Excerpt from The Secret of Shambhala by James Redfield, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"No . . . thank you," I replied. "I'll wait awhile.

When I looked back toward the man on the sidewalk, he was gone. For a moment I surveyed the area, looking for him. When I finally looked over to my right where the dark-haired man had been sitting, he was gone too.

I got up and asked the man at the table in front of me if he had seen which way the man with the paper had walked. He shook his head and looked away curtly.

For the rest of the afternoon I stayed in my room. The events at the pool were disconcerting. Who was the man telling me about prayer? Was there a synchronicity involved with this information? And why was the attendant staring at me? And where was Wil?

Around dusk, after a long nap, I ventured out again, deciding to walk down the street a few blocks to an outdoor restaurant I heard one of the guests mention.

"Very close. Perfectly safe," the bespectacled concierge told me when I asked him how to get there. "No problem." I walked out of the lobby into the fading light, keeping an eye out for Wil. The street was crowded with people and I pushed my way through. When I arrived at the restaurant, I was given a small corner table next to a four-foot-high wrought-iron fence that separated the dining area from the street. I ate a leisurely dinner and read an English newspaper, keeping the table for more than an hour.

At one point I grew uncomfortable. I felt as though I was being watched again, only I couldn't see anyone looking. I gazed around at the other tables, but no one seemed to be paying me the slightest attention. Standing up, I peered over the fence at the people on the street. Nothing. Struggling to shake the feeling, I paid the check and walked back toward the hotel.

As I neared the entrance, I caught sight of a man at the edge of a row of bushes about twenty feet away to my left. Our eyes met and he took a step toward me. I looked away and was walking past when I realized it was the attendant I had caught looking at me at the pool, only he was now dressed in sneakers and jeans with a plain blue shirt. He appeared to be about thirty, with very serious eyes. I hurried on by.

"Excuse me, sir," he called out.

I continued to walk.

"Please," he said. "I must speak with you."

I moved a few yards farther so that I would be in sight of the doorman and bell staff, then asked, "What is it?"

He moved closer, half bowing. "You are someone I believe I am here to meet. You know Mr. Wilson James?"

"Wil? Yes. Where is he?"

"He is unable to come. He asked me to meet you instead." He offered his hand and I took it reluctantly, telling him my name.

"I am Yin Doloe," he replied.

"Are you an employee here at the hotel?" I asked.

"No, I'm sorry. A friend works here. I borrowed a jacket from him so I could look around. I wanted to see if you were here."

I looked at him closely. My instincts told me he was telling the truth. But why the secrecy? Why didn't he just walk up to me at the pool and ask who I was?

"Why has Wil been delayed?" I asked.

"I am not sure. He asked me to meet you and take you on to Lhasa. His plan, I believe, is to meet us there." I looked away. Things were beginning to feel ominous. I looked him over again, then said, "I'm not sure I want to do that. Why hasn't Wil called me himself?"

"I'm sure there is an important reason," Yin replied, taking a step toward me. "Wil was very insistent that I bring you to him. He needs you."

Yin's eyes were pleading. "Could we leave tomorrow?"

"Let's do this," I said. "Why don't you come inside and we'll have a cup of coffee and talk about the situation?"

He was looking around as though afraid of something. "Please, I'll come back at eight tomorrow morning. Wil has already arranged a flight and visa for you." He smiled, then scurried away before I could protest.

© 1999 by James Redfield. All rights reserved. Published with permission of the publisher, Warner Books.