A CIA agent, strangled in Tibet ill accordance with company policy, pops up several years later, alive but unaware of global policy shifts. The author of The Churchill Diamonds, etc., lifts his eyes to the Himalayas and Tibet from whence cometh Mr. Harry Morrill and a band of Sherpas, all keen to throw the Chinese out of the country. Harry, until he died, was one of a team of CIA instigators charged with irritating the Chinese as much as possible. Badly crippled in action, Harry was quite properly garroted by his fleeing teammate lest he fall into the hands of the Chinese. But in the Himalayas, you're only as dead as you feel. Revived by a high lama, Harry falls in love with a lovely Tibetan maiden and goes thoroughly native, leading a band of guerrillas against the Chinese who occupy Tibet. In the meantime, Henry Kissinger and Richard Nixon have fiddled with geopolitics, the Chinese have turned out to be not so bad after all, and Harry and his marauding Sherpas have become an embarrassing nuisance. The CIA solution to the trouble with Harry is to convince his wife, a British telly producer, to go to Tibet and persuade the husband she thought was dead to lay off the terrorism and come home. East of Everest she flies, only to find herself and her revitalized hubby in the middle of a plot to restore the Dalai Lama to power. Cardboard characters, leaden narrative, no chills and no thrills. Must be the wrong direction.