Soul of the Fire (23 page)

“Look in the cremation records.”

“They wouldn't be in any system. Crematories are ugly, primitive places. No need to have computers or automated records. But I assure you there is no cremation without a final certificate of death.”

Shan glanced up at Amah Jiejie. “How many crematories are there in the Lhasa area?” he asked Lihua.

The doctor muttered under his breath but worked the keyboard again. “Two. One on the northern outskirts of town and one on the road toward Gyantse.”

“There's a patient I want you to check,” Shan said after a moment. “He left the infirmary in Zhongje yesterday. Badly burned, but stabilized. Kai Cho Fang. I want to know where he is.”

The doctor began tapping the keyboard. A minute later he looked up uneasily. “No such name in any hospital.”

“He was taken in an ambulance, probably to Gyantse,” Shan said, then paused. “Try Rikyo Dolge.”

“Here he is,” Lihua reported after a moment. “Burn victim. But there must be a mistake. There is no record of him ever being in Zhongje. He was in the hospital at Gyantse for the past ten days.”

“Was?”

“The records say he died last night.”

*   *   *

It was nearly dawn when Shan left the hospital, having slept only an hour. His mind was racing over the night's discoveries. He had lost track of the time he spent with Amah Jiejie at the computer after they finished with the doctor, guiding her as she used Colonel Tan's access codes to navigate confidential databases. Since Macau had joined the People's Republic, its hotel records were as visible to Beijing as any in China. The name Cabral, handwritten on the detective's card, appeared on a list of hotel employees. Pao, Lu, and Vogel had shared not only the same hotel, but the same floor, as well: Pao in Room 918, Lu in 914, and Vogel in 916. All had left their conference early, on the very day the Thai woman's murder was reported.

“They knew,” Shan said. “They shared a secret about her murder. Lu died. And Pao advanced a mid-level German diplomat to chair his Commission.” He asked Amah Jiejie to search diplomatic announcements. Heinrich Vogel had been about to take up a commercial attaché post in South America when he abruptly requested to be seconded to the United Nations to serve in Tibet. Pao had found a way to reward him for his silence about the murder in Macau.

“Who knows that Colonel Tan had me appointed to the Commission? Xie was murdered. Deng was murdered. Someone tried to murder the colonel. There is one common link: Deputy Secretary Pao.”

“That is ridiculous. He is a senior official.”

“Who else knew of my connection to Tan?”

She spoke in a near whisper. “No one, other than that major attached to your Commission.”

“Then humor me. Spend some time looking at deaths among Pao's associates. Look for accidental deaths of officials. Look for funeral eulogies he may have given. And arrange for one of the security detail to drive you as soon as the sun rises. They would open early.”

“They?”

“Those crematories. If you find a record, leave a message for me at the Commission office in Zhongje to call you. When I call back, be ready to fax it to me.”

Amah Jiejie nodded. She seemed distracted, looking toward Tan's room. She had been a pillar of strength for Tan's team, which had been badly shaken by the near death of its leader. But she was many years older than Shan, and was now exhausted. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “They tried to kill my colonel. Why?”

“There's have already been two suspicious deaths at the Commission, one done with an overdose of a drug, just like they tried here. But they can't risk another death. They had to find another way to neutralize me, to stop me.”

“I don't understand.”

Shan stiffened, finding it difficult to say the words. “It's like you said. Without Tan, I have no protection. Without Tan, I am nobody.”

 

CHAPTER TEN

Shan made a point of loudly closing the door when he stepped into Sung's office.

The major spun about from the window. “You!” he spat. “If it were up to me, I would have you dragged out of Zhongje in irons! This is not your personal playground, Shan! You think you can hide behind some old lady and parade your friends around Longtou!”

Shan dropped the image from the hospital security camera onto the major's desk.

Sung glared at him, then stepped to the desk. “A dark woman and a dark car on a dark night.”

“You know that the Governor of Lhadrung County arranged for me to be on the Commission.”

“Of course. Tan the Iron Fist.”

