Prayer of the Dragon by Eliot Pattison Page A

punished although there is no proof of his guilt. A lama is being punished for not condemning the man.”
    “Rapaki?” Kohler asked. “Who would want to hurt a crazy hermit? Good court jesters are hard to come by.”
    Shan did not correct him. The conversation was beginning to get interesting. It was the first time he had heard that name.
    Gao proclaimed in a contemplative voice, “Proof is a dangerous concept. The essence of science is showing that most truth is opinion.”
    “A dangerous proposition,” Shan said, “when your government is dedicated to the opposite.”
    Gao lowered his cup. “I’m sorry?”
    “You’ve lived in Beijing. The stronger the opinion, the greater the truth.”
    Kohler glanced at the doors—a habit, Shan suspected, from a career spent worried about who might be listening. “Truth is what the people need,” the German said in a pious tone. It was an old slogan, one blazoned on public walls.
    “Who are you?” Gao’s question, though whispered, was as sharp as a blade. The promised dissection had begun.
    “Just someone else who has difficulty adjusting to the rest of the world.”
    Kohler gazed at Shan as if trying to decide whether to take offense. “ We conquered the rest of the world,” Kohler declared, “and are enjoying the fruit of our labors.”
    Gao, still staring at Shan, seemed not to hear the German. As a female appeared and began removing dishes, the older man rose and silently followed her into the kitchen.
    Thomas’s silence was one of amusement, but Kohler’s was becoming one of unease. He seemed to have seen something in Gao that disturbed him. Down in the valley, beyond the small white buildings, a squall brewed.
    “How many years have you and Dr. Gao been in Tibet?” Shan inquired.
    “Draw a radius of five hundred miles and we have spent almost our entire careers inside it,” Kohler said.
    “Which makes you very good at doing something the government finds important,” Shan observed. The circle Kohler described included most of China’s key nuclear weapon research and missile establishments.
    “The ruler who brings a nation’s enemies to their knees is beloved of his people,” Kohler replied, “but the men who give that ruler the means to do so are beloved of the ruler. Gao was never interested in public displays of affection.”
    “Beloved enough to dictate the terms of his retirement.”
    “A small price. An infinitesimal price.”
    Shan gathered up several dishes and darted into the kitchen, before Kohler could protest. Gao was nowhere to be seen.
    “Tashi delay,” he greeted the housekeeper in Tibetan. She replied in kind with a polite smile.
    He asked her if she was from Drango village. She did not answer and hurried away as Kohler appeared to herd Shan back to the dining room. The youth was at the window, watching the storm below. He hesitantly answered Shan’s questions, explaining that he had lived in Shanghai until his uncle had arranged for him to study astrophysics at Beijing University.
    “Perhaps you can compare notes about the faculty,” a cool voice interjected. Gao had returned, and fixed Shan with an analytical stare. “Or perhaps,” he said to his nephew, “you should start by asking our guest what kind of fool rejects the offer of a senior Party status sponsored by a minister of state.”
    Shan’s gut began to knot.
    Gao came closer. “You netted a unique specimen, Heinz,” he observed. “A special investigator for the Ministry of Economy, in charge of secret cases for the State Council. Cases of great importance. Once an official Hero Worker, privy to the most confidential matters of state.”
    Gao had focused on Shan’s tattoo for no more than five seconds, yet he had not only memorized the numbers but in the span of a few minutes been able to reach one of the very few cadres left in Beijing who knew how to locate Shan’s file.
    “A highly strung pedigreed hunting dog who turned on his handlers,” Gao continued,