officials conferred excitedly, then stood and vigorously shook first Khodrak's, then Tenzin's hand. The abbot of Sangchi, Shan saw, wore one of the Norbu gilt-edge robes.
Shan watched, his heart racing, as Tenzin spoke, offering his gratitude to everyone at Norbu gompa. 'If I have confused the people of Tibet,' he said, 'I apologize. Perhaps I myself was confused for a long time. But now, here at Norbu gompa, because of Chairman Khodrak, I have come to clearly understand my path,' he said, and looked out toward the northern landscape. 'I am a hermit who wanders the countryside,' Tenzin said in a melodious tone, 'a beggar who travels alone. I left behind the land of my birth and gave up my fertile fields.'
Khodrak and Tuan glanced nervously at each other. Tenzin was reciting one of Milarepa's songs, one of the ancient songs Lokesh sometimes sang. The Closing Song some called it, because it was written when the famous teacher lay dying. A dropka ventured forward to the podium and handed Tenzin a khata. Khodrak smiled icily then inched forward as another, then a third Tibetan offered Tenzin prayer scarves. Khodrak looked uneasily at the Bureau officials, rose and stood at Tenzin's side. One of the monks stepped forward with a camera and snapped a photograph.
Shan's gaze drifted toward the wall by the window. Pinned there was another of the maps depicting the sterilization campaign. He turned to study the room. Along the wall by the door was a row of filing cabinets, above which hung a flag of the People's Republic. Past the cabinets, in the corner, sat a cardboard box, its contents covered with dust. They were photographs in uniform black frames, most of which were images taken in banquet halls or on the steps of important government buildings. Tuan was in all the photos. Tuan in a knob uniform, Tuan in a business suit, Tuan with Khodrak, raising glasses with army officers, even Tuan on the Great Wall. He looked up. In any other office these would be trophies, to be prominently displayed. But Tuan had no personal photographs on his walls, no mementos of his career.
A different kind of photograph was pinned to the wall behind a large desk, a glossy picture ripped out of a magazine, of a small cottage on a tree-lined lake with a rowboat pulled up in front of it. Under the picture was a small table with a single drawer. Shan slowly opened it to find a large knife, a butcher's knife, and over a dozen packs of cigarettes. He looked back up at the cottage by the lake. It had the air of someone's retirement dream. He looked at the knife. It could have been used to kill Drakte.
A facsimile page had been left on the otherwise empty blotter of the desk. Shan scanned it without touching the paper. It was confirming that transportation had been arranged for the Norbu delegation to attend the upcoming celebration for the Yapchi Valley oil project, in two days time. Lhasa had decided that the event provided the perfect opportunity for the anxiously awaited award ceremony for the Serenity Campaign. Norbu's new institute would be announced at that time. A photographer would accompany them, and a security contingent.
A small black wire ran from the wall into one of the desk drawers. Shan opened the drawer to reveal a white dial telephone, with an index card of numbers taped to its side. He lifted the receiver to confirm it was live, warily set it down. He opened the drawer below to find medicine bottles, over two dozen bottles of pills. Standing, he paced the room, then found himself back at the desk, lifting the phone. He quickly dialed the first number, listed as the Religious Affairs district headquarters in Amdo town.
A woman answered on the fifth ring. 'Wei,' she said. It was the universal syllable used over telephones in China, not a greeting, just an anonymous acknowledgment.
Shan froze, about to hang up, then looked at the five digits on the face of the phone and recited them to the woman.
'I am sorry,' she said. 'Everyone else is at the labor day celebration. If I can help the Director's office-'
'It is a day for honoring heroes,' Shan said.
'Yes,' the woman replied uncertainly.
'The trip to Yapchi,' Shan said. 'The arrangements for travel. The Director wanted me to confirm that we received them, to make sure no last minute changes had been made.'
'No changes.'
Shan turned and looked at the picture of the cottage again. 'The Director reminded us that heroes walk among us. It is why he wants the full names and addresses for the five, so they may be properly recognized.'