“This woman went to his hospital to kill him. When the full story gets out, the explosions will be heard all the way to Beijing. That's a Public Security car.”

Sung dropped into his chair. The muscles of his thin face worked as he stared at Shan, then he picked up the photo, turning it in the light to study the image. “I know nothing about this.”

“No. I don't think you do. Which means you should worry all the more.”

Sung made a growling sound in his throat and slammed down the photo, knocking over a tile on the mah-jongg board at the end of his desk. “I can make that old Tibetan in Longtou disappear with one phone call! How many prisons and labor camps do we have in Tibet alone? Thirty? Not to mention all the internment camps. I can transfer him under another name. You'll never see him again. He'll think you abandoned him. Maybe I'll say he was guilty of a crime against the Party, perhaps embezzled Party funds. That would let me send him to one of those hell holes in Yunnan, in the jungle. No one will speak his language. His clothes will rot off his back in the first few weeks. Insects will burrow into his skin. How long would he last? They won't even know his name when they toss his body into the ground.”

Shan lowered himself into the chair opposite Sung, struggling not to react. “I am an exile, Major, a permanent outsider,” he said in a low voice. “It gives me the advantage of seeing things others cannot.”

“I have no time for riddles.”

“Then give me three minutes to talk. Just listen. Then I will leave.”

Sung reached into his pocket. “One cigarette.”

“How long have you known the Deputy Secretary?”

The unlit cigarette hung on Sung's lips. “Two years.”

“How did you get to know him?”

“There were incidents at Party functions, potential embarassments. Pao appreciated the way I handled them.”

“Incidents involving Pao's excesses?”

Sung lit the cigarette and said nothing.

“Pao has a small trusted team of operatives. Are you on the inside team or outside the team?”

Sung's only reply was a slight downward twist of his mouth.

“Outside, then. I remember my father telling me about a warlord in the mountains of Guilin who would offer huge bounties on his enemies. He would share secrets about how to locate his enemies,” Shan continued, “and the bounty hunters would bring him their heads. Then he would richly reward them, even entertain them with a lavish feast. But when they left his palace, he would have them killed. Because they knew his secrets. You're one of his bounty hunters, Major.”

Sung exhaled a plume of smoke. “You have a boundless talent for ignoring reality. Even I know the Buddhists always talk about slicing through delusion to expose reality. Leave it to you to keep cutting through reality to get to delusion.”

Shan grabbed a handful of tiles from the mah-jongg board. “You're all too close to Pao to understand him.” He stood up five tiles as he spoke. “It isn't power he craves—it's the manipulation. Power is a welcome reward, but if he hasn't won it by manipulation, by creating puppets and pulling their strings, then it isn't satisfying to him. You should try to backtrack Pao in the records. Three years ago, Pao's biggest rival for the Deputy Secretary post died of a self-inflicted wound, as certified by one of the Public Security officers assigned to Pao.” Shan knocked down a tile. “Six months later, the officer who signed the death report died when his car went off a mountain road.” Shan knocked the second tile.

“A year ago at a conference in Macau, a casino worker died during a conference attended by Pao and Vogel. I think she died in Pao's room. The autopsy said she had been raped. Secretary Pao recruited Vogel and an army captain named Lu, a drinking companion and rising star in the Party, to help dispose of the body and cover it all up. The police investigation was suddenly dropped. Three months later, Captain Lu dies when his car crashes on the way to Lhasa.” Shan knocked down another tile.

“Three weeks ago Commissioner Xie was threatening the success of Pao's Commission and died from an overdose of digitalis delivered by Pao's protégé, Deng.” Another tile went down. “Days later, Deng dies, stabbed and burned.” Shan studied Sung's sullen expression. “No denial this time? No insistence that he is off on a family emergency?” He knocked down the fourth tile.

“Pao is invincible,” Shan continued. “But those outside his inner circle who help him in his illegal tasks die. It's become instinctive for him. Always get someone else to do the dirty work—then always eliminate them later.” He motioned to all the downed tiles. “I would guess the trail of death goes much further back. I haven't had much time to investigate.”

