snaps.”
Shan realized the rope had not been used to pull the column down, but to stabilize the loose rocks above. “How would I know how far to chip into the base of the column?”
Kypo shrugged. “Luck, I guess,” he said with an uneasy glance toward Shan. They both knew it had taken consummate skill with chisel and wedge to loosen the column just enough to be toppled by a rolling boulder at the right moment.
“But the timing of the avalanche wasn’t just luck.”
Kypo adjusted his glasses, his gaze shifting back and forth from the road to the slope. “If you knew how to work with ropes and harnesses, you could fashion a tether, like a cradle, and roll the stones into it, putting pressure on it so the stones would roll away when the tether was released.” He pointed to another large outcropping that shadowed the slope. “I would do it behind there, so no one in a vehicle coming up from the valley could see me. Stay in the shadow, release the ropes, and run away into the maze of rocks above.”
“It might take only one person to trigger such a rockslide, but more than one to rig it.”
Kypo shrugged again. “Two, four, ten, who cares? When the wind blows your house down, you don’t care about how many clouds were pushing it.”
It was a particularly Tibetan perspective. Violence was like a storm, seizing both those committing it and their victims. It was a waste of time to try to explain, it was only necessary to burrow into a safe place and let it blow itself out.
“How many people in the base camp knew about the bus?”
“No one. It was a Public Security secret. Why?”
“Because someone planned all this very carefully. Stole the ropes and rigged the avalanche in advance. The ropes were taken from the base camp days ago, and the camp is full of people who know how to rig ropes. How long do you think it will be before Public Security realizes that?”
The words seemed to hit Kypo like a blow. His face darkened. He whipped the section of rope in his hand against a rock. His livelihood, and that of his entire village, depended on the base camp, and Public Security could easily shut it down if it suspected the camp was connected to the murders.
Shan paced along the rocks that had tumbled down the slope to block the bus, now pushed to the side of the road. Halfway along the row he paused. At first he thought the faint pattern was a trick of the light. Then he knelt and studied the marks, seeing more, one on each of the large rocks. Someone had lightly chalked an ancient Tibetan mantra, an invocation of a protector demon, on the rocks facing the road. It had been done after the stones had been bulldozed to the shoulder. He stood and looked at the warning signs and bullet casings on the opposite side of the road. The opposing teams had squared off, facing each other.
He watched Kypo climb back up the road and followed, finding him staring at the killing ground with a hollow expression as Jomo, leaning against the truck, nervously watched him.
“There are people already leaving for the season,” Kypo stated, his gaze fixed on the outline of the bodies Shan had drawn in the soil. “Good porters, the seasoned ones who know the mountain, will be hard to find.”
“Because the traditional ones respect the mountain deity,” Shan ventured.
Kypo nodded. “Violence like this could anger the mountain for months. Every team last week had to turn back from the summit because of storms.”
“There are always storms.”
“Not like these. One of them had ice needles, like little knives. Two sherpas came back with bloody faces, their parkas ripped to shreds. She’s furious, more than anyone can remember,” Kypo declared, and walked around the truck to climb in.
Shan knelt again, studying the contour of the ground. Where they had not dumped the fresh soil the knobs had raked the ground clean, but he perceived the bare suggestion of a disturbance, a subtle mound with cracks at the top, as if the mountain
Shan realized the rope had not been used to pull the column down, but to stabilize the loose rocks above. “How would I know how far to chip into the base of the column?”
Kypo shrugged. “Luck, I guess,” he said with an uneasy glance toward Shan. They both knew it had taken consummate skill with chisel and wedge to loosen the column just enough to be toppled by a rolling boulder at the right moment.
“But the timing of the avalanche wasn’t just luck.”
Kypo adjusted his glasses, his gaze shifting back and forth from the road to the slope. “If you knew how to work with ropes and harnesses, you could fashion a tether, like a cradle, and roll the stones into it, putting pressure on it so the stones would roll away when the tether was released.” He pointed to another large outcropping that shadowed the slope. “I would do it behind there, so no one in a vehicle coming up from the valley could see me. Stay in the shadow, release the ropes, and run away into the maze of rocks above.”
“It might take only one person to trigger such a rockslide, but more than one to rig it.”
Kypo shrugged again. “Two, four, ten, who cares? When the wind blows your house down, you don’t care about how many clouds were pushing it.”
It was a particularly Tibetan perspective. Violence was like a storm, seizing both those committing it and their victims. It was a waste of time to try to explain, it was only necessary to burrow into a safe place and let it blow itself out.
“How many people in the base camp knew about the bus?”
“No one. It was a Public Security secret. Why?”
“Because someone planned all this very carefully. Stole the ropes and rigged the avalanche in advance. The ropes were taken from the base camp days ago, and the camp is full of people who know how to rig ropes. How long do you think it will be before Public Security realizes that?”
The words seemed to hit Kypo like a blow. His face darkened. He whipped the section of rope in his hand against a rock. His livelihood, and that of his entire village, depended on the base camp, and Public Security could easily shut it down if it suspected the camp was connected to the murders.
Shan paced along the rocks that had tumbled down the slope to block the bus, now pushed to the side of the road. Halfway along the row he paused. At first he thought the faint pattern was a trick of the light. Then he knelt and studied the marks, seeing more, one on each of the large rocks. Someone had lightly chalked an ancient Tibetan mantra, an invocation of a protector demon, on the rocks facing the road. It had been done after the stones had been bulldozed to the shoulder. He stood and looked at the warning signs and bullet casings on the opposite side of the road. The opposing teams had squared off, facing each other.
He watched Kypo climb back up the road and followed, finding him staring at the killing ground with a hollow expression as Jomo, leaning against the truck, nervously watched him.
“There are people already leaving for the season,” Kypo stated, his gaze fixed on the outline of the bodies Shan had drawn in the soil. “Good porters, the seasoned ones who know the mountain, will be hard to find.”
“Because the traditional ones respect the mountain deity,” Shan ventured.
Kypo nodded. “Violence like this could anger the mountain for months. Every team last week had to turn back from the summit because of storms.”
“There are always storms.”
“Not like these. One of them had ice needles, like little knives. Two sherpas came back with bloody faces, their parkas ripped to shreds. She’s furious, more than anyone can remember,” Kypo declared, and walked around the truck to climb in.
Shan knelt again, studying the contour of the ground. Where they had not dumped the fresh soil the knobs had raked the ground clean, but he perceived the bare suggestion of a disturbance, a subtle mound with cracks at the top, as if the mountain
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