The youth acknowledged Shan with a disinterested nod. “Thomas,” he interjected. “My name is Thomas.” Even before Shan had been sent into exile, to the gulag in Tibet, it had become popular among certain of China’s globally connected youth to adopt Western names.

Gao offered the boy a patient smile and spent several minutes describing the nest of lammergeiers they had been observing. Kohler took over the conversation, speaking about the weather, recent news reports describing the cloning of a dog, the announcement of a new Chinese space mission, and even, to Shan’s mute surprise, a new movie about invaders from outer space.

“Of course, if it were true, the aliens would have had to travel thousands of years to get here,” Thomas interjected.

“Hardly seems worth the trouble,” Kohler rejoined.

“It is impossible to travel faster than the speed of light,” the youth added with a hint of pride. “We’ve done the calculations.”

“Nearly as difficult,” Shan offered, “as trying to bridge the worlds on the two sides of this mountain.”

“We know of no one else who has traversed the old pass, if that is what you seek to learn. No one crosses without our knowledge since, as you see, we are situated like a gate across the path.”

“There are miners.”

“The miners are the perfect buffers for us. They may be terrified of us but everyone else is terrified of them.”

Shan declined a serving of what the boy described, in English, as French fried potatoes. “I know that for some men, forbidding them something only makes it more desirable.”

Kohler set his utensils down. “At our table, we are the ones allowed to prod and pry. Why are you here?” he asked.

“Because two men were murdered on the other side.”

“And are you playing policeman?”

“A man may be punished although there is no proof of his guilt. A lama is being punished for not condemning the man.”

“Rapaki?” Kohler asked. “Who would want to hurt a crazy hermit? Good court jesters are hard to come by.”

Shan did not correct him. The conversation was beginning to get interesting. It was the first time he had heard that name.

Gao proclaimed in a contemplative voice, “Proof is a dangerous concept. The essence of science is showing that most truth is opinion.”

“A dangerous proposition,” Shan said, “when your government is dedicated to the opposite.”

Gao lowered his cup. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve lived in Beijing. The stronger the opinion, the greater the truth.”

Kohler glanced at the doors-a habit, Shan suspected, from a career spent worried about who might be listening. “Truth is what the people need,” the German said in a pious tone. It was an old slogan, one blazoned on public walls.

“Who are you?” Gao’s question, though whispered, was as sharp as a blade. The promised dissection had begun.

“Just someone else who has difficulty adjusting to the rest of the world.”

Kohler gazed at Shan as if trying to decide whether to take offense. “We conquered the rest of the world,” Kohler declared, “and are enjoying the fruit of our labors.”

Gao, still staring at Shan, seemed not to hear the German. As a female appeared and began removing dishes, the older man rose and silently followed her into the kitchen.

Thomas’s silence was one of amusement, but Kohler’s was becoming one of unease. He seemed to have seen something in Gao that disturbed him. Down in the valley, beyond the small white buildings, a squall brewed.

“How many years have you and Dr. Gao been in Tibet?” Shan inquired.

“Draw a radius of five hundred miles and we have spent almost our entire careers inside it,” Kohler said.

“Which makes you very good at doing something the government finds important,” Shan observed. The circle Kohler described included most of China’s key nuclear weapon research and missile establishments.

“The ruler who brings a nation’s enemies to their knees is beloved of his people,” Kohler replied, “but the men who give that ruler the means to do so are beloved of the ruler. Gao was never interested in public displays of affection.”

“Beloved enough to dictate the terms of his retirement.”

“A small price. An infinitesimal price.”

Shan gathered up several dishes and darted into the kitchen, before Kohler could protest. Gao was nowhere to be seen.

“Tashi delay,” he greeted the housekeeper in Tibetan. She replied in kind with a polite smile.

He asked her if she was from Drango village. She did not answer and hurried away as Kohler appeared to herd Shan back to the dining room. The youth was at the window, watching the storm below. He hesitantly answered Shan’s questions, explaining that he had lived in Shanghai until his uncle had arranged for him to study astrophysics at Beijing University.

“Perhaps you can compare notes about the faculty,” a cool voice interjected. Gao had returned, and fixed Shan with an analytical stare. “Or perhaps,” he said to his nephew, “you should start by asking our guest what kind of fool rejects the offer of a senior Party status sponsored by a minister of state.”

Shan’s gut began to knot.

Gao came closer. “You netted a unique specimen, Heinz,” he observed. “A special investigator for the Ministry of Economy, in charge of secret cases for the State Council. Cases of great importance. Once an official Hero Worker, privy to the most confidential matters of state.”

Gao had focused on Shan’s tattoo for no more than five seconds, yet he had not only memorized the numbers but in the span of a few minutes been able to reach one of the very few cadres left in Beijing who knew how to locate Shan’s file.

“A highly strung pedigreed hunting dog who turned on his handlers,” Gao continued, studying Shan suspiciously. “After a few years of hard labor he was let loose in the Tibetan wilderness by a colonel he did a favor for. He defies the laws of physics. In an age when scientists can turn dirty rocks into diamonds, he is the diamond who became a dirty rock.”

“In Beijing there are so many diamonds their radiance was blinding,” Shan replied. He eyed the exits, mentally gauging how quickly he could make it to the pass, comparing that to the response time of Gao’s soldiers, and wondering how good a shot Kohler might be when his target was moving.

“You thought you could send one of the most powerful ministers in Beijing to the gulag. A personal friend of the Great Helmsman.”

“I started tracking the dollars he had sent to secret accounts in Switzerland. I lost count after twenty million.”

“Where is he today?”

“He died in office and was given a hero’s funeral while I was in prison.”

Kohler laughed first, but Gao soon joined in, followed by young Thomas. Shan stared out the window. His gaze settled on the lammergeiers’ nest. The predators on top of the food chain on this particular mountain liked to consume their prey while it still breathed.

Eventually he became aware that the others had left the room. When he tried to follow he found that the doors were locked. He pressed his ear against each door, but no sound betrayed his captor’s activities. He paced around the table, then slipped his shoes off and sat, lotus style, atop the bare table, his eyes on the mountain across the valley, his hands folded into a mudra. His fingers were intertwined, the index fingers raised and pressed together like a steeple. It was called Diamond of the Mind, for keeping focus.

He wasn’t aware of the door opening, only of Thomas appearing in the chair nearest him, holding two bottles of water. The youth, new excitement in his eyes, handed Shan a bottle, a peace offering.

“How many criminals have you killed?” Gao’s nephew asked.

Shan shuddered. “I never carried a gun,” he finally replied.

Thomas seemed disappointed.

“But my investigations sent over a dozen men to firing squads,” he offered.