Fowler just stared at him.

Shan began unpacking a box of brine samples, each in its own four-inch-wide metal cylinder. "Something here was made outside. You ordered it from Hong Kong, maybe. The boxes, perhaps."

"The cylinders," Fowler said, barely audible. "Made by the Ministry of Geology."

Shan nodded. "Jao had been trying to find a mobile X-ray machine. He wanted to bring it here, I think, or to the Bei Da Union compound. I believe he expected to find something in the terra cotta statues they were selling or the wooden crates used for shipping. But the Union is smarter than that. I kept wondering, what was the point of advancing your shipping dates?" He unscrewed the lid on one of the metal cannisters and dumped its brine on the ground. "It had to be because they wanted to ship as much as possible before the added security precautions for the American tourists took effect."

He did not know what he sought, but measured the interior depth of the cannister with a long screwdriver retrieved from the truck. The screwdriver's head was barely visible above the rim. He held it along the exterior. It was six inches short of reaching the bottom. For several long moments he examined the cylinder, then finally found a seam, an almost invisible seam. He twisted the container to no avail. Fowler called for two large wrenches. Together they freed the bottom compartment, pulling the ends of the container in opposite directions. Inside was a dark brown, acrid paste.

"This," Shan announced with a nod toward Tan, who stood a hundred feet away, directing the machinery, "is what will make the colonel a hero. Murder is only murder. But smuggling drugs, that is an embarrassment to the state."

Fowler was pale as a ghost. Kincaid stumbled forward. He grabbed another of the cylinders and opened it as Shan had done, then a third. By the fourth he began to shake. He shoved his hand inside and pulled it out, covered with the thick ooze. "The pigs," he moaned, "the greedy little shits."

"As I said, you were the only one who was friendly both with the Bei Da Union and with someone close to the purbas." Shan's hand found the American's khata around his neck and pulled it off. "They fed you information about the victims and you got it to Jansen. Jansen knew the purbas, so he gave it to them and it was recorded in the Lotus Book. But it wasn't meant for the book. It was meant for you. Because they knew you had to believe in what you were doing. You wouldn't do it if you thought it was just to help them advance in office. No. You did it to punish. You did it for your cause. Only with Prosecutor Jao you went too far. It was probably easy to persuade them to entice him to the South Claw. After all, if killing Jao on the 404th's road caused the Tibetan prisoners to react and the knobs to be brought in, your friend the major would always be in control, he could go through the motions without really hurting the Tibetans, right? But the skull shrine. That upset them, because they were taking so much of the gold for themselves. What you did with his head threatened to shut their gold reclamation down. They had to discipline you. Maybe they decided they didn't need you anymore. So they went to the hiding place and incapacitated the costume, then suspended the permit. And when you tried to go back to the costume there were guard dogs. They bit you on your arm. Not a cut from the rocks. A dogbite." He dropped the khata on the ground beside Kincaid and looked at Fowler. What had she called Kincaid? The lost soul who had found his home.

There was still a glimmer of defiance in Kincaid's eyes. "Tamdin is the protector of the Tibetans," he said slowly. "The people have to believe again in the old values. That's all I did, protect the Buddhists. We saved them. We saved the Lhadrung Five."

"What do you mean?"

"They're in Nepal, the others. That was part of the plan. Once they were officially reported as executed, no one would notice if they were actually smuggled across the border. The major got them across. They're all alive."

Shan sighed and reached into his pocket. Only a slender thread remained of the American's delusion. Shan handed him the photographs of the three executions. By the time Kincaid had seen half a dozen he had fallen to his knees. When he looked up it was not to Shan but to Fowler. A dry sob wracked his chest.

"It wasn't about drugs," he cried. "You gotta believe me. If I'd ever thought-"

The tears that streamed down his cheeks seemed to revive Fowler. When she spoke it was as if she were comforting a child. "Then you wouldn't have put on the costume for them, would you, Tyler?"

"It was Hitler. It was Stalin. You know what they have done here. We were going to change it. You would understand, Rebecca. I always knew you would understand. Someday you were going to be proud of me. They can't be forgiven. Someone has to-" He stopped as he saw the revulsion in her face. "Rebecca! No!" he screamed, and collapsed to the ground at her feet, pounding the earth with his fist.

Chapter Twenty-one

The arrests were made swiftly, Colonel Tan reported. Li Aidang, Hu, and Wen Li had been at their private compound, loading boxes of records into their Land Rovers. The major had gone straight to his helicopter, confidently expecting to fly across the border. But Tan had disabled the machine the night before, and staked it out with a hand-picked squad of soldiers. Fifty more of Tan's troops had been sent to search the Bei Da Union's buildings. It took them six hours to locate the vault built into the old gompa's subterranean shrine. It held bank records for Hong Kong accounts, names in Hong Kong, and an inventory of processed opium paste.

Shan worked all night on his report. In the morning, just after dawn, Sungpo and Jigme were released from the warehouse at Jade Spring Camp where Tan had secreted them. He stood at the gate and watched, wanting to say something but finding no words. They did not acknowledge Shan as they passed through the gate. They refused the offer of a ride. Twenty feet down the road Jigme turned and gave him a small, victorious nod.

Two hours later Shan was in Tan's office, dressed in his prison garb. The phone was ringing incessantly. Two young, well-scrubbed officers were assisting Madame Ko.

"The Ministry of Justice has already decided to declare Prosecutor Jao a Hero of the People. A medal will be sent to his family," Tan announced impassively. "They expect arrests in Hong Kong later today. Li talked all night. Tried to make us believe he was in it as part of his own investigation. Gave enough evidence to fill a book. Won't make any difference. A general from the Bureau's office in Lhasa has arrived. They have a special place in the mountains they use for such things. In tomorrow's newspaper the people will be told of a tragic accident on a high mountain road. No survivors."

Shan was looking out the window. The 404th was still not at work.

Tan followed his gaze. "With the bridge gone there's no need for a road," he announced. "The project is terminated."

Shan turned in surprise.

"There is no money for a new bridge," Tan explained with a shrug. "The Bureau troops are already moving back to the border. The 404th will not be punished. It starts a new project tomorrow. Irrigation ditches in the valley." Tan joined Shan at the window for a moment, looking down at the street where Sergeant Feng was leaning against the truck. "You've ruined him, you know."

"Feng?"

"All these years in my command, and now he asks for a transfer. As far from a prison as possible. Says he wants to go see if any of his family is still alive. Says he has to go to his father's grave." Tan gestured awkwardly to a paper bag on the table. "Here. Madame Ko's idea," he said. There was a strange tension in his voice, not the jubilation Shan had expected.