The Secret of Shambhala: In Search of the Eleventh Insight by James Redfield Page A

blond man came up and pulled around the truck. Next I heard loud talking
     and shouts in Chinese. The vehicle seemed to be backing up as if to try to turn around, but the soldiers swarmed it. Although
     my line of sight was blocked, I could hear angry shouts in Chinese interspersed by fearful pleas in English that carried a
     Dutch accent.
    “No, please,” the voice said. “I’m sorry. I’m a tourist. Look, I have a special license to drive on the road.”
    Another car pulled up. My heart leaped in my chest. It was the same Chinese official I’d seen at the restaurant earlier. I
     slipped farther down in my seat, trying to hide as he walked right past me.
    “Give me your papers!” he asked the Hollander in perfect English.
    As I listened, I noticed something move to my right and peered through the passenger window to see what it was. The driveway
     down toward the house appeared to be bathed in a warm luminous glow, the exact same glow I had witnessed when Yin and I had
     escaped just outside Lhasa. The dakini.
    The Jeep was idling, so all I had to do was pull slowly to the right and down the drive. I was barely breathing as I passed
     the house and drove through the grass to the next street and turned left. A mile farther I turned left again, heading north
     out of town on the side street I had taken earlier. Ten minutes later I was back at the mounds, pondering what to do. Down
     the road to the west, I heard another crow caw. Instantly I decided to head in that direction, the way I could have been traveling
     all along.
    The road led up a steep rise, crested, and then settled into a long straight-away along a rocky plain. I drove for several
     hours as the afternoon light began to fade. There were no cars or people to be seen anywhere and almost no houses. Half an
     hour later it was completely dark, and I was thinking about finding a place to pull over for the night when I noticed a narrow
     gravel drive heading off to my right. I slowed the Jeep and looked more closely. There was something just to the side of the
     driveway. It looked like an item of clothing.
    I stopped the Jeep and shined a flashlight out through the window. It was a parka. My parka. The one I had left in the restaurant
     just before the Chinese had come.
    Smiling, I switched off the light. Yin must have placed my jacket here. I got out of the Jeep, picked it up, and drove up
     the narrow road with the headlights off.
    The drive led about half a mile up a gradual incline to a small house and barn. I drove cautiously. Several goats looked at
     me from across a fence. On the porch of the house, I noticed a man sitting on a stool. I stopped the Jeep and he stood up.
     I knew that silhouette. It was Yin.
    I got out of the Jeep and ran up to him. He met me in a stiff embrace, smiling.
    “I’m glad to see you,” he said. “You see, I said you were being helped.”
    “I was almost caught,” I replied. “How did you get away?”
    A nervousness returned to his face. “The women at the restaurant are very cunning. They saw the Chinese officers and hid me
     in the oven. No one ever looked in there.”
    “What do you think will happen to the women?” I asked.
    He met my eyes but said nothing for a long moment.
    “I do not know,” he replied. “Many people are paying a high price for helping us.”
    He looked away and pointed to the Jeep. “Help me bring in some food and we’ll make something to eat.”
    As Yin made a fire, he explained that after the police had left, he had gone back to his friends’ house and they had suggested
     this old house as a place for him to stay while they looked around for another vehicle.
    “I knew that you might become overwhelmed by fear and try to get back to Lhasa,” Yin added. “But I also knew that if you decided
     to continue on this journey, you would eventually try to head northwest again. This was the only road, so I placed your jacket
     there hoping it would be you who saw it and not the