‘Sharma Sculptures Trading’ looked no different from the stores on either side of it. The shopfront was only short, and the name painted above it was concealed beneath the patina of city grime. But it was open.

‘I won’t be long,’ I told the taxi driver. ‘You stay here?’

He nodded.

I got out, walking the short distance to the store.

Rakesh Sharma was a man of slight build, bespectacled, and bent over the counter as he filed the handle of a small brass bell.

‘Mr. Sharma?’

‘Good morning,’ he nodded, gesturing the shelves around us, ‘I have many exquisite statues—’

‘I can see,’ I nodded. ‘I think you’re expecting me. It’s about a small metal tube from inside a statue of Sangye Menla.’

He stepped back from the counter, frowning.

‘I know it’s not the kind of work you usually do.’

Shaking his head, he reached into his trouser pocket and took out a key.

‘Very bad men. Much pressure.’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘And I’m grateful.’

He unlocked a drawer behind the counter and pulled it open, reaching inside. After a few moments he produced what looked like a rectangular spectacle case. From this he extracted a narrow, weathered, and very ancient-looking metal tube. With some ceremony, he placed it on a square of red, velvet cloth on the counter.

I bent over, staring at it.

The scroll from inside Sangye Menla. The terma composed by Padmasambhava himself. I marveled at how such a small and insignificant looking object, an item most would consider to be worthless rubbish, was the receptacle of such unimaginable treasure.

‘How much do you want for it?’ I asked.

‘For you, one hundred dollars.’

The top end of what Geshe-la had mentioned. No doubt the starting point of anticipated negotiations. But I had no interest in dragging things out. No monetary value could possibly be placed on what this metal roll contained.

I had already put a folded one hundred-dollar bill in my pocket. Taking it out, I handed it to Rakesh Sharma, who inspected it briefly, before slipping it into a tin box on a shelf behind him. Then he lifted a sheet of thin, green tissue paper onto the counter, quickly folded the scroll into a neat parcel, and handed it to me.

I was so absorbed by what he was doing that I hardly noticed the shop darkening. I wasn’t aware of a presence outside the shop window. Until I turned to leave and saw them. Two huge men blocking the door.

Chapter Five

My reaction was instinctive.

I bolted in the opposite direction, through a door leading to the back of the store. It was a heavy, wooden door that locked from the inside. Slamming it shut, I turned the key. I was in a workshop filled with statues in varying stages of completion. Heart pounding, I looked around for an exit. But there were no doors. Not even a window.