Sung drew deeply on his cigarette, studying Shan with new interest. “You know nothing about Xie or Deng.”

“I know a great deal. Xie had a weak heart. He took digitalis. A small daily dose, to stabilize his rhythm. Too much overloads the heart. It was the perfect way to kill him. He died almost instantly—so fast, there were still traces in his stomach. Deng gave it to him in his tea. The act of murder is recorded on your own surveillance videos. Lin helped him, but she is in Pao's inner circle, I suspect, like Tuan. You're not, which is why I'm here.”

Anger was building on Sung's face. “I offered you a chance to cooperate, and you mocked me. You have one foot in the grave already, Shan. The only way to rehabilitate you is with a bullet. You'd be amazed at how much better people will speak of you after you're gone.” His rancor grew as Shan refused to break his intense stare. “The Deputy Secretary shows great trust in me.”

“Not so much. You forget all the witnesses who saw the shock on your face when you looked up the slope and recognized the burning man. It would have been fascinating to hear you ask Pao about it. But you never did. It scared you. You just called for a special team from Lhasa to come and remove the body because you feared it would be recognizable even after that inferno. Twenty or thirty knobs in Zhongje, but you called Lhasa, for men who didn't know Deng. You didn't go anywhere near the body, and you went up later only to put up crime scene tape so you could pretend there was an investigation.”

“Who the hell showed you my surveillance records?”

Shan ignored him. “Deng died a terrible death, disguised to advance Pao's case against immolations.” Shan's finger hovered over the last tile for a moment. “Do you wonder who will die next? You notice Pao always has high-ranking officials eager to help him. Help him, then die—because they know his secrets.”

“There is a confidential file being prepared on Deng. It says Deng was killed by
purbas.
The
purba
leader is to be considered violent and armed.”

The words silenced Shan for a moment. Public Security had decided to shoot Dawa when she was found. “First rule of official lies, Major, is to keep them consistent. Is Deng on leave or was he murdered by the
purbas
?”

Sung seemed to be coiling, as if preparing to leap at Shan.

“I suppose your instructions were to tell all of us he is on leave. But Pao told you the
purbas
killed him.”

“He states there is secret evidence. We know they were on the slope at that very spot the day before.”

“Deng died in those flames. But the
purbas
don't commit murder. I can't imagine an act more against their interests than killing someone that way in front of the Commission.” Shan dropped the single page faxed by Amah Jiejie onto Sung's desk. “Four days ago, his body was cremated. The manager said they should have charged half price, since someone else had started the job for him. There is another file, even more secret, which Pao will use with the Party. It will say that you arranged Deng's death.”

Sung lifted the paper and stared at it. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Odd, then, that the cremation was requested by you.”

Sung gave a dismissive laugh. But as he read the bottom of the form, his face tightened. He straightened and dropped his cigarette in an ashtray. “I never signed this,” he snarled.

“But I think you did something with Deng at the request of Pao, something that might have had witnesses.”

“Nothing!” Sung barked, then he seemed to reconsider. “Drive Deng to the stable, that's all. I thought it was to go inside, to join an interrogation. But when we arrived, a solitary officer, one of Pao's private detail, waited in another car, in plainclothes. He told Deng to get inside. Deng was confused, even worried. I said it was a special request of the Deputy Secretary.”

“So you would have been seen driving Deng away from Zhongje. Early on the morning he died. They'll call that the abduction that led to the murder.”

“I have no more time for this foolishness! Get out!”

“Tell me, Major, are you missing something. Some clothes? A weapon?”

Sung's face tightened. “My car is missing,” he admitted.

“Theft of Public Security property. Sounds serious.”

Sung shrugged. “Just another government car.”

“That was assigned to you. Covered with your fingerprints. It will have evidence that Deng was in it. Pao saw to that. You, of all people, know how Public Security forensic teams work. When Pao tells them to find evidence linking you to Deng's death, they will find it. They like to do DNA reports, very high-tech, very fashionable. They will find your DNA and that of Deng, and declare that forensics never lies.”