The government had once discouraged older, traditional Tibetans from settling in the “pioneer” town of Yangkar after the annihilation of its old monastery but as Shan’s town developed a reputation as something of a sanctuary, more had moved in. He knew each of the old men, had helped many get settled, and now he watched in agony, blaming himself, as they were roughly herded into a line in front of Mao’s bust. Most appeared terrified. Most knew this was how Tibetans were rounded up for reeducation camps.

“Then you won’t mind if I confirm that by examining these gentlemen,” Huan shot back. The knobs began checking papers, questioning each man. Lokesh was in the middle of the line, no more than a few minutes from his own interrogation, and Shan recalled with horror how his oldest friend had vowed that if he were ever stopped by a policeman, he would explain that he had no Chinese papers because he worked for the true government, that of the Dalai Lama. News of the arrest of a confessed agent of the exiled government would go straight to Beijing. Not even Colonel Tan would be able to save him.

Shan studied the men in the square. All of the knobs had pistols, and two carried submachine guns. He was helpless against such odds. Even if he did try to help his friend, the action would only identify Lokesh for Huan. He tried to speak, but no words came. His despair was paralyzing.

“Tashi, Tashi, Tashi!” came an impatient voice from behind him. A female Public Security lieutenant pushed past him, holding a cap and blue jacket. She went straight to Lokesh and pulled him out of the line. “Let’s go, you old fool. Too many beers again last night, I see,” she chided as she pulled the cap down over his white hair.

“Lieutenant?” Huan asked the woman in an uncertain voice. “We have an operation underway.”

“Whatever it is, my silly know-nothing driver will be of no use to you. Serves me right for giving the simpleton free time last night. Where does the motor pool find these people?”

Shan stared in disbelief. It was Meng, in her uniform now, with her hair pinned up under her cap. The hat she had put on Lokesh’s head was an old constable cap hanging in the cell room, from which she had torn away the emblem.

Huan stared at her in confusion.