'I'm sorry?'
'The Director has a private meeting with those from Lhasa. He has decided that on a day such as this all of the people's heroes must be honored. Those who work in secret too often get overlooked.'
'But you must have-'
'Everyone else is at the labor day celebration,' he reminded her. 'If you are worried about security I will give you the identification numbers so you can cross-check them,' he said, pulling out the paper Somo had given him, and carefully reading out the numbers for the five unexplained entries.
'Very well,' the woman sighed. 'I will fax the list immediately.'
Applause from outside interrupted. Shan hung up the phone, closed the drawer, and darted to the front window. Khodrak was patting Tenzin on the back. Shan began unbuttoning the jacket he had borrowed, turned toward the door, and froze. Director Tuan stood in the doorway, fixing Shan with a ravenous stare.
'I could have you shot,' Tuan hissed. 'I could have a bullet in your head by nightfall. I have had you checked with the Ministry of Education. Impersonating a government worker. Breaching state security.'
'Perhaps you forget you are no longer with Public Security,' Shan observed woodenly.
The Director of Religious Affairs opened his mouth to speak, then was interrupted by more applause. 'We don't have time to worry about such niceties right now,' he sneered, and stepped into the room. 'Whatever you are- fugitive, dropout, deserter from the army perhaps? — we will find out. Later we will have time to decide what to do with a man who impersonates a teacher. A vile thing to do. There are places we can keep you in chains until we decide how best to dispose of you.' He turned as though to call for assistance.
'I never said I was a teacher,' Shan shot back. 'You jumped to conclusions. You also said I could be useful. You gave me your card.' All he could hope for was to keep Tuan off his stride, buy time for Somo and the others.
Tuan's mouth opened but his words became lost in a sudden fit of coughing. He backed against the wall by the door, his hand pressing a handkerchief to his mouth. When the coughing stopped he closed his eyes a moment as if he had grown faint. As he lowered the handkerchief Shan saw pink spots on it. 'What were you doing here?' Tuan snarled, as he stepped away from the wall. Anger still colored his voice but the fire in his eyes had dimmed.
'Watching the proceedings, like everyone else. It would be rude to enter the audience when such a prestigious guest is speaking.'
'You knew about him,' Tuan said accusingly. 'You were with the abbot. He was probably hiding behind the hill that first day we saw you.'
'He never told us he was the abbot.'
The Director stepped past Shan to the window and stared at Tenzin, still on the platform, then looked back at Shan. 'We were going to draw up papers today, to decide who he was going to be if he refused to cooperate. An illegal reactionary. Perhaps the killer of our beloved Chao,' he said icily. The threat was thinly veiled. Tuan needed to finish the hunt for Chao's killer, his final victory leading up to the awards ceremony at Yapchi. Tenzin would have been a convenient candidate. Someone else would have to be found.
'But that was a problem for the Public Security Bureau,' Shan said, eyeing the open door. 'Your problem is winning the Serenity Campaign.'
Tuan followed his gaze and sighed, slowly stepped to the door and shut it. For a moment he seemed like an old, weary man, not angry but bitter. 'That,' the Director gloated, 'has already been done. It only remains to collect our prize.'
Perhaps that was the mystery he should focus on, Shan thought. Perhaps he had not sufficiently weighed the stakes of the strange game Khodrak and Tuan played. 'Your photograph in the Lhasa paper? A congratulatory letter from Beijing?' Such things would seem of little import to a man who kept such trophies in a dust-covered box. He remembered the chalkboard in the conference room, the list that had read like a manifesto. 'The institute? A statue in Amdo town?'
An odd light began to shine in Tuan's eyes. 'Serenity,' he said in a tired voice. 'Serenity is all I want.' He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and held them under his nostrils as he had the time he met with Shan in the meeting room below. His sickness was in an advanced state, Shan realized. 'The problem with everyone in Tibet is that they have been conditioned to settle for less. There are riches here, riches in the ground. Once we become the
