Jaya gestured to the little spring that wound through the shadows of the trees, then saw Ko limp into the clearing and helped him to a flat rock, handing him her own water bottle as he sat. Shan’s son had also stubbornly insisted on joining. He had been slowed not by his injuries, which were rapidly healing, but by the complex horoscope chart Shiva had given him before their departure. Every few minutes on the hike up from the flat where the helicopter dropped them he had paused to study it.

“I was getting worried that they would stop you,” Jaya said, nodding toward the nearby cliff. Shan look down and with a sinking heart saw ten figures walking up the steep switchback trail that led to the Talons from the dam site. Three wore the uniform of Public Security, the others the coveralls of Jiao’s cleanup crew, now with rifles slung on their shoulders.

A cold fist seemed to close around Shan’s heart as he saw Pike extract the pistol he had taken from the woman in Lhasa. The American’s fury smoldered more intensely with each passing day, and now he gazed down at their new opponents with the eye of the starving predator who had finally found his meal.

“It’s not our way,” Shan said to him.

“Your way? You mean let them get away with it all and live a long life because they will be punished in their next incarnation? I don’t have time to wait forty years so I can step on the bugs they become, Shan. Not my timetable. Not my way. It wasn’t your daughter they killed.”

“There’s been too many bullets fired already,” Shan said. “If we use guns on our side, the Tibetans believe the gods will abandon us. It’s not the Buddhist way.”

“Tell them my god abandoned me a long time ago. They won’t need to touch a gun.” Pike popped out the magazine and checked its load. “Tell them to have their gods turn their backs. I’ll only need a few minutes.”

“You’ll never survive.”

“Survival isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“We have two hours before the young ambans arrive.”

“I’ll take a nap.”

“No. You’ll come with me to see the work of the Tibetan gods. You owe the Tibetans that much.”

The shelves past the black felt wall held no artifacts when Shan led Pike past them, but the American lingered at the array of weapons and tools at the rearmost shelf. Pike lifted the heavy maul and hefted it with an approving nod. “Blue?” he asked.

Shan explained how the objects had been used.

“Hammer of justice then,” Pike said of the tool. His tone was still grim but his curiosity was roused. “You sure your Gekho doesn’t have some Viking blood?”

“The Earth-Shattering Maul, they call it. For crumbling the walls of deception.”