The man’s eyes snapped open. Shan had spoken one of the secret signs of the purba, the resistance. The purba was a ritual dagger meant to pierce the demons of fear and confusion. Shan extended the gau, which the man instantly snatched away, pressing it in both hands over his heart. As he did so, Shan saw the healing bruises and scrapes on the back of his hands and forearms and saw fading bruises on his face. The young Tibetan seemed about to speak but as he opened his mouth he grimaced in pain. He had cracked or broken ribs.

He tried again. “I fell off some rocks,” he said with a wince.

Shan was familiar with the pattern of the man’s injuries. “No, Yeshe. Someone beat you.”

Yeshe looked down at his gau and slowly nodded, then held up four fingers.

“Four people beat you.”

He nodded again and gestured Shan closer. “The cleanup crew they call them. Special janitors, though you never see them actually cleaning anything.”

Shan was not sure he heard right. “Janitors?”

Whispering apparently did not cause Yeshe as much pain, and Shan bent to listen. “That’s what they call themselves, because they wear the gray coveralls and gray windbreakers that the custodians wear. They drive a pickup with a mop stained with red paint like blood hanging off the tailgate. It’s like their banner. The cleanup crew they may be called, but my bet is that they are soldiers.”

Shan studied the Tibetan. “What do you mean?”

“I just left the army five months ago. They’re all in good shape, all follow a strict discipline. And I heard them call their leader sergeant. They sing an old battle song sometimes, about holding the flag high as the bullets fly.”

The news struck a nerve. Shan had heard the song often, sung by guards in his former prison. “But why attack you?”

“Fireworks.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I worked in demolition in the army. Ten years, then I came home.”

“You mean you worked with explosives.”

“Right. When the construction company heard that, they hired me right away. Good pay. Blast a ledge here, a stubborn boulder there. Shatter a rock face so it can be straightened.”

Shan cast a glance toward the entrance. He could see the back of the nurse, still watching her laptop. “Why assault you for blasting rocks?” he asked

“More like for not blasting,” Yeshe said. “The deputy director told me to destroy that old cave and I said I couldn’t, that I would have to ask a monk before doing so, because it was a holy place. That night the cleanup crew pulled me from my bunk.”

Shan saw the torment in the Tibetan’s eyes. “But the real reason you wouldn’t help was that you knew there were probably people inside.”