The Cloud Maker

Chapter 21

A fax rolled off the coffee-stained machine and on to the floor of the Public Security Bureau’s headquarters in Lhasa. Less than a minute later the blurry printout was retrieved, placed into a standard, government-issue file and set before the eyes of Captain Zhu.

He read the missive then leaned back in his chair, using his left hand only to light a thin cigarette. As he inhaled the smoke, letting the remainder curl up into the sunlight, he smoothed the side parting of his hair. His eyes ranged over the small, smoke-stained office he had requisitioned before resting on a faded poster taped to the far wall. Snow-clad mountains were wrapped round in a panoramic display with the morning light just touching the summit of each one. There were other pictures like this around the office — peasants leading yaks through the ploughed terraces, nomads camped on the edge of crystal blue lakes. Hard to believe, but that was what the rest of Tibet was really like. It was like something out of the Dark Ages.

On the way back from Drapchi Prison their convoy had passed rows and rows of diggers and cranes. All around them, men and machines hammered away in construction sites with clouds of dust clinging to the sides of iron girders and scaffolding rigs. New mobile phone towers had shot up and there was a frenetic energy to the now sprawling city of Lhasa. It was hard to imagine that barely a mile out of the city everything changed. The wide highways faded into dust tracks and the mighty new glass buildings were little more than empty shells, lit only by sporadic electricity.

Zhu had insisted on driving back through the Tibetan quarter. On receiving the order, Chen immediately radioed ahead and two armoured cars were sent to meet them near the entrance to the Jokhang. As they approached, the atmosphere had immediately changed inside the jeeps. The soldiers straightened in their seats, pulling the magazines off their AK-47 rifles to check the first round.

As they beeped their horns, edging through the narrow streets thick with people, Zhu watched hundreds of Tibetans going about their day. The market was brimming with activity: hawkers calling their prices, old men playing dice on the side of the road, and the endless procession of devotees circumnavigating the holy Temple. Each turned to stare as the Chinese vehicles pushed their way through, the soldier in the passenger seat leaning right out of the rolled-down window and shouting for them to make way.

Through the thin glass, Chen and Zhu absorbed the undisguised hatred in the onlookers’ stares. As their car passed, silence spread through the market. Some vendors stood still, their chins raised defiantly, while others craned their necks, hoping to get a better view of their oppressors.

‘In the riot last week they burned the local police station by the Potala,’ Chen whispered. ‘The crowds are still pretty worked up about our reprisals.’

‘Interesting,’ murmured Zhu.

From the maps, he knew that they were trespassing on the last enclave of Tibetan culture in Lhasa. The rest had been bulldozed to make way for new buildings, but the kilometre square area around the Jokhang was the last of the old city. And, judging by the grim determination on their faces, the Tibetans obviously meant to keep it.

Zhu smiled before leaning back in his seat. He had wanted to see it for himself — that simmering rage. He wanted to know what would happen if news of the threat to the Panchen Lama ever got out into the open. Now he knew how thin the famous philosophy of peace was stretched in his opponent. This fight was going to be more interesting than he had thought.

Catching his smile, Chen shivered. He had seen enough of his new boss by now to guess what was giving him pleasure.

They had been working side by side for only forty-eight hours, yet Chen was already starting to understand more than he would have liked about him. He knew enough not to speak unless spoken to and would spent long hours in silence, simply waiting for the next order.

Now he stood in front of Zhu’s desk back at headquarters, watching those pale, blank features knitted in concentration over a file.

‘Sir, I have just received a report that two Westerners have not checked in with the local station at Nyemo.’

Zhu raised his left hand and Chen slid the paper across the desk.

‘They were on a tourist visa, sir, heading down the standard trekking route to Nepal. But I also discovered that they were here only a month ago, and on that occasion received special climbing permits. I thought I should bring this to your attention because they left their interpreter here in Lhasa.’

‘Left?’

‘Yes, sir. They apparently departed early in the morning in a Land Cruiser, leaving him waiting at the bus station.’

Zhu studied the expression on Chen’s thickset face, the mixture of deference and dogged determination. He knew that Chen had been working late into each night, carefully combing through every scrap of information that might be related to their mission. There were dark rings under his eyes and his hair was still ruffled at the back of his head. He was obviously terrified of falling behind or putting a foot wrong. Zhu had come in early that morning and noted, with some satisfaction, that he had been sleeping in one of the empty cells downstairs.

‘So where are they?’ Zhu asked.

‘I am not sure, sir. We don’t have that information yet.’

Zhu stared at him before extinguishing his cigarette on the side of the glass ashtray, twisting the stub round until every trace of its glowing head was black.

‘Was I not clear enough about what happened last time? Your incompetence cost your superior officer dearly.’

Chen stared fixedly at the square of carpet in front of the desk, keeping his legs tense to stop them from shaking.

‘I will not make the same mistake now that I am in command,’ continued Zhu. ‘Don’t ever come to me with incomplete reports again.’

‘Yes, sir. I apologise, sir.’

‘Do you at least know which travel agent sanctioned their permits?’

‘Jagged Travel, sir. The owner is listed as one René Falkus.’

Zhu nodded.

‘Get my car. We’re paying him a visit.’