"Comrade Shan!" the man greeted loudly. "I am Director Wen." He turned to Yeshe. "Tashi delay," he said clumsily.

"I speak Mandarin," Yeshe said with obvious discomfort.

"Wonderful! This is what the new socialism is about. I gave a speech in Lhasa last month. We must focus not on our differences, I said, but on the bridges between us." He spoke with great sincerity, turning to Shan with a sigh. "That is why it is so tragic when hooliganism takes on cultural dimensions. It drives a wedge between the people."

Shan did not reply.

"Colonel Tan's office called about the investigation." Wen paused awkwardly. "They requested my full compliance. Of course, no one need ask."

"You are responsible for all the gompas in Lhadrung County," Shan began after the tea was served.

"They must all obtain licenses from my office."

"And each monk."

"And each monk," Director Wen confirmed, looking now at Yeshe.

"A heavy responsibility," Shan observed.

Yeshe gazed at the floor in silence. He seemed unable to look at Wen. Slowly, stiffly, as though it caused him pain, he produced his notepad and began recording the conversation.

"Seventeen gompas. Three hundred ninety-one monks. And a long waiting list."

"And the records of the gompas?"

"We have some. The license applications are quite lengthy. A comprehensive review is required."

"I mean of the old gompas."

"Old?"

Shan fixed Wen with an unblinking gaze. "I know monks who lived here decades ago. In 1940 there were ninety-one gompas in the county. Thousands of monks."

Wen waved his hand dismissively. "That was long before I was born. Before the liberation. When the church was used as a vehicle for oppressing the proletariat."

Yeshe kept his gaze fixed on his notepad. It wasn't Shan's previous explanation of Zhong's true intentions that was causing Yeshe's reaction, it was Wen. And it wasn't pain in Yeshe's eyes, Shan realized. It was fear. Why did the Director of Religious Affairs disturb him so? "In those days," Shan said, "some of the large gompas had special dancing ceremonies on festival days."

Wen nodded. "I have seen films. The costumes were symbolic, very elaborate. Deities, dakinis, demons, clowns."

"Do you know where such costumes would be today?"

"A fascinating question." He picked up the phone.

Moments later a young Tibetan woman appeared at the door. "Ah. Miss Taring," Wen greeted her. "Our- our friends were asking about the old festival costumes. How to find them today." He turned to Shan. "Miss Taring is our archivist."

The woman acknowledged Shan with a nod and sat in a chair at the wall. "Museums," she began with a stiff, professional tone, removing her steel-rimmed glasses as she addressed Shan. "Beijing. Chengdu. The cultural museum in Lhasa."

"But artifacts are still being discovered," Shan said.

"Perhaps," Yeshe ventured, "a costume was found in a recent audit."

Miss Taring seemed surprised by the question. She turned to Wen. "We do compliance checks, yes," Wen said. Yeshe would still not meet his eyes. "Licenses are meaningless if they are not enforced."

"And you list artifacts?" Shan asked.

"As part of the wealth redistributed from the church, the artifacts belong to the people. The gompas hold them in trust for us. Obviously, we must verify what is where."

"And sometimes new artifacts are discovered," Shan pressed.

"Sometimes."

"But no costumes."

"Not in the time I have served here."

"How can you be certain?" Shan asked. "There must be thousands of artifacts in your inventories."

Wen smiled condescendingly. "Esteemed Comrade, you must understand that these are irreplaceable treasures, these costumes. It would be quite a discovery, to find one now."

Shan looked at Yeshe, to see if he was still writing. Had he heard correctly? Esteemed Comrade? He turned to the archivist. "Miss Taring. You say all of the known costumes are in museums."

"Some of the large gompas near Lhasa have been licensed to conduct the dances again. For certain approved events. Tourists come." She studied him with an air of suspicion.

"Foreign exchange," Shan suggested.

Miss Taring nodded impassively.

"Has your office authorized any for Lhadrung?"

"Never. The gompas here are too poor to sponsor such ceremonies."

"I thought perhaps with the Americans coming-"

Director Wen's eyes lit up, and he glanced at the archivist. "Why didn't we think of that?" He turned to Shan. "Miss Taring is handling our arrangements for the Americans. Tour guide to cultural sites. Speaks English with an American accent."

"An excellent idea, Comrade Director," the archivist said. "But there are no trained dancers. Many of these costumes, they are not what you think- they are more like special machines. Mechanical arms. Elaborate fastenings. Monks were trained for months, just to understand how to operate them. To use them in a ceremony, to know the dances and movements- some dancers underwent years of training."

"But a short show at one of the new projects," Wen asserted. "The Americans would not need the genuine dance. Just costumes. Some graceful swaying. Some cymbals and drums. They can take photographs."

Miss Taring stared at Director Wen with a small, noncommittal smile.

"New projects?" Shan asked.

"I am pleased to say that some gompas have been rebuilding under our supervision. Subsidies are available."

Subsidies. Meaning what, Shan considered. That they were looting ancient shrines to build pretend ones, destroying antiquities to pay for stage sets where Buddhist charades could be performed for tourists? "Did Proscutor Jao participate in reviewing the licenses for such projects?" he asked.

The director set his cup on the table. "Thank you, Miss Taring." The archivist rose and made a slight bow to Shan and Yeshe. Wen waited for her to leave before speaking. "I am sorry. I believe you wanted to talk about the murder."

"Comrade Director, I have been talking about the murder all along," Shan said.

Wen stared at Shan with new curiosity. "There is a committee. Jao, Colonel Tan, and myself. Each has a veto power over any decision."

"For rebuilding only."

"Permits. Rebuilding. Authorization to accept new novices. Publishing religious tracts. Inviting the public to participate in services."

"Did Prosecutor Jao reject any such applications?" Shan asked.

"We all have. Cultural resources need to be allocated to avoid abuse. The Tibetan minority is only part of China's population. We cannot rubber-stamp every request," Wen declared with a fuller, practiced voice.

"But recently. Was there any particular one that Jao refused to support?"

Wen looked up at the ceiling, his hands tucked behind his neck. "Only one in the last few months. Denied a rebuilding petition. Saskya gompa."

Saskya was Sungpo's gompa. "On what grounds?"

"There is another gompa in the lower end of the same valley. Larger. Khartok. It had already applied for rebuilding. Much more convenient for visitors, a better investment."

Shan stood to go. "I understand you are new in this job."