‘It is a form of meditation we call Ta Moo, taught to us by our Shaolin wise man. Using the life force, Chi, we can manipulate our internal functions, overriding our brain’s beta rhythms, redirecting with alpha rhythms. Jacob has raised his body’s internal temperature to compensate for the extreme cold. Now see if you can find your brother’s pulse.’

The dark-haired twin touches his brother’s exposed neck, feeling nothing. Bending down, he presses his half-frozen ear to his brother’s bare chest, Jacob’s flushed skin warming Immanuel’s cheek. ‘There’s no heartbeat. He’s in the nexus, isn’t he?’

‘No. This part of his training prepares him for the nexus. It allows him to communicate with your father.’

‘You taught him this?’

‘Yes, but even my own master was never this skilled. When Jacob remains focused like this, his alpha waves are off the scale.’

Immanuel’s teeth chatter. ‘What about … me?’

‘Let us find out. Remove your robe and sit down in front of your brother.’

Hesitantly, he takes off his top and assumes a lotus position. As if in response, a gust of icy wind blows across the holographic mountaintop, its frigid chill burning into his exposed flesh.

‘Damn!’

‘Ignore the cold and close your eyes. Imagine there are small pipes running through your rib cage. These pipes are red-hot. See the pipes in your mind’s eye. Feel their warmth radiating inside your chest. Feel the heat seep into your arms and legs, into your wrists and ankles, filling your fingers and toes. Breathe slowly through your nose … exhaling softly through your mouth. Each slow breath stokes the hot coals that heat the pipes. Relax into the warmth.’

Immanuel slips into the imagery. The tension in his muscles eases. He is no longer shaking.

‘Good. Very good. Now, I am going to place a sheet over your shoulders. The sheet will feel wet. I want you to focus the heat from the pipes up through your body, into the wet sheet.’

The Tibetan enters the cave. Inside is a wooden barrel, filled with icy water. Reaching inside, he removes a bedsheet, wrings it out, then wraps it around Immanuel’s exposed shoulders.

Manny’s eyes flash open, then close again as he forces himself back into the trance.

‘Focus the heat from the pipes up through your chest and shoulders and back, into the wet sheet. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, each breath stoking the hot coals …’

Immanuel slows his pulse, his breathing all but disappearing. He can feel the burning in his stomach, only this time it is soothing warmth, not the lactic acid he experiences while playing football.

His mind wanders, pushing him deeper through the corridors of darkness, until he hears: