“Okay,” Sam replied. “Lead on.”

Not surprisingly, Ajay was not only a better tour guide than their previous one but he was also a better driver, negotiating the Kali Gandaki’s innumerable twists, turns, and hazards with expertise. A mere eight hours after leaving Jomsom they were standing before Jack Karna’s door in Lo Monthang.

He greeted them each with a warm hug. Hot tea and scones were ready and waiting in the cushioned seating area. Once they were settled and had warmed themselves, Sam and Remi retrieved the Theurang disks and placed them on the coffee table before Karna.

For a full minute, he simply stared at them, eyes agog, and a half smile on his face. Finally he picked up each disk in turn, examining it carefully. He seemed only slightly less impressed by the model.

“Aside from the symbols, it’s almost identical to the genuine article, isn’t it? Your Selma . . . she is quite a woman, I must say.”

Remi gave Sam a sideways glance and smile. Her woman’s intuition had told her there was a bit of spark growing between Selma and Jack. Sam had dismissed the idea. Now he gave her a nod of recognition.

“She’s one of a kind,” Sam said. “So, you think these will work?”

“I have no doubt. To that end, Ajay will be taking us to the caves tomorrow morning. With any luck, by the end of the day we will have found a match. From there, it will simply be a matter of following the map to Shangri-La.”

“Nothing is ever that simple,” Remi said. “Trust us.”

Karna shrugged. “As you say.” He poured them more tea and passed around the plate of scones. “Now, tell me more about Selma’s love of tea and tropical fish.”

They were up before dawn the next morning for a full English breakfast served by Karna’s houseboy: streaky bacon, eggs, black pudding, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, fried bread, sausages, and seemingly bottomless mugs of tea. When they could take no more, Sam and Remi pushed away their plates.

“Is this your regular morning fare?” Remi asked Karna.

“Of course.”

“How do you stay trim?” Sam said.

“Lots of hiking. Not to mention the cold and the altitude. You burn calories at a massive rate here. If I don’t consume at least five thousand a day, I start shedding weight.”

“Perhaps you should start a fitness boot camp,” Remi suggested.

“There’s a thought,” Karna said, standing up. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Right! Ten minutes until departure. Ajay will meet us at the gate!”

True to his word, Karna was ushering them out the door a few minutes later, and soon they were in the Land Cruiser heading southeast toward the foothills. Two miles out of the city, as they topped a crest, the landscape began to change dramatically. The rolling hills steepened, and their outline grew more jagged. The soil slowly morphed from grayish to an olive brown, and what little scrub brush dotted the terrain grew even more sparse. The Land Cruiser began jostling from side to side as Ajay navigated the now boulder-strewn tract. Soon Sam and Remi’s ears began popping.

From the front seat Karna said, “There are two cases of bottled water in the cargo boot. Make sure to stay hydrated. The higher we go, the more fluid you’ll need.”

Sam grabbed two pairs of bottles, handed one to Remi and two to Karna in the front seat, then asked Karna, “How far from the Tibetan border are we?”

“Seven miles or so. Try to remember: along with most of the rest of the world, we may think of it as the Tibetan border, but the Chinese do not. It’s a distinction they zealously enforce. The official name may be the Tibet Autonomous Region, but as far as Beijing is concerned it’s all China. In fact, if you keep a sharp eye out, you’ll begin to see outposts on the ridges. We may even encounter a patrol or two.”

“A patrol?” Sam repeated. “As in, the Chinese Army?”

“Yes. Both ground units and aircraft routinely wander into Mustang, and not by accident. They know Nepal can do nothing but lodge a formal complaint, which means nothing to the Chinese.”

“And what happens if someone strays over their side of the border? A lost trekker, for example.”

“Depends on the place. Between here and the northern tip of Myanmar there are almost two thousand miles of border, much of it over remote and rugged terrain. As for here, on rare occasions the Chinese not so politely shoo wayward souls back across the border, but usually interlopers are arrested. I know of three trekkers in the last year who were snatched up.”

In the driver’s seat, Ajay silently held up four fingers.

Karna said, “I stand corrected: four trekkers. All but one of them was eventually released. Have I got that right, Ajay?”

“Right.”

“Define ‘eventually,’ ” Remi said.

“A year or so. The one they kept has been missing for six years. The Chinese are keen on setting examples, you see. Letting an invader go too early would be bad form. Next thing you know, you’ve got hordes of Western agents disguised as trekkers flooding over the border.”

“Is that how they really see it?” asked Sam.

“Some in the government do. But I suspect it’s mostly for show. There are swaths along China’s southern border that are impossible to cover from the ground, so China is strict on what areas it can control. I have it on good authority”-Karna gave a comical jerk of his head toward Ajay-“that trekkers in northern India frequently slip across the border; in fact, there are tourism companies that specialize in it. Isn’t that right, Ajay?”

“Right, Mr. Karna.”

“Not to worry, Fargos. Ajay and I have been doing this together for years. Our GPS unit is perfectly calibrated, and we know this area intimately. We won’t be stumbling into the clutches of the Chinese Army, I can assure you.”

Another hour’s drive brought them to a gorge hemmed in by cliffs so deeply eroded they looked like tiered rows of massive anthills. Ahead was a castle-like structure that appeared to be partially embedded in the cliff. The ground floor’s outer walls were painted the same burnt red color they’d seen in Lo Monthang, while the upper two stories, stacked upon jutting horizontal beams, were progressively smaller and seemed hewn from the rock itself. Faded prayer flags strung between two of the conical roofs flapped in the breeze.

“Tarl Gompa,” Karna announced.

“We’ve heard that name several times,” Remi said, “but the definition seems . . . indefinable.”

“An accurate way of putting it. In one sense, gompas are fortifications of a sort-outposts for education and spiritual growth. In another sense, they are monasteries; in yet another, military posts. Much depends on the period of history involved and the people occupying the gompa.”

“How many of these are there?”

“In Nepal alone, over a hundred that I know of. Probably triple that number remain undiscovered. If you expand the area to Tibet and Bhutan, there are thousands.”

“Why are we stopping at this one?” asked Sam.

“Mostly out of respect. Wherever there are sacred caves, a council of elders is formed to watch over them. The caves here are not yet well known, and the elders are very protective of them. If we don’t pay the proper respect, we’ll find ourselves staring down the barrels of about a dozen rifles.”

They climbed out of the car. In Nepali, Karna called out toward the gompa, and a few moments later an elderly man in khaki pants and a bright blue parka stepped from the darkened doorway. His face was nut brown and deeply lined. From beneath wiry eyebrows he scrutinized his guests for several seconds before breaking into a wide smile.

“Namaste, Jack!” the man called.

“Namaste, Pushpa. Tapaai laai kasto chha?”

Karnauer walked forward, and the two men embraced and then began talking in low tones. Karna gestured toward Sam and Remi, and they instinctively came forward.