"And?"

"He was going to Dalian, all right, with a one-day stopover in Beijing first. But no other arrangements for Beijing. No Ministry of Justice car to pick him up."

Shan gave a slow nod of approval.

"When you didn't return I went on to other things. I called that woman at Religious Affairs. Miss Taring. She told me she would check the audits of artifacts herself and to call back. When I did, she said one was missing."

"A missing audit report?"

Yeshe nodded meaningfully. "For the audit done at Saskya gompa fourteen months ago. Shipment records show everything went to the museum in Lhasa. But there was no accounting in her records for what was actually found. A breakdown in procedures."

"I wonder."

Yeshe seemed to puzzle over Shan's reaction, then offered more news. "And I tried that Shanghai office."

"The American firm?"

"Right. They didn't know Prosecutor Jao. But when I mentioned Lhadrung they remembered a request from the clinic here. Said there was some correspondence."

"And?"

"Lots of static, then the line went dead." He paused and pulled a sheet of paper from under the blotter. "So I went to the office here. Said I had to check their chronological files. Found this, from six weeks ago." He handed Shan the paper.

It was a letter from Dr. Sung to the Shanghai office, asking if the firm would provide a portable X-ray unit on approval, to be returned in thirty days if found not to be compatible with the clinic's needs.

Shan folded the paper into his notebook. He moved toward the exit, and broke into a trot.

Madame Ko led them to a restaurant beside the county office building. "Best to wait," she said, gesturing to an empty table near the rear, beside a door guarded by a waiter holding a tray in arms folded across his chest.

Sergeant Feng ordered noodles; Yeshe, cabbage soup. Shan sipped tea impatiently, then after ten minutes stood and moved to the door. Madame Ko intercepted him, pulling him back. "No interruptions," she scolded, then saw the determination in his eyes. "Let me," she sighed, and slipped behind the door. Moments later half a dozen army officers began to file out, and she opened the door for Shan.

The room stank of cigarettes, onions, and fried meat. Tan sat alone at a round table, smoking as the staff cleared away dishes. "Perfect," he said, exhaling sharply through his nostrils. "You know how I spent the morning? Being lectured by Public Security. They may decide to report a breakdown in civil discipline. They note my abuse of investigation procedures. They have recorded that security at Jade Spring Camp has been breached twice in the last fifteen years. Both times this week. They say one of my cell blocks has been turned into a damned gompa. They hinted about an espionage investigation. What do you know about that?" He drew on the cigarette again and exhaled slowly, watching Shan through the cloud of smoke. "They say their units at the 404th will begin final procedures tomorrow."

Shan tried to conceal the shudder that moved down his spine. "Prosecutor Jao was killed by someone he knew," he announced. "A colleague. A friend."

Tan lit another cigarette from the butt of the first and stared silently at Shan. "You have proof finally?"

"A messenger came that night with a paper." Shan explained what had happened at the restaurant, without disclosing the messenger's identity. Tan would never accept the word of a purba against that of a soldier.

"It proves nothing."

"Why wouldn't the messenger give the paper to Jao's driver? Everyone knew Balti. Everyone gives messages to drivers. It is the custom. Balti was right outside with the car. They were going to the airport."

"Perhaps this messenger didn't know Balti."

"I don't believe that."

"Then by all means we'll release Sungpo," Tan said acidly.

"Even if he didn't know Balti, the waiters would have sent him to the car. The waiter intercepted him assuming that was what Jao would want. But instead, Jao expected something, or recognized something, something that required his instant attention. So he spoke with the messenger. Away from the waiter. Away from his table where the American sat. Away from Balti. And he heard something so urgent that despite his orderly nature he broke his schedule."

"He knew Sungpo. Sungpo could have sent the message," Tan said.

"Sungpo was in his cave."

"No. Sungpo was on the South Claw, waiting to kill."

"Witnesses would say that Sungpo never left his cave."

"Witnesses?"

"This man named Jigme. The monk Je. Both have made statements."

"A gompa orphan and a senile old man."

"Suppose it was Sungpo who sent the message," Shan offered. "Prosecutor Jao wouldn't go to some remote location alone, unprotected, to meet a man he had imprisoned. There was nothing any monk could say to get Jao to act that way. He was anxious to get to the airport."

"So someone helped Sungpo. Someone lied."

Shan stared at the colonel with a grin of victory.

"Shit," Tan muttered under his breath.

"Right. Someone he trusted lured Jao with news he could use on his trip. Information that would help him in his secret investigation. Something he might use in Beijing. We have to find out about it."

"He had no business in Beijing. You saw the fax from Miss Lihua. He was just passing through to Dalian." Tan watched the ashes of his cigarette build a small hill on the tablecloth.

"Then why would he arrange to stop for a day there?"

"I told you. A shopping trip. Family."

"Or something about a Bamboo Bridge."

"Bamboo Bridge?"

"It was on a note in his jacket."

"What jacket?"

"I found his jacket."

Tan's head snapped up with a flash of excitement. "You found the khampa, didn't you? You told the assistant prosecutor you didn't, but you did."

"I went to Kham. I found the prosecutor's jacket. That was the best we could do. Balti was not involved."

Tan offered an approving smile. "Quite an accomplishment, tracking a jacket into the wilderness." He snuffed out his cigarette and looked up with a more somber expression. "We asked about your Lieutenant Chang."

"Did someone recover his body?"

"Not my problem."

Another sky burial, Shan thought. "But he was army. One of yours."

"That's the point. He wasn't PLA. Not really."

"But he was in the 404th."

Tan silenced him with a raised palm. "Fifteen years in the Public Security Bureau. Transferred to the PLA rolls just a year ago."

"That doesn't make sense," Shan said. No one left the elite ranks of the knobs to join the army.

Tan shrugged. "With the right patron it could."

"But you knew nothing about it?"

"The transfer was entered into the army books two days before he arrived here."

"It could be something else," Shan suggested. "He could have still been working for someone in the Bureau."

"Nonsense. Without me knowing?"

Shan just stared in reply.

Tan clenched his jaw and let the words sink in. "The bastards," he snarled.

"Where did Lieutenant Chang serve before?"