"There's no handle or keyhole," Rominy said.

Jake let his fingers trace the vines sculpted into the door. "Or it's a different kind of lock." He followed them down, a tangle of flowers, to a bas-relief of an anatomically correct carving of a heart. An artery was a tube with an opening like a flower, as thin as a fine vase but firm as steel.

"This is weird," Sam said, his palm to the door. "Do you feel that? This substance kind of tingles."

Rominy put her hand on the door. It seemed to vibrate in response, like a purring kitten. "It almost feels like it's alive," she agreed.

"Which raises the question of just what life is," Jake said. "At what point does matter, allied with energy, become life? Is energy itself life? Do you know our brain's chemistry throws off enough electricity to power a small lightbulb?"

"So talk to it, Barrow. Open, Sesame."

"Wait, I recognize these designs," Rominy said. "This door was drawn in the papers from Hood's satchel. Maybe this is the way into Shambhala. The Closed Door! Why would Benjamin Hood have drawn this?"

Jake nodded and pointed. "Blood lock," he said, pointing to the carving of a heart.

"Blood what?" asked Sam.

"According to my research, the Shambhala of legend devised a means by which doors could be opened only by a specified individual, who was identified by drops of his or her blood. The Germans who came in '38 brought a vial of blood with them for just that purpose. They didn't understand how such a thing could work, but today we know about DNA and how each of us has a unique genetic code. What's interesting is that access could thus become hereditary; a descendant's blood might contain the very same key." He looked at Rominy. "A great-granddaughter, perhaps." He slung off his pack and stooped to put it on the floor, groping inside. His tone had become businesslike. "Which explains, Rominy, why you're really here."

"What do you mean?"

He pulled out a knife and slid the blade clear from its hard scabbard. It was a wicked-looking, twin-edged weapon with an eagle on the handle and twin lightning bolts on the pommel. Some German words were etched onto the blade.

"What the fuck?" said Sam.

"I mean that I hope we found what we've been looking for after all." Jake looked up at the woman he said he loved with a face drained of all expression. "I'm afraid I need your blood."

43.

Shambhala, Tibet September 20, Present Day Are you crazy?" Rominy was looking at the blade with wide eyes. It wasn't a hunting knife, it was a dagger, the kind you used to kill people.

"Let's cool the jets, here, Barrow," Sam said, his hands raised in alarm. "I think you're overdosing on the exotic culture, man."

Jake's face was dead as a zombie, his tone clinical. "And I think we've finally found what we hired you to help us find, Sam." He used the other hand to pull a gun from the backpack and Rominy gasped. "This is only a .22, but I assure you that at this range I have the skill to make it lethal. So you can stand in the corner there and shut up, Mackenzie, or I can shut you up in my own efficient way." He had the remoteness of a lab technician.

Sam took a step back. "Just don't hurt the girl, bro."

"I'm not your brother. But she's the great-granddaughter we've been seeking."

"Why?" It was all Rominy could think to say. The blade looked as big as a sword.

"We won't know until we open it, will we? But someone very, very important thinks some thing that is very, very important was hidden here. Which is why I had to find and seduce you."

"You're going to cut her for a newspaper story, for crying out loud?"

"Are you both stupid enough to think I was really a journalist? I've never been in a newsroom in my life."

Rominy's mind was reeling, her eyes hypnotized by the bright dagger blade. Was everything a lie?

"If I'd allowed you a way to contact the Seattle Times, Rominy, you'd have learned in a minute they'd never heard of me," he said matter-of-factly.

"So you did take the battery from my cell phone."

"I used a magnet to disrupt it first, and removed the battery later. I've appreciated that you've given me the benefit of the doubt, since you've had quite legitimate suspicions. Fortunately, we've been in a bit of a hurry and you've been more resourceful at solving Hood's puzzles than I ever hoped. The Fourth Reich will acknowledge your contribution someday."

"The Fourth Reich?" Sam asked.

"Try, try again." Jake smiled at his little joke.

Their guide was struggling with which question to ask first. "How in hell did you get a pistol in Tibet?" he finally managed.

