Eliot Pattison - The Skull Mantra

But Kincaid was looking at Shan, who had moved close enough to read the screen. It was not the computer log for Jao's poppy fields Kincaid was studying. It was the log for the maps of the South Claw. The maps that had revealed Yerpa to the American engineer.

"When we studied the photos taken of the skulls in the cave, we found the one that had been moved," Shan said. "Not destroyed, just reverently moved. I thought it meant a monk had been there. But a monk would have been able to read the Tibetan date with each skull. He would be unlikely to tamper with the order, the sequence of the shrine. Much later I realized someone could have been reverent toward the skull but not able to read Tibetan." Kincaid seemed not to have heard.

"You mean it was a Chinese," Fowler said weakly.

Shan lowered himself wearily into a chair across from Fowler and decided to try a different direction. "The Lotus Book can be easily misunderstood."

"The Lotus Book?" Fowler asked.

Shan clasped his hands together on the table and stared into them as he spoke. An immense sadness, an almost paralyzing melancholy, had settled over him. "It isn't about revenge," he went on. Kincaid was slowly turning to face him. "It isn't about vindication. The purbas don't mind committing treason in compiling the records, but they will not kill. The Book's just- it's very Tibetan. A way of shaming the world. A way of enshrining the lost ones. But not for killing. That's not the Tibetan way." Shan looked up. Why, he wondered, did justice always taste so bitter?

"I don't understand anything you're-" Fowler stopped in midsentence as she saw that Shan was gazing not at her, but over her shoulder at Kincaid.

"I couldn't understand until I saw Jansen with the purbas. Then I knew. He was the missing link. You gave the information to Jansen. Jansen gave it to the purbas. The purbas put it in the Lotus Book. You just passed on what your good friends gave you. Li, and Hu, and Wen, you thought they were trying to create a new, friendlier government, to heal the old wounds by helping the Tibetans. You had no way of knowing the information was lies. You would never have suspected, because it had so much virtue behind it. Everyone was ready to believe that Tan and Jao did those things. You even got your friends to donate military food and clothing as a token of their commitment. A truck of clothes went to the ragyapa village, which you knew about and felt sorry for because of Luntok."

Rebecca Fowler pushed her chair back and stood. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "A book? The murders had to do with the Tamdin demon, you said. A Tibetan in the demon's costume."

Shan nodded slowly. "The Bureau of Religious Affairs did audits of the gompas, you know. They found the Tamdin costume a year and a half ago. It had belonged to Sungpo's guru and he had hidden it all these years. But he was going senile, and probably got careless about protecting it. Director Wen hid the audit report describing the discovery and, since so many clerks knew about the audit, a shipment was sent to the museum to cover the tracks. But Director Wen never sent the costume to the museum, because the Bei Da Union had met someone who could use it for them. Someone who would never need an alibi for murder because he would never be suspected. Someone who would revel in the symbolism. Someone with special powers. Strong. Fearless. Absolute in his convictions about the Tibetan people. About the need to take revenge for the pillage of Tibet." Or maybe, Shan considered, the need to take revenge on the world at large.

"To kill a man with pebbles, one by one. To sever a man's head with three blows. Not everyone is capable of such things. And to use the costume, it would take someone very special. The Tibetans trained for months, but that was mostly for the ceremony. Someone not interested in the ritual could have mastered the costume much more quickly, especially someone trained as an engineer."

Kincaid moved to the wall with his photographs of Tibetans and stared at the faces of the children, women, and old men as if they held an answer. "Wrong," he said in a hollow voice. "You have it so wrong."

Shan slowly rose. Kincaid began to retreat, as though fearful of attack. But Shan moved to the console. "No, I had it very wrong. I couldn't believe that such contempt, and yet such reverence, could exist in the same person." The computer screen still showed the data on the Yerpa maps. It was extraordinary how well the American had come to understand the Tibetans. In its own way, the killing of Prosecutor Jao had been an act of genius. The American, having discovered Yerpa on the photo maps, had known the 404th would stop work on the road, and no doubt had assumed the major would see that the knobs went through the motions but inflicted no real harm on the 404th. Shan hit the delete button.

There was the sound of more machines outside. Rebecca Fowler moved to the doorway of the room and stared out the window on the far wall. "A flatbed truck," she said distractedly. "They're taking away Jao's limousine."

She turned back, her face a mask of confusion. "Tyler, if you know something you should tell Shan. We have the mine to think of. The company."

"Know something?" Kincaid said with contempt. "Sure, I know something. The Lhadrung Five. They weren't executed. That's how wrong you are. Only ones who died were a bunch of MFCs who should have been executed years ago for their crimes against Tibet." He seemed angry. "Except Lihua," he added hesitantly. "Someone got carried away."

Fowler's head snapped up. "How could you know- what do you mean?" she asked.

"The club. The Bei Da Union," Shan said. "Li, Wen, Hu, the major. Mr. Kincaid was an unofficial member."

"Someone has to act, Rebecca," Kincaid interjected with an impassioned tone. "You know that, it's why you help with the UN and Jansen. Tibet has so much to teach the world. We have to clear the slate. We've made great progress."

"Progress?" Fowler asked in a near whisper.

"Someone has to stand up," Kincaid shot back. "It has to be done. No one stood up to Hitler. No one stood up to Stalin until it was too late. But it's not too late here. This is where we can make a difference. History can be turned around. The Bei Da Union knows that. Criminals have to be turned out of power."

"Can you recognize a criminal, Mr. Kincaid?" Shan asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Fowler. "Do you have a shipment of samples being prepared for transport next week?"

"Yes," Fowler said slowly, more perplexed than ever.

"It will need to be stopped. Perhaps you could call."

"It's already sealed. Preclearance for customs."

"It will need to be stopped," Shan repeated.

Fowler stepped to the phone and minutes later a truck was brought to the office door. Shan paced about it as Kincaid and Fowler watched in confusion from the doorway.

"The 'me' generation," Shan said absently as he studied the shipment crates. "I read it once in an American magazine. They can't wait for anything. They want it all now. With one more murder they would have won. Only the colonel was left. Maybe they were going to take over the mine, too. I think the suspension was partly a response to what Kincaid did with Jao: they wanted to be able to get rid of you if circumstances got out of control. Do you remember what day you received the permit suspension?" he asked Fowler.

"I don't know. Ten days ago. Two weeks."

"It was the day after we discovered Jao's head," Shan said, speaking slowly to let his words sink in. "When they discovered their demon was getting out of control. I don't think they had decided yet whether to get rid of you. They just liked to keep options open. Like planting the computer disks and pretending there was an espionage investigation."

"Tyler," Fowler gasped. "Talk to him. Tell him you don't know-"