"Emergency?"

"The major had something to do with it."

Shan paced along the front of the truck, surveying the compound. Someone was sitting on one of the dikes, staring at the mountains. He squinted and saw that it was Yeshe. Sergeant Feng was sitting on the hood of their own truck. As his field of view extended behind the buildings, Shan froze. Behind the first one was a familiar vehicle. A red Land Rover. Another red Land Rover. "Whose car is that?"

Fowler looked up. "The red one? Must be Director Hu's."

He resisted the urge to run to the vehicle and search it. The committee members could emerge at any moment.

"These Land Rovers. Do they all belong to the Ministry of Geology?"

"Don't know. I don't think so. I saw the major driving one."

Shan nodded, as though he expected the answer. "What do you know about this major?"

"One powerful son of a bitch, is all. He scares me."

"Why is he on your committee?"

"Because we're so close to the border. It was a condition of our satellite license."

Somehow Shan felt he knew the man. With a wrench of his gut he remembered. Jigme's description of the man who had come for Sungpo. A man with a slice on his face, a deep scar. His name, Jigme had said, was Meh Jah.

"What if it wasn't Hu who wanted your license suspended?" he asked abruptly.

"He signed the notice."

"He would have to sign it, as Director of Mines, but it may be at the order of someone else. Or a political favor to someone."

"What do you mean?" Fowler asked, suddenly interested.

"I don't know what I mean." He shook his head despondently. "I'm supposed to be finding answers, and all I find is more questions." He gazed out over the pond complex.

Workers were moving along the dikes at a relaxed pace with shovels and pipe fittings. Yeshe and Feng were moving back down the slope, approaching the buildings.

"Did someone- did you have a ceremony? For your workers."

She looked at him with a pained expression. "I almost forgot- it was your idea, wasn't it?" The nervousness had not left her eyes.

"I never thought it would be so soon."

The American woman jumped down and gestured for him to follow her along the line of buildings.

"Who was the priest who came?"

"There was no name," Fowler said in a near whisper. "I don't think we were supposed to use his name. An old priest. Strange."

"How old?"

"Not old in years. Middle-aged. But old like austere. Like timeless. Thin as a rail. An ascetic, I guess."

"What do you mean strange?"

"Like from another century. His eyes. I don't know. Sometimes it seemed like he didn't see anyone. Or he saw things we could not see. And his hands."

"His hands?"

"He had no thumbs."

On the side of the last building, facing the valley, was a patchwork charm, a square an arm's length on each side. It was filled with complex pictograms and writing. Two poles flanked it, draped with prayer flags.

Yeshe appeared behind him and muttered something under his breath. It had the tone of a prayer. "Powerful magic," he gasped. He held up his rosary as though for protection, and stepped back.

"What is it?" Shan asked. He remembered the building from his last visit. There had been a line of Tibetans outside, waiting for something.

"It's very old. Very secret," Yeshe whispered.

"No," Fowler said. "Not old. Look at the paper. It has printing on the back."

"I mean, the signs are old. I can't read them all. Even if I could I would not be permitted to recite them. Words of power." Yeshe seemed genuinely frightened. "Dangerous words. I don't know who- most of the lamas with the power to write such words are dead. I don't know of any in Lhadrung."

"If he traveled far he must have been very fast," she said, looking at Shan.

"The old ones," Yeshe whispered, obviously still in awe of the charm. "Those with this kind of power. They would say they used the arrow ritual to fly. They could jump between dimensions."

No, Shan was tempted to say, the charm had not come far. But perhaps it had come between dimensions.

Fowler grinned uneasily. "It's just words."

Yeshe shook his head. "Not just words. You cannot write such words unless you have the power. Not power, exactly. Vision. Access to certain forces. In the old schools they would say that if I tried to write this, or someone else without the training-" Yeshe hesitated.

"Yes?" Fowler asked.

"I would shatter into a thousand pieces."

Shan stepped up and examined the paper.

"But what does it do?" Fowler asked.

"It is about death and Tamdin."

She shuddered.

"No," Yeshe corrected himself. "Not exactly that. It is difficult to explain. It is like a signpost for Tamdin. It celebrates his deeds. His deeds are death. But good death."

"Good death?"

"Protecting death. Transporting death. It offers the power of all souls here to help him open a path to enlightenment."

"You said death."

"Death and enlightenment. Sometimes the old priests use the same words. There're many kinds of death. Many kinds of enlightenment." Yeshe turned back to Shan for a moment, as though he had just realized what he had said.

"All souls here?" Fowler asked. "Us?"

"Especially us," Shan said quietly, stepping closer to the charm.

"Nobody asked me if I wanted to offer my soul," Rebecca Fowler said, trying to make a joke. But she did not smile.

Shan ran his finger over the patchwork. It was made of thirty or forty small sheets, stitched together with human hair. He didn't need to lift the edge to know that the sheets were from the guard tallies at the 404th. He had seen the charm being made.

"And this is all he did, this priest?" Shan asked.

"No. There was something else. He had them build the shrine on the mountain." She pointed to the shrine Shan had seen earlier. "I am supposed to go there tonight."

"Why you? Why tonight?"

Fowler did not reply, but led them into the building, which was a dormitory for workers. The entrance chamber seemed to be a recreation area, but it was abandoned. Shelves were packed with jigsaw puzzles, books, and chess sets. Tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides, against the shelves. In an empty food tin, incense was burning. One small table stood in the center. On it was a bundle, surrounded by flickering butter lamps.

"Luntok found it near one of the ponds," Fowler said. "Where a vulture dropped it. At first we thought it was human."

"Luntok?"

"He came from one of the old villages where they do- you know, sky burial. He has no fear of such things."

"Does he know Director Hu?" Shan asked. "Or the major? Does he ever speak with them?"

"I don't know," the American woman said distractedly. "I don't think so. He's like most of the workers, I think. Government officials scare them."

Shan wanted to press, to ask how Luntok came to work for her, but suddenly she seemed incapable of hearing anything. She was staring desolately at the bundle. "The workers say we have to give it back tonight." Her voice cracked as she spoke. "They say it is the job of the village headman. And that I am the headman here."