Deshi. John Donohue

and he extended a hand. I reached for it as I sensed the looming presence of the Tycoon.

      “Dr. Burke,” the lama said. “Your teacher has spoken of you. How nice to finally meet you…”

      Real Estate’s Big Man broke in, and his formal prose couldn’t hide the accents of a New Yorker. “An extraordinary event, sir. We are honored by your presence.” He edged closer to Changpa, and the signal was clearly that I should disappear.

      But monks, for all their introspection, are sometimes made of sterner stuff. Changpa smoothly shifted himself a foot to his left and turned so that Yamashita and I were still in his view. Then the bodyguard and Travis Stark appeared on the other side of us, and tried to edge us away as well. Changpa was placid, but not unaware.

      “The room is so crowded, Dr. Burke. I am sorry.” He looked at the two men impassively, but the message was clear. They stepped back slightly, but you could see that they didn’t like it.

      In the small void left by moving bodies, Yamashita and Changpa stood regarding each other. Their eyes were wide and unblinking, dark pools that hinted at depths of knowledge that were simultaneously the same and yet vastly different. Neither man moved a muscle, but stood, content in each other’s presence. It was an odd moment of quiet in the bustle that surrounded us.

      An aide interjected himself. “Rinpoche,” he said, gesturing toward other well-dressed types who were eager to meet the lama, “please…”

      Changpa smiled tightly at us. “Even in little things, we see how tightly we are strapped to life’s wheel. Please excuse me, gentlemen. Until the next time…” He turned to give the new-comers his full attention.

      I thought at the time that the Rinpoche had an odd way of saying good-bye. I had forgotten that this was a man who saw things that had yet to come.

      The bodyguard’s bulk blocked off Changpa and the Real Estate guy. I was a little disappointed that I wouldn’t get to watch the two of them talk. Would Changpa touch the Tycoon? I kept getting mental images of a vampire hissing as contact with a holy object burned his flesh.

      “What are you doing here?” a voice demanded, breaking my reverie. I looked. It was Stark.

      “What are you doing here?” I responded, ever the clever conversationalist and master of the quick comeback.

      He gave me a hard look. “I’m helping with security.”

      “I came to see the Rinpoche.”

      “Andy tells me you gave him a hard time,” Stark accused. His jaw muscles worked dramatically. I suspected he had been watching old Charlton Heston movies.

      “Andy?”

      “Part of my security detail.”

      Ah. The bouncer.

      “He said he couldn’t move you.” Stark looked at me with frank disbelief. The last time we met, I had knocked him down. You could tell he thought it was a fluke. At six-three or -four he had about half a foot on me. So did Andy.

      “I didn’t want to be moved,” I said. “Besides, he was being a pain.”