Eliot Pattison - Bone Mountain

She gazed at Shan with wide, afraid eyes, then leapt up and ran down the village path, disappearing into the rocks and trees of the slope.

"Your drum," he asked Lepka as the old man stepped into the sunlight. "Where is it?"

"Gone, disappeared in the night," Lepka said with a shrug, and he placed his hand over his heart and closed his eyes a moment, as if seeking a connection between the drumming and the beating of his own heart.

"You mean someone from the village is up there?"

"No," Lepka exclaimed happily, his eyes wide, as if that were his real point.

Shan and Winslow exchanged worried glances and when Shan began jogging out of the village, in the direction Anya had taken, the American followed a step behind. They found Anya standing alone in the center of the canyon camp with only Lokesh and a handful of the Yapchi villagers. Tenzin and the purbas were gone. The sick strangers were gone.

"Up the trails," Anya said with a puzzled expression. "But these trails are for goats," she said, gesturing toward the end of the short canyon, where the slope was nearly vertical. "So many sick people…" she added, her voice drifting off. "They are fleeing. They saw the soldiers. They heard there are knobs at the camp. There is no healing in this valley any longer." The girl's voice faded again as she began staring intensely at a small hole near the base of a large boulder. She limped to the rock, then dropped to her knees and pressed her eye near the hole, as though she expected to see something inside it.

"He's so interested in Lokesh," Winslow said at Shan's shoulder as they both watched the girl in confusion. "Why?"

"When he found travelers from Yapchi coming from the south a former lao gai prisoner was among them," Shan said, his voice heavy with worry. "I think what he really means is that Lokesh could be a convenient suspect, could be arrested if no one else produces whatever Lin wants."

"You mean the eye."

"I don't think it's the eye anymore. Lin wouldn't trouble himself so over a piece of stone. I think what he wants is the one who stole the eye. Because whoever stole it committed a security breach."

"Dremu was going to steal the stone but the purbas stopped him," Winslow recalled.

Shan nodded. "They had other plans. They could have placed someone on the inside. Lin couldn't afford to let such a person escape. There would have been things more important than the chenyi stone in Lin's office."

"You mean Lin thinks the thief stole secrets. You mean they're looking for some kind of spy?"

Spy. The word had not occurred to Shan. But it had doubtlessly occurred to Lin. It would make sense. It would explain why the mountain commandos had come all the way from Lhasa, following a piece of a deity.

A figure rushed past them and bent towards Anya. It was Lhandro, and as he gently pulled the girl up he cast an apologetic glance toward Shan and Winslow. "Sometimes she forgets things," he said, as though the girl could not hear him. When Anya straightened her eyes were hooded, and she searched the landscape restlessly, without any sign that she saw them. "Sometimes all she can do is look for deities. I think it is another way they speak with her," he said awkwardly. "Sometimes we have to go out and search for Anya, with the dogs, like an old monk," he added, referring to the way some old monks might wander away in a spiritual reverie, or lose themselves while meditating on their feet.

Lhandro showed relief for a moment as Lokesh put his arm around the girl and guided her to a pallet. Then his eyes hardened and he surveyed the canyon. "Where is he? Horsetracks led into the valley."

"Dremu?" Shan asked. He had not thought of the Golok since seeing him ride away the day before.

"No sign of the bastard," Lhandro said. "He could be negotiating to sell it back to the soldiers right now."

"The eye?" Shan asked.

"Of course the eye. He knew exactly where it was. He ran away the morning after it was stolen. He knew the mountain trails. And he has helpers. We saw the tracks of three horses, not one." Lhandro looked back at Anya and Lokesh. "He will sell all of us if the price is right."

Shan walked one step behind Winslow as they approached the oil camp an hour later. The American had protested when Shan had said he was going with him to meet the camp manager, but Shan had insisted he would just go alone if the American did not want to accompany him. "Lin will pounce on you," Winslow protested. "He wants you in manacles."

"Lin is in the army camp, in those tents past the oil camp," Shan said in a thin voice. "He doesn't expect me to walk into the camp. And no one else will suspect me if they think I am connected with you."

Winslow had reluctantly agreed, but only if Shan stayed with him, and spoke only English, playing the part of an assistant. For thirty minutes they had worked on making Shan's clothes presentable, finding a nearly new shirt in the village for Shan to wear, over which the American had put his own red nylon coat. Finally, Winslow hung his expensive binoculars around Shan's neck.

The American began to whistle as they approached the derrick, and took several photographs as the workers waved, as though he were a tourist. They were broad shouldered, beefy men, Chinese and Tibetans, who smiled with pride and paused to pose for Winslow, their huge wrenches and hammers raised.

Two hundred yards before the camp was an open square of earth, the size of a large vegetable garden, where two figures knelt. They wore aprons, and one held a large magnifying lens as he studied something in the soil.

"Wasn't there last time," Winslow observed in a voice tinged with curiosity as they walked past the bent figures. "Guess the colonel lost a button."

No one at the camp seemed surprised to see the American. The workers who scurried about the complex of trailers and tents nodded briefly as Shan and Winslow slowly circuited the compound, or made no eye contact at all. Tall stacks of logs lay at the base of the slope where the logging was being conducted, a heavy gas-powered saw on a metal frame whirled and groaned as it cut the logs into long planks.

Shan was watching a huge diesel truck being unloaded of its cargo of heavy pipe, its engine idling loudly, when Winslow pulled him away. A young Han woman, looking out of place in a bright white blouse and neatly pressed blue skirt, had appeared at the door of one of the center trailers. She greeted them with a solicitous nod, then gestured them inside, into the fastidious world of the venture's management. Passing through a short hallway lined with dirt-caked boots and jackets they stepped onto a clean tile floor in a room furnished with two metal desks and a long sofa. Shan might have forgotten he was inside one of the metal boxes, except that all the furniture was bolted to the floor. Black framed, color photographs of famous Chinese landscapes- the Great Wall, the natural limestone towers of Guilin, the Shanghai waterfront- were screwed on the wall above the sofa. The woman opened the door to a small conference room. "I will bring tea," she announced, and left them to sit at the table.

The table was brown plastic, with simulated wood grain, as were the chairs. On the wall hung maps, many kinds of maps. Shan pulled a chair out, then found himself being drawn toward the walls. The oil venture needed precision in its geography. Three maps clearly depicted Yapchi, in sharply different scales, including one large one with a highlighted yellow line that wandered along the base of the nearby mountains to connect Yapchi to a red circle just west of Golmud, the large city more than two hundred miles to the north, the nearest airport and railhead. On a small metal side table there was a stack of single-page sheets that bore a reduced map outlining the route from Golmud to Yapchi, with landmarks highlighted. Shan took one, quickly folded it and stuffed it into his pocket.