The chamber fell utterly silent again.

"It's like he's trying to wake from a deep sleep," Lhandro whispered.

But Shan knew it was no slumber. Jokar had not died, Shan knew, but he had gone to the edge of death, or perhaps somehow death had visited him and he was sending it back. The ancient body had given up for a while, but the essence of what was Jokar fought back, as though it had unfinished business. Lepka started a mantra that Shan had never heard before, a pleading mantra, filled with the name of Yamantaka, the Lord of Death.

Then the lammergeier screeched again, so close it seemed the bird was sitting on the rocks over their heads, and an instant later the lama's eyes lit, and stayed lit, and Jokar was with them.

Winslow emitted one of his cowboy hoots and the medicine lama's eyes grew wide; fully awake now, the lama smiled appreciatively at the American, as if it had been the hoot that had summoned him back. But no one offered another word or sound, until suddenly there was movement behind them. Shan turned to see Lin standing in the shadows. How long had he been there, Shan wondered. Had he understood what he had seen? For that matter, did any of them understand?

Jokar breathed deeply. Nyma offered him the tea.

By the time Shan rose, Lin had retreated outside and was studying the gnarled juniper again, as if he expected it to reveal an important secret, or perhaps provide a bird to come listen to him. Shan saw that the constant anger had faded from Lin's eyes. In some ways he was not the same Lin they had met on the road two weeks earlier. But he knew the short-tempered, predatory Lin was still there, just below the surface of the confused man who sat in the shadow of the tree.

"What that old man did…" Lin started in a low voice when Shan sat beside him. But he seemed uncertain how to finish. "In the village where I grew up, they would have called him a witch for doing that."

"It doesn't work," Shan said, putting a hand on the end of one of the twisted branches, "trying to explain the Tibetans according to what we learned growing up in China."

A growl came from Lin's throat, as if he were warning Shan away from such conversation.

"It was Religious Affairs that took Tenzin," Shan suddenly declared. "Director Tuan."

"That Tuan? He had no business-" Lin blurted out. He clenched his jaw. "Only because I wasn't there," he spat.

Shan stared at Lin and nodded. "Because Tenzin was your mission. Not Tuan's."

"We all work for the people's government," Lin muttered.

"But Tuan didn't turn Tenzin over to the people's government."

"You don't know that."

"He didn't go north on the highway, he didn't go south. He used no helicopter."

"Spies," Lin hissed. "Those who seek government secrets are executed."

Shan ignored the accusation. "I think the government would have special plans for the abbot of Sangchi. There is the Institute for Advanced Tibetan Studies in Beijing." Shan was referring to a favorite venue for realigning wayward Tibetan leaders, a special school created by Mao Tse Tung for instructing senior Tibetans in the precise application of his doctrine. "There's half a dozen medical institutes where an ailing lama might spend a year or two recovering from a lapse. But he hasn't gone to them, or to prison. He hasn't left the area."

"He owes the army first," Lin growled.

"You mean he owes the 54th Mountain Combat Brigade. What used to be the Lujun Division."

Lin glared at him, as though speaking of such things was traitorous. It was the old Lin. Maybe, Shan mused, remembering how Lin had been with the girl, there was now a Lin for Anya and another Lin for the rest of the world. "He stole things from us."

"A piece of rock."

"And military secrets," Lin said in a low voice, toward the tree.

Shan paused. Lin had at last confessed his real interest in Tenzin and the stone. At last confirmed what Shan and Winslow had suspected. "Tenzin has no interest in military secrets."

"What would you know of such things?" Lin shot back. "The traitors who help him do," he added. "Maybe it was the price of the purbas for helping him. Steal information from me for them to use against the government."

"Tenzin would not make such bargains."

"Motive is unimportant. He took secrets. It's treason." Lin looked at him with a gloating smile. "You know how treason proceedings work. Short trial, quick bullet. I can do it with a military tribunal. Secret. The others will keep looking for him along the Indian border long after I have him in a hidden grave in the mountains."

Shan did not reply, but studied the lichen growing at the tip of the branch. "When you go back, colonel," he said at last, "will you try to find him?"

"Of course. I will find him, I will take him from whomever has him. He's mine. The moment he stole from me his life was forfeit. The howlers can't hide him for long. The howlers are playing in a world they don't understand. They'll have to find another tame abbot."

Shan stared at him, weighing the words. Lin could be right, he suddenly realized. It would explain the strange actions of Khodrak and Tuan and the argument between the howlers and the knobs, then the howlers and the soldiers, at Yapchi. They were delving into the world of public security and state secrets, realms that were normally closed to the Bureau of Religious Affairs. Modern China had its hidden worlds, too.

"When you can walk again without falling off the mountain, you may go," Shan said wearily. "But it could be several more days, even a week."

Lin stared at Shan again, rubbed his temple, and blinked. As if, Shan thought, like Jokar struggling to keep control of his body, Lin was struggling to keep the malevolent colonel in control.

"So you should write a letter," Shan suggested.

"No deals. I told you. Kidnapping an officer means lao gai. Or a firing squad. No forgiveness."

Who will forgive us for keeping you alive, Shan wanted to ask. "Perhaps you would want to tell someone you are alive."

"I have no family."

"Soldiers from your unit are searching, thinking you must be dead. Perhaps you would want to give instructions to Director Tuan and the howlers who have Tenzin."

The suggestion caused Lin to pause. An icy glint returned to his face. "Why would you want this?"

"Because it would be the compassionate thing, to relieve the anxiety of your soldiers," Shan suggested. "Because their reaction to such a letter may tell me where my friend is, the one who was arrested with Tenzin." Because I need to reach them before the army does, Shan told himself, because such a letter might stop Tuan from sending them away.

Lin offered a thin smile that hinted of grudging respect. "You weren't always in Tibet."

"I worked for the people's government for twenty years in Beijing," Shan said. "For the party members who ran the government."

"But then you made a pilgrimage to Tibet," Lin said in a taunting voice.

Shan stared at him, then slowly unbuttoned his sleeve and silently showed Lin his lao gai tattoo. "I went to live with a better class of people," he said softly.

Lin's eyes narrowed as he stared at the tattoo. He gazed a long time at the line of numbers, and his expression shifted several times, with anger, suspicion, disdain, and confusion all crossing his countenance. His eyes did not move, but just stared at the empty air, when Shan pulled back his arm.