"By spending four thousand of my girlfriend's dollars. Outrageous markups in the Jokhang, but it's true, with cash enough, you can buy anything. The bullets cost ten dollars a piece. Can you believe that? Bandits."

"So think hard before you shoot one."

"I think very hard about everything I do." He was in a squat, gun in one hand, knife in the other. "Now, hold out your hand, Rominy. It's very sharp, so it really won't hurt."

"What is this really all about?" she asked, all certainty lost, all balance undone. Had it all been an act, even their lovemaking? Had she fallen for some lunatic Nazi? Who, then, was the skinhead in the Cascade Mountains? Once more, nothing seemed to make sense.

"Power." And before she could react he seized her wrist, jerked her to him, and sliced her palm with the SS dagger. Now she saw the words on the blade: Meine Ehre Heist Treue. It stung. Blood ran with alarming quickness from the wound. He stood and kissed her, quickly. "To make it all better." Then he matter-of-factly tucked the dagger in his belt and brought out a tin backpacking cup, catching the flow. She thought she might faint. When the cup was full, like thick burgundy, he brusquely shoved her backward toward Sam and set the cup aside. He reached inside the pack again and pulled out some bandages, throwing them at the guide. "Bind the wound, Mackenzie."

Then, picking up the pistol and keeping a wary eye on them, he went to the door, squatted again, and started pouring Rominy's blood into the carved artery of the heart.

"What are you doing, Barrow?" Sam asked.

"Watch and see. I don't know how much blood it will take, but we'll do it by the cup. Everything is alive, if you look at it the right way. Or rather, life itself is a kind of conceit, an illusion of energy, once you realize all is one."

A glow began to emanate from the rock. There was a clunk, a whir, and a line appeared to divide the solid slab. And then with a grind, it slowly slid apart.

There was a small chamber beyond, blank and featureless. It led nowhere.

"You cut Rominy to find a closet?" Sam asked.

Jake ignored him. Leaning against the back wall was a translucent staff. No light emanated from it but it was a beautifully sensual thing, smooth like colored glass, and its surface had subtle bas-relief of beasts and warriors.

"Heil Hitler," Jake whispered.

"Seriously, dude, this isn't cool. You need help, man."

"On the contrary, Mr. Mackenzie, I'm one of the few sane people on this planet."

"But you lied," Rominy said. "About everything."

"Not everything. I did save you from dying with your car. But I knew it was wired to explode. I did lie about who I am, but I didn't lie about who you are, and taught you more about yourself than you ever knew. I didn't tell you everything about what I was looking for, but I was absolutely sincere in bringing you to Tibet. I needed your DNA, Rominy, and you can feel satisfied you played a role in history."

"There were never any skinheads chasing us on the freeway, were there? You pretended, and shoved my head down, and fired that shot through the window yourself. With that pistol."

"Very good. I used a silencer. How did you know?"

"I found the bullet casing behind the seat."

"Ah. I looked for it several times."

"But you needed the safety deposit box. You needed me for that."

"That, and your blood. You are the correct descendant of the one who apparently sealed this chamber."

"You came for that rod like we talked about on the plane?"

"That rod, or staff, is a necessary first step in reconstituting Shambhala. As you've seen, the original city is quite wet, and even if we did have scuba equipment, I'm sure seventy years of immersion hasn't helped whatever machinery is down there. But science has advanced a great deal since 1938, and some of us are prepared to become Shambhalans ourselves. You have to understand that conventional history is a monstrous distortion of the evolutionary goals of National Socialism. Now we can finish what we started, and when we do, our species will realize its potential."

"Finish the Holocaust?" Sam asked.

"Finish purification, once we regain power. End global warming, stop population growth by the wrong people, and make room for the right. All it takes is organization, discipline, and will."

"Barrow, listen to yourself," Sam groaned. "Hitler couldn't do it with most of Europe under his boot. Germany's gone liberal. It's too late."

"On the contrary, it is finally time. The pair of you can take satisfaction in playing a role in the greatest experiment since the Manhattan Project."

