"The eye was kept in a little felt blanket," Winslow suggested.

Shan said nothing, but read the paper again, and again. Somo offered an uncertain nod to the American and looked back at the retreating mountains.

"So now what do you do?" Shan asked the woman after several minutes.

Somo did not shift her gaze from the mountains. "When I started from Lhasa three weeks ago, Drakte told me we were doing this to help a Chinese who was going north to help Tibetans. I didn't know about the abbot then, just the stone." She paused and looked at Shan with puzzled eyes. "The abbot and the eye of the deity, in a way they were the same thing."

Shan nodded. "The purbas' help with the eye was just a cover, a way to get Tenzin north in secret. Who would have looked for him on a salt caravan?" He looked up into the woman's face and somehow knew they were sharing the same thought. Drakte had died to warn them, to make sure Tenzin stayed free. Somo was not giving up on Tenzin.

"I am going to the computer as soon as we arrive in Golmud," Somo stated, "in the middle of the night. I will still make Tenzin an employee, under the false name we devised."

"But he's gone," Winslow said.

"It's still my assignment," Somo said in a voice that had grown distant. "And after it's over, whatever happens, I am going to find out about Drakte's killer."

"I think," Winslow said, studying first Shan, then Somo, "it's not over until you find the killer."

They watched the landscape in silence again.

"You can get into the electronic records?" Winslow asked after a long time.

"At university, they made sure I had advanced computer training before returning to teach Tibetan children. With chalk and slate."

Winslow explained about Melissa Larkin, and they spoke together for an hour about the mysteries that had been woven together at Yapchi.

"Did Drakte know that man Chao who was murdered?" Shan asked. Somehow he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Somo said readily. "He was a Tibetan. Many people don't know that, because of the name he took."

"And you knew him also?"

"A month ago Drakte and I were planning to spend two days together by Lamtso. We had been talking about making a family together," she announced in a matter-of-fact tone that caused Shan to turn away, embarrassed, then she paused and looked out the rear of the truck. "But instead, he asked me to go with him to Amdo town, because he had discovered an old friend there we had to meet. He said there would always be time for us to go to Lamtso," she said in a tight voice. "We met at an old stable being used as a garage, and we sat on a bench and ate cold dumplings with his friend, whose name was different when Drakte knew him as a boy. They had me sit in the middle, like a referee."

"What did Chao do? How did he act?" Had it all been a trap to capture Drakte? Shan wondered.

"He was scared. He asked if Drakte knew Director Tuan, like he was warning Drakte. But Drakte just laughed about Tuan. They did not discuss things that were dangerous. Just talk about life on the changtang and things from when they were young. It was just old friends meeting again, that's all. That Chao, he embraced Drakte when we parted and said he was sorry."

"About what?"

"Just that he was sorry. About everything I guess."

"Did Drakte have that ledger with him?" Shan asked.

Somo shook her head. "But afterwards he worked on it all night, because he said he was going to meet with Chao again. I thought at first it was something he was doing for the Lotus Book, to record how the district is so stricken by poverty. It includes every village, every farm, every herding family in Norbu district. Signed by the head of each family."

"The district," Shan said. "Not the township."

Somo nodded. "The Religious Affairs district. The Norbu district that Tuan heads for Religious Affairs."

From a pocket Somo produced a slip of yellow paper and handed it to Shan. "I nearly forgot. Drakte had this in his boot. I keep trying to understand it. I think it came from Chao, but not when I was with them."

It appeared to be a payroll record, with one word handwritten at the top. Dorje, it said, followed by a dash, like it was an address, or person. The dorje was a Buddhist symbol, the small scepter-like object that was sometimes called the thunderbolt to symbolize the teachings of Buddha. Below the name were two columns of handwritten numbers, the first a list of twelve identification numbers, the second a group of twenty. Bureau of Religious Affairs, Amdo, someone had written under the first column, with a check by each identification number in the column. Beside the two top sets of numbers of the first column was written Director Tuan, and below it the single Chinese word wo. It meant I or me. It could mean, Shan realized, Deputy Director Chao. Under the second column was written Public Security.

"It's not his writing," Somo said. "Not Drakte's. It must be Chao's. I asked some questions," she said pointedly. "The head of Public Security in Amdo town was reassigned months ago. No replacement was named. Since Director Tuan used to be the head of Public Security here, he offered to be the interim supervisor. He began to consolidate things. Including payroll."

"You mean the knobs here are being paid by Director Tuan of Religious Affairs?"

Somo bit her lower lip as she nodded.

Gyalo had warned about knobs who did not look like knobs. It explained why the howlers in white, military-style shirts all looked like Public Security.

"And one more thing: it looks like payroll data for the knobs in the district. But only fifteen knobs are known."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the purbas watch the knobs in Amdo town. There have been fifteen stationed out of there for years. We checked with those who clean the barracks. Fifteen based in Amdo, traveling with Tuan sometimes. So there's another five somewhere else. Working in secret."

In secret. The five could be anywhere. They could be wearing robes at Norbu. He remembered the camp Dremu had found above the Plain of Flowers, after the meadow had been burned. Had it been knobs? Shan extended the paper back toward Somo, but she raised her palm to decline, as if the paper frightened her now.

The truck bounced and slid along the rough track until it finally reached the north-south highway and picked up speed, then climbed and descended, and climbed again, through rough, barren terrain, along what Shan knew was one of the highest roadways in the world. He slept, and when he woke they were traveling through a snowbound landscape. After dark, past the snow, the truck stopped at a cluster of rundown mudbrick buildings for gas. The driver filled a thermos with hot water, threw in a handful of tea, and left it in the rear of the truck with two tin mugs and a bag of apples.

Shan slept fitfully, starting awake each time a faster vehicle overtook them. Heavy trucks and buses frequented the road. Twice they passed army convoys which had halted on the shoulder.

Several hours after sunset the air became thick and acrid. Dim sulfur-colored streetlights appeared and the truck began weaving around men and women on bicycles, its horn blaring. They passed blocks of dingy grey buildings and factories belching thick smoke. Shan watched out the back of the truck, standing now, holding onto the frame of the cargo bay. It was China, or at least the China that hundreds of millions of Chinese knew.