‘Moving?’ I blinked.

Flicking briskly through the cards, he found the one he was looking for, took it from the box and was copying details onto a slip of paper using an ancient fountain pen.

‘I don’t hold out much hope from a police investigation,’ he spoke evenly as he continued writing. ‘So we’ll have to do this on our own.’

‘Do we even have a hope—’

‘Self-reliance!’ he shot me a glance, expression severe. ‘It’s your job, your purpose, on behalf of many living beings. This is no time to go soft! Tiger’s Nest is where the statue belongs. The hermitage is where the terma must be revealed—nowhere else on earth!’

In the past, Lama Tsering had hinted that the terma – treasure – may be revealed in the hermitage, an extraordinary place kept secret throughout the whole of Tiger’s Nest’s existence. This was the first time I’d been told of the plan directly.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’’ I shrugged. Having just emerged from a three-month retreat, the idea of chasing after the two Khampas was overwhelming.

‘Kathmandu,’ Abbot Lhamo was firm. ‘The regional hub. Everything goes through there, especially—’ he held my eyes. ‘Stolen antiquities. You’ll have to use your initiative. I also have one lead from a while back. A well-connected gentleman.’

He gestured me to approach.

‘Go down the mountain with Sangay tomorrow at first light. There’s an afternoon flight from Paro to Kathmandu.’

With a firm flourish he applied a rolling ink blotter to the paper on which he’d just been writing. He passed it to me.

Looking down, I read the name next to a phone number. ‘Grayson Dalberg?!’ I was incredulous.

•••

‘Mr. Dalberg is, how can I say … a little eccentric? Controversial. But he knows much more about the trade in Buddhist statues than anyone else in the world.’ Abbot Lhamo pushed back from his desk.

‘You are referring me to him, even though ...?’ I could hardly believe what he was suggesting.

The abbot pushed the chair back from his desk, slowly stood, and drew himself up, meeting my eyes forcefully. ‘If anyone can help us find and return the statue of Sangye Menla to its rightful place—’ the abbot spoke with the authority of his office, ‘—it is he.’

Chapter Three

Next day

Paro Airport

The airport was busy by the time we arrived, mid-afternoon. Heavy rain had interrupted our descent from Tiger’s Nest. Damp and weary, it felt like a victory just to reach the front of the line at the Druk Air booking office and get one of the last seats on the small aircraft. As I was paying, Sangay went to find a store that sold pre-paid SIM cards and got my cell phone operating again after years of disuse.

As soon as I said goodbye to Sangay and went through security, I took the phone from my pocket. I’d had plenty of time to reflect on Abbot Lhamo’s instructions the night before. Waiting with the rest of the passengers at the departure gate, I had a call list of three.