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How the 404th caused this death as an excuse to halt their work. Something worthy of an inspector general. The kind that the Ministry will not challenge.” He scrawled something on a sheet of onion-skin paper, then studied Shan for a moment. With a slow, ceremonial motion, he fixed his seal to the paper. “You are officially on detail to my office. I’ll give you a truck and the warden’s Tibetan clerk. Feng will watch. Permission to go to the clinic for interviews. If asked, you are on trusty duties.”
    Shan felt as if someone was rolling a massive rock onto his back. He found himself bending, frantically looking toward the Dragon Claws. “My report would be worthless,” he murmured, the words nearly choking in his throat. He had rushed his work to return to the 404th, to help Choje.Now Tan wanted to use him to inflict greater punishment on the monks. “I have been proven untrustworthy.”
    â€œThe report will be in my name.”
    Shan stared at a dim, vaguely familar ghost, his reflection in the window. It was happening. He was being reincarnated into a lower life form. “Then one of our names will be dishonored,” he said in croaking whisper.

Chapter Three
    The drab three-story building that housed the People’s Health Collective proved far more sterile outside than inside. The odor of mildew wafted through the lobby. On the lobby wall, a collage of bulldozers and tractors mounted by beaming proletarians was cracked and peeling. The same bone-dry dust that filled the 404th barracks covered the furniture. Brown and green stains ran across the faded linoleum floor and up one wall. Nothing moved but a large beetle that scuttled toward the shadows as they entered.
    Madame Ko had called. A short, nervous man in a threadbare smock appeared, and silently led Shan, Yeshe, and Feng down a dimly lit flight of stairs to a basement chamber with five metal examination tables. As he opened the swinging doors, the stench of ammonia and formaldehyde broke over them like a wave. The aroma of death.
    Yeshe’s hands shot to his mouth. Sergeant Feng cursed and fumbled for a cigarette. More of the dark stains Shan had seen upstairs mottled the walls. He followed one with his eyes, a spatter of brown spots that arced from floor to ceiling. On one wall was a poster, tattered from repeated folding, that announced a performance, years earlier, of the Beijing Opera. With a mixture of disgust and fear, their escort gestured toward the only occupied table, then backed out of the room and closed the door.
    Yeshe turned to follow the orderly.
    â€œGoing somewhere?” Shan inquired.
    â€œI’m going to be sick,” Yeshe pleaded.
    â€œWe have an assignment. You won’t get it done waiting in the hall.”
    Yeshe looked at his feet.
    â€œWhere do you want to be?” Shan asked.
    â€œBe?”
    â€œAfterward. You’re young. You’re ambitious. You have a destination. Everyone your age has a destination.”
    â€œSichuan province,” Yeshe said, distrust in his eyes. “Back to Chengdu. Warden Zhong told me he has my papers ready. Says he’s arranged for me to have a job there. People can rent their own apartments now. You can even buy televisions.”
    Shan considered the announcement. “When did the warden say this?”
    â€œJust last night. I still have friends back in Chengdu. Members of the Party.”
    â€œFine.” Shan shrugged. “You have a destination and I have a destination. The sooner we get done, the sooner we can move on.”
    Resentment still etched on his face, Yeshe found a wall switch and illuminated a row of naked lightbulbs hanging over the tables. The center table seemed to glow, its white sheet the only clean, bright object in the room. Sergeant Feng muttered a low curse toward the far side of the room. A body was slumped in a rusty wheelchair, covered with a soiled sheet, its head slung over the shoulder at an