Shan nodded his agreement. “If you are going to kill me, I’d prefer that you take my body somewhere else.”

Pike grinned. “Nothing so dramatic. But maybe I should bind you to that chair again and let Tink tend you for a couple days. Or I have a syringe with some magic medicine that would keep you unconscious for the rest of the week. Might be easier.”

Shan sighed. “Can I have a piece of paper, please?”

Tink tossed him a small notepad, and he wrote down two rows of numbers and pushed it toward Pike. “This is my fatal combination. The first is my lao gai number, my inmate registration, which you can verify by my tattoo. The second is my badge number. Officially a former hard labor prisoner is banned from holding a law enforcement badge. The badge was granted by the county governor, so I am protected anywhere in Lhadrung. Outside of Lhadrung I am not, but no one understands my particular circumstances. There are officers in Lhasa who would arrest me in an instant if they knew that history. Public Security knows how to find me, at the constable station in Yangkar. Take the numbers. You can destroy me with them.”

Pike exchanged a long glance with Tink, then folded the paper into his pocket.

“If you knew about Metok and Sun Lunshi, then you knew about the Five Claws project,” Shan ventured.

“Natalie mentioned it in a letter, although she only used that term once. She called it the Roost for some reason and said it was the most exciting place she had ever visited, professionally speaking.”

“I believe your daughter was killed there when a cave was imploded, not in a car accident. I think those who did it knew she and the professor were inside. Metok knew it as well, and they didn’t trust him to keep quiet. So they arranged his execution.”

Pike’s gaze grew more intense, then the fire in his eyes turned to melancholy. Shan stood and thanked Tink for the meal. He was almost at the door when the American spoke.

“You asked why I was here so soon after Natalie’s death,” he said to Shan’s back. “They sent me her ashes. We had a memorial service.” Shan turned. “But it was all so abrupt, so neatly wrapped up with a press report that explained the terrible car accident when Professor Gangfen drove off the mountain road. But something nagged at me. I dug out an old letter she had written that mentioned she was serving as the professor’s driver, among other enjoyable things, because like a lot of Chinese who live in cities, Gangfen didn’t drive. I dug up the ashes and had a friend in the FBI test them. I had buried a sheep.”

CHAPTER SIX