeared. He said he had not been able to get to town, that he knew I might need help, that we had to hide until Shan caught up with Bing. He suggested we go up the kora, he’d always wanted to go follow the path and this was the perfect time to take Rapaki and finish my research.

“He helped me with my work, held the camera and carried my pack when I was tired. He didn’t object when I said I had to let Rapaki dress me as Tara, to win his trust. I still thought he was helping, and that his intentions were good when he told me I was showing signs of altitude sickness and gave me medicine. By the time Bing caught up with us, my mind was affected by the drugs. I watched from a distance, in some kind of fog. I hated Bing for hitting Thomas and taking him away. Kohler told me Bing had also been there when Professor Ma and Tashi were killed. He sat me on a rock and told me to stay there. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t run away. I wanted Bing punished but I thought they were going to tie him up, to take him prisoner. Then Rapaki began reciting his mantras about demons. Heinz stood there with the laser pointer as if he were directing a play. I closed my eyes when I saw the ax. A few minutes later they came up the trail. Rapaki was serenely singing one of his songs. Maybe I hadn’t seen what I thought I did, I kept telling myself. Maybe it was the drugs.”

“Heinz came here to tidy up,” Shan said, “To get rid of any witnesses. The three surviving people who could do him harm were on this mountaintop. He meant to go down alone. He would have reappeared from his business trip to India and mourned Thomas, maybe even helped us look for you, Abigail.”

“I’m not sure what happens now,” Abigail said. “If he goes to the authorities he will try to bargain for his life by telling them about the miners, about the village, about your friends. I don’t want the Tibetans to be hurt, Shan,” she said. “Tell me how to save the Tibetans.”

But Shan pretended to be asleep.

In the gray light of dawn an owl interceded as Shan, rising from an hour’s rest, approached the fire. Hostene had stayed several feet from Kohler but as Yangke exclaimed and pointed at the bird, Hostene, distracted and anxious, came too close. In a blur of movement Kohler leaped, kicking the remains of the fire with his bound feet, sending a shower of sparks into the air. His arms free, he pulled the gun from the belt of his surprised guard. Then he quickly untied his feet, herding his former captors into the back of the cave. He took Abigail’s pack and his own, swinging the last two staffs onto his shoulder.

“Heinz,” Gao said in a wooden voice. “It doesn’t matter. He’s on the way.”

“What are you talking about?”