The building, with walls of tan stucco and a red-tiled roof, was a duplex, but Tink had reported that the second unit was empty, without any furnishings. After sitting in the darkened street for nearly an hour, Pike muttered impatiently and opened the door of Shan’s car. “I’ll just reconnoiter a bit.”

“There could be a security system,” Shan warned.

“Doubt it. The security of a safe house is based on it being unknown.” The American rummaged in his backpack and extracted a pair of pliers, a screwdriver, a flashlight, and a small flat metal bar. “Just do your job, Constable,” Pike said in a tone meant to preempt any questions. Then he slipped into the shadows.

The woman appeared a quarter-hour later, carrying a shopping bag from the bus stop down the street. Shan waited a few minutes then knocked on the door. He stood to one side so as not to be seen through the window, then planted a foot inside as she opened the door. She gasped as she recognized him and retreated several steps.

“Bastard!” she hissed.

“A pleasant evening,” he observed as he closed the door behind him. “You can smell the flowers in the Dalai Lama’s gardens.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, Constable,” she said when she found her voice. “You should just go. I don’t have to tell anyone that you breached state security. Not yet.”

In contrast to its simple exterior, the house was expensively furnished, in Western style, with a large flat-screen television on one wall and photographs of European cities on another. Shan motioned her to the overstuffed sofa. “State security,” he repeated. “Is that what you call it? Assembling false evidence for the murder by execution of Metok. The murder of Sun Lunshi on the sky train. Demeaning yourself to play the widow of Metok in order to find and destroy the evidence of murder by your handlers. You were their spy among the nuns at Larung Gar, the one who arranged the death of Tara Namdol. So busy. So many faces. How do you keep them all straight?”

She sneered at him. “Huan wanted me to shave my hair off. I said wearing a robe and taking off all my jewelry was as far as I would go. I learned that novices don’t shave until they take their vows, so it worked fine.”

“What an abundance of names you use. Do you even recall your real one?”

The woman’s eyes flared. “Just call me a loyal soldier in the service of her government.”

“Try Kim Nakai,” came an amused voice in English. Pike stepped out of a darkened doorway, holding a badge on a lanyard. “Kim. Sounds Korean,” he added, then fanned three passports in his other hand. “The one in front shows entry into Hong Kong six weeks ago.”