They wouldn't like it in London.

Executive in immediate contact with opposition and fully compromised.

It's the way they say things on the signal boards, and I suppose it works, as a kind of shorthand. They wouldn't know, of course, for a while; they'd have to wait until I'd surfaced and reported my new position to Pepperidge, or had not of course reported at all, because of the bone-white-beaks thing they so charmingly call sky-burial.

How does it feel to have the left eye plucked from the socket and carried aloft, and then the right, carried aloft by those great black wings and digested in the airy pathways of their going, the eyes and the tongue and the genitals and then the whole thing buried in the sky with only the skeleton left down there, grinning at its fate, how does it feel? But we must not be morbid, we must keep on walking, keep up a steady pace and not bump into any monks, they're everywhere, there must surely be redemption for this doomed spook in a place so holy, turning to the right, into an alleyway, the man in black leather, and I followed him.

The sun beat down from a brazen sky and the smells from an apothecary's stall were rich and strange as I passed through them; they grind the bones of tigers here, and bottle the ashes of snakes and sea horses, a different smell, you will acknowledge, than your good old milk of magnesia.

I walked into the alleyway and in a moment they followed, the others, but simply kept station, not crowding me, and I felt pleased, as well as frightened, horribly frightened, pleased that even though I might never get out of this alive at least I had decided to make a final effort and get in their way, not for his sake, Xingyu's, not for the future of the Chinese people or the stock market in Hong Kong but of course from pride, the stinking pride of the professional, that and vanity, the constant itch to take on dangerous things to prove not that I can do them but won't die in the doing, that personal and very special game of hide-and-seek you play in the shadows, so that when the grim reaper comes you can take him by surprise and with his own dread scythe cut him asunder.

There were stray dogs here in the alley, mangy and hollow-flanked, their eyes milky, and one of them, dirty white with brown patches, backed off from me as I went down on my knees and stayed like that for a moment and then fell prostrate like the monks I'd seen, the dog coming close now and sniffing at me as I wondered if I was facing the east as I should be, prone on the ground like this.

Chapter 22: Mad

Naked, she was more slender than I'd imagined.

It had been the clothes she'd worn, thick and padded against the cold, that had made her look almost dumpy, in spite of her small face. Sitting like this in the soft light of the lamp she had the stillness of an ivory figurine, one arm resting across her raised knee, her dark eyes watching me and her mouth pensive, her throat shadowed, flawless, a tuft of silken black hair curling from her armpit, her small breasts high on her chest, their nipples erect in the centre of their large ochre-coloured aureoles. She hadn't spoken since we'd come in here.

For a time I just let my eyes take in the beauty of her face, her body, and then I began feeling restless because it wasn't enough, and I put my hand on her sharp, delicate shoulder blade and she came against me at once, but I couldn't see her so clearly now because they'd taken one of my eyes, the shadows of their great wings falling across her body, and then I was sightless, and my tongue flared and they began tearing at my genitals and I think I called out, though there wasn't any pain, just a feeling of surprise that I knew what it was like now, to be buried in the sky.

'Ta kuai xingle.'

Indefinable scents in the air, and coloured lights drifting against the walls, casting rainbows across the huge gold man.

'Yao wo qu jao ta ma?'

No, coloured lights not drifting anywhere, it was when I'd turned my head; the lights weren't moving.

'Shi.'

The huge gold man sat very still. I'd seen one as big as this before, in the monastery. They were all over the place, all sizes.

'Water.'

I heard sandals scuffing across the floor, opened my eyes again — the lids had closed without my knowing it — saw the head and shoulders of a man going through a doorway, I must be lying on my back.

'Here.'

A face near me, creased into fine lines, a dark mole on the temple just above the eye, reflections throwing light across it, reflections from the glass of water.

A stray thought, quick as a spark — he'd known I would be thirsty: the water had been here. He wasn't the man who'd gone through the arched doorway.

'Thank you.'

'Drink.'

Yes, thirsty.

'Where's the dog?'

He frowned, shaking his head, tugging his robes tighter around his thin body. Perhaps he didn't know about the dog, the dirty white one with the brown patch.

'Feel pain?'

'What? No.' I finished the water and he took the glass away, putting it down on something hard, perhaps marble: this was a temple, and the coloured light came from a window high in the arched roof.

No pain, but felt heavy, weighed down, when I moved, when I tried to sit up, couldn't manage it.

Someone was coming.

Tried again to sit up and the big man came across the room and got me gently by the arms and gave a heave- 'Let me help you, my dear fellow.'

White teeth in a thick black beard, dark intelligent eyes, couldn't think of his name for the moment, things a bit hazy still, sitting on the ledge now, a kind of plinth where they'd kept altar bowls and prayer wheels, they'd been moved onto the floor to make room for the blankets, for me, this was a temple, got it now, Trotter, yes.

'Oh,' I said, 'hello.'

'This is Dr Chen.' Trotter turned to him. 'What do you think, Doctor?'

'He is all right soon. Is the altitude sickness, that is all.'

'There you are,' Trotter said, 'nothing to worry about, rest up a bit, right as rain.' He looked around and brought a teakwood stool over and sat on it facing me. 'But tell me how you feel.'

Tone hearty, voice coming from a barrel. I'd noticed how strong he'd felt when he pulled me upright, formidably strong.

'I feel,' I said, 'like anyone else would feel when someone's drugged his fucking tea.'

I'd meant to follow them to their base so that I'd know where it was, but this place could be anywhere; there were a thousand temples like this one all over Lhasa.

Trotter said, 'Sorry about that, yes.' His tone had changed, dropping the false bonhomie. 'Time was of the essence, you understand. I needed you here.'

The coloured light was fading now; dusk would soon be down. I'd been out cold for five or six hours: we were running it terribly close. All I could hear were distant sounds, some dogs fighting, the chanting of monks, the rumble of a cart, prayer bells, no modern traffic, no trucks. This temple was on the outskirts of town.

'I see.' I tilted forward and got onto my feet, nearly fell but he caught me, used some kind of cologne. We stood like that for a bit, dancing in a sinister way, sinister because this man was so strong and even if I'd been in good condition I wasn't sure I could have reached his nerves before he threw me against the wall.

'Take it easy,' he said, and when he thought I could stand on my own he took his hands away. 'Doing rather well.'

Stray shred of incoming data: he wanted me on my feet, not sitting down anymore.

'Thank you,' I said. Jumping to conclusions could be misleading, possibly dangerous. He'd probably killed Bian, the monk, or had him killed, but that didn't make him a barbarian, in this trade. If I got a chance of playing him I might do well to play him like an English gentleman, in deep with some kind of spook faction; he didn't seem deranged but he could be neurotic, psychotic, a latter-day Philby, and he was certainly running a professional cell.