“After what happened yesterday, I thought they were going to haul him away.”

Shan lowered his spoon. “The visitors took some photographs and left.”

Marpa gave a tentative nod. “Mostly took some photographs and measurements of the mountains, of the square, of your station.”

“My station?”

“Yes, and then the man who took the photos ran over to the oldest member of the team and they had a long discussion, with the photographer pointing at Lhakpa. They started to approach him, but then he made a mudra in their direction and they halted,” Marpa explained, referring to the symbolic hand positions used sometimes in Buddhist worship. “It was like they thought it was some kind of dark magic. While they stood there, staring at him, as if summoning the courage to approach him, Choden ran out of the station and put handcuffs on Lhakpa then marched him back to the jail.”

Choden and Lhakpa had both been very selective in reporting on what had happened that afternoon. “You saw all this? Who were they?”

“Served them lunch and watched through the window when they left.” He shrugged. “Officials from outside.”

“But they had instruments.”

Marpa, eating again, nodded. “There was one of those symbols, a logo they call it, on the door of their van.” He dipped a finger in his tea and drew three inverted, interlocked V shapes. “Three mountains. Mapmakers is my guess. The government’s never really had proper maps of this area.” He paused as a look of chagrin crossed his face. “Too bad, but it was always going to happen. Once it happens in Lhasa, folks say, it’s bound to catch up with Yangkar in thirty or forty years.” He saw the query in Shan’s eyes. “Once you have good maps, civilization isn’t far behind,” he explained in a doleful voice. They were both aware of what Beijing’s notion of civilization meant for Tibetans. More roads. More boarding schools for Tibetan children who would be assigned new Chinese names. More factories and mines where Tibetan workers would be overseen by Chinese managers. More patrols by Religious Affairs, to snatch up photographs of the Dalai Lama and ensure no unauthorized monks or nuns roamed the countryside.

Marpa raised his mug of tea then paused, cocking his head upward. Ice seemed to materialize in Shan’s belly as he heard the increasingly loud thump-thump-thump from the sky. The proprietor’s expression turned grim. “They work fast,” he murmured.

CHAPTER THREE

One of Colonel Tan’s young staff officers, Lieutenant Zhu, was leaning against a boulder as Shan rode up on his bicycle. Zhu greeted him with a disappointed expression. “Your truck is broken?” he asked as he motioned Shan toward the waiting helicopter.

“My deputy may need it today. Where are we going?”