"Jake, please," Rominy pleaded. "This makes no sense. If there was really Vril, wouldn't scientists have found it by now?"

"What's Vril?" Sam asked.

"This fantasy power source. He thinks Shambhala used it. But the city is gone, Jake. Drowned. Hitler lost the war. Please put the gun down."

"The resurrection will begin in the Camelot of the SS, my dear. Beyond that, I think the details are over your head. You already know more than is good for you, or rather me."

"So you're going to kill me?"

"There's one other thing I didn't lie about: I was falling in love with you, even as I used you. You're pretty, you're smart, and you're more than just a good lay."

She was shaking with fear and fury. "What a flatterer you are."

"I'm not comfortable shooting you. Instead, I'm going to have you step inside that chamber there."

"If you shut the door we'll suffocate," Sam said.

"Not if the nuns find you in time. So the answer to your question, Rominy, is no. I'm not a murderer."

But he was crazy. So Rominy lunged.

Her goal was the knife or gun, but her target was simply Jake Barrow, all the lies he'd told and all the manipulations he'd fostered. Her vision had gone red, furious at herself and furious at him, furious for letting herself stay off-balance while this maniac led her like a sheep. The fury consumed her; she didn't know anger and loathing could be so great. So she sprang with rage she didn't know she was capable of, and struck with explosive frustration. Jake pitched back in surprise, one hand on his knife and the other holding the gun, and they both went over, hitting the stone floor hard.

"Get him, Sam!" she screamed. She clawed at Jake's face.

Then the pistol went off, a pop, and she hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

The butt of the gun struck her temple, and her vision blurred.

Meanwhile, Sam Mackenzie was thrown back hard, grunting. "Jesus fuck! He shot me!" He sounded unbelieving.

Barrow twisted and threw Rominy off-he was strong as an animal-and leaped up to kick her in the stomach. She was gutted of wind.

"That was really stupid," he snarled. "Now you've killed your friend."

Curling in agony, she twisted to look. Sam had been shoved by the bullet against the back wall of the chamber and had slid down, his mouth gasping for air. The front of his shirt had a spreading red splotch. Her eyes blurred with tears, a torment of fury, pain, remorse, and helplessness.

Barrow lifted her like a sack of potatoes and pitched her into the little chamber against Sam, who yelped with pain. Then he grabbed the oddly translucent staff and stepped outside.

"Unfortunately for you, your blood doesn't open the chamber from the inside. There's no lock there." He clicked the staff against the edge of the portal and it began to slowly slide shut. He held the pistol on her. "I do care for you, Rominy-I've enjoyed our time together-so I really don't want to shoot you. I think this is better closure."

"Don't trap me here!" she screamed. "I'd rather die!"

"Too late."

The portal slammed shut.

They were locked in total blackness.

44.

Shambhala, Tibet September 20, Present Day Jake Barrow trudged to the top of the stairs-he couldn't trot at this altitude-and pounded on the temple door to be let back into the nunnery. There was no latch on his side. He had enough C4 plastic explosive to blow his way out if necessary, and the pistol to cow the nuns, but the last thing he wanted was a running retreat from a mob of angry Buddhist women. A massacre would make it hard to escape Tibet. He had what he'd come for, and with Shambhala swamped there could be no more investigation until The Fellowship triumphed. Best now to slip quietly away to the Land Cruiser and head to Germany.

He waited impatiently for what seemed like an eon but was probably only a minute, and then there was a clank, a squeal, and the door creaked open. Even the dim light of the temple seemed bright after the gloom of the descending stairway.

"Mr. Barrow." Amrita bowed. "Did you find what you hoped?"

"I think so, but there's been an accident, sister." He was a good actor, and trusted that his face showed appropriate concern. "Rominy and Sam are trying to open some kind of door, but Sam's hurt. Rominy is looking after him while I fetch our first-aid kit from the Land Cruiser. Are there some young nuns you could send to help?"

Amrita's eyes fixed on the staff. "You found your desire."

"Yes. But Sam is more important."

"Perhaps we could use your new rod to help make a litter?"

"I'm afraid the ancient glass might break."