Free The Skull Mantra by Eliot Pattison Page A

was right. The killer had done his work here. This was the butchering ground. He had killed the man, and thrown the contents of his pockets over the cliff. But why had he missed the shirt pocket, under the sweater, which held the American money? Because, Shan mused, his hands had been so bloody and the white shirt so clean.
    â€œWhy come this far from town and not throw the body over the cliff? It would never have been found.” The query came from behind. Yeshe had followed Shan up the slope. It was the first time Yeshe had shown any interest in their assignment.
    â€œIt was supposed to be found.” Shan knelt and pushed away the remaining rocks from the rust-colored stain.
    â€œThen why cover it with rocks?”
    Shan turned and studied Yeshe, then the monks who had begun to watch him nervously.
Jungpos
only came out at night. But by day the hungry ghosts hid in small crevasses or under rocks.
    â€œMaybe because then the guards would have seen it from a distance.”
    â€œBut the guards did find it,” Yeshe argued.
    â€œNo. Prisoners found it first. Tibetans.”
    Shan left Yeshe staring uneasily at the cairns and walked over to Jilin. “I need you to hang me over the edge.”
    Jilin lowered his hammer. “You’re one crazy shit.”
    Shan repeated the request. “Just a few seconds. Over there,” he pointed. “Hold my ankles.”
    Jilin slowly followed Shan to the edge, then smirked. “Five hundred feet. Lots of time to think before you hit. Then you’re just like a melon fired from a cannon.”
    â€œA few seconds, then you pull me back.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause of the gold.”
    â€œLike hell,” Jilin spat. But then, with a suspicious gleam he leaned over the edge. “Shit,” he said as he looked up in surprise. “Shit,” he repeated, then quickly sobered. “I don’t need you.”
    â€œSure you do. You can’t reach it from the top. Who do you trust to lower you?”
    A spark of understanding kindled on Jilin’s face. “Why trust me?”
    â€œBecause I’m going to give you the gold. I’m going to look at it, then I’ll give it to you.” Jilin could only be relied upon for his greed.
    A moment later Shan was upside down, suspended by his ankles over the abyss. His pencil fell out of his pocket and plunged end over end through the void. He closed his eyes as Jilin laughed and bobbed him up and down like a child’s marionette. But when he opened them the lighter was directly in front of him.
    In an instant he was back on top. The lighter was Western-made but engraved with the Chinese ideogram for long life. Shan had seen such lighters before; they were often tokens distributed at Party meetings. He breathed on it, letting his breath fog the surface. No fingerprints.
    â€œGive it to me,” Jilin growled. He was watching the guards.
    Shan closed his hand around it. “Sure. For a trade.”
    Jilin’s eyes went wild. He raised his fist. “I’ll break you in half.”
    â€œYou took something from the body. Pulled it out of the hand. I want it.”
    Jilin seemed to be considering whether he would have time to grab the lighter while he pushed Shan off the edge.
    Shan stepped out of his reach. “I don’t think it was valuable,” Shan said. “But this—” He lit the flame. “Look. Wind-resistant.” He extended it, increasing the risk the guards would see it.
    Instantly Jilin reached into his pocket and produced a small tarnished metal disk. He dropped it into Shan’s palmand grabbed the lighter. Shan held onto it. “One more thing. A question.”
    Jilin snarled and looked back down the slope. As much as he might wish to crush Shan, the first sign of struggle would bring the guards.
    â€œYour professional perspective.”
    â€œProfessional?”
    â€œAs a murderer.”
    Jilin swelled with pride. His