Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17 When Amy ran away behind the tree, Dan knew she was vomiting. And it didn't gross him out at all, because he was doing the same thing. Alistair had died— inches away from them. Right underneath. He had given them his trust, his money, his advice, his comfort. And finally, his life. It didn't seem real. He should be behind a bush now, brushing himself off, strolling toward them, his pants somehow still crisply pressed. Well, that was an adventure. But all that Dan could see was dust. Dust and tourists and mounds of rubble and the flashing lights of police vehicles. And the feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had been through this before. That his whole life

had been all about loss. That he had vowed never to get close to grown-ups, because it was so painful to lose them. And it had happened again. He was vaguely aware of his sister putting her arm around him. A cop was talking in accented English, but Dan couldn't put together the meaning. "His name is…" Amy was saying. "Was… Alistair Oh." "Age?" the cop said. The word "sixty-four" came out of Dan's mouth. He didn't know how he knew that, but it occurred to him that Alistair would never be sixty-five. That someday he, Dan, would be older than Alistair would ever be. "His clothing?" the policeman pressed, which seemed like a colossally stupid question under the circumstances. "Silk jacket… really nice shirt," Dan said. "Um, he always had these white gloves, too. And like a round-ish hat—" "Bo…" Amy said. Her lip was quivering. "Bo

"Bowler," Dan said quietly. The cop took notes, but Dan knew he couldn't be treating this as a rescue operation. It was recovery. No one could have survived that collapse. As he walked away, murmuring a few words of sympathy, Amy stared out over the wreckage. "Dan…?" she said. "Look…" Off to the right, a small entourage had just arrived. They didn't look like the other hikers and park visitors. Most of them were dressed in navy- blue suits with black sunglasses and black shoes, and their ears were plugged with headsets attached to squiggly cords. In the center was an elderly, thin man with an overcoat draped over his shoulders, a silk ascot tucked into an expensive-looking shirt, and a dark fedora tilted slightly to one side of his head. He moved with a lively step, using a walking stick that was encrusted with jewels. "That's the guy…" Dan said. "The one we saw in Tokyo, outside the subway."

"What's he doing here?" Amy asked. Dan's eyes widened at the sight of someone behind the old man— a person he and Amy were even more familiar with. He had been there at the fire that consumed Grace's house. In Paris and Salzburg. He had never spoken a word, but somehow he was always there. Amy didn't need to be shown. She saw him, too. "The Man in Black…" she muttered, shrinking away. Keeping low to the ground, she and Dan skittered behind a bush. "Can you hear what the old man is saying to him?" Amy asked. Dan stood. He pulled his hood over his head and edged closer, making sure to stay among the ever-growing crowd of gawkers. They were yakking away, too, but as he neared the old man, Dan could see him exchanging bows with the cop who had just spoken to them. But the Man in Black didn't seem interested in talking. He was walking slowly toward the collapsed rock, his back to Dan.

The old man and the cop were talking now, and Dan could hear snatches of conversation, but it was all in Korean. They didn't say much, and the old man seemed angry and impatient. Finally, after some more bows, the cop left. With a sharp gesture to his entourage, indicating they should stay put, the old man began striding alone toward the mysterious black-clad stranger. The two men stood silent, facing the rubble. Dan glanced back at Amy, who had a look of terror on her face, gesturing for him to come back. But the men were turned away, so he moved closer. When the old man spoke up, his words were clear. And in English. "My nephew was in there," he said. The Man in Black moved his head, a slight shift of his mouth registering just a shadow of a reaction— what? Sympathy? Triumph? It was impossible to read. They seemed to be arguing about something, but Dan could not make out the words. Then the old man turned, walking briskly back

to his cohort. He nodded to no one in particular, but they all fell in step beside him. Together, the whole posse walked away from the site in the direction of the park entrance. As Dan slipped back toward Amy, he could see the Man in Black approaching the ruins. As he walked through the rubble, he stopped and leaned down. He seemed to have found something— maybe one of Hideyoshi's relics, Dan thought. Before long, when the rocks were cleared, everyone would know about the treasures. There would be looting, maybe, fights about who the stuff belonged to. All the usual things you saw in the news whenever lots of money was involved. But for now, the whole thing looked like a big pile of rock. And what the Man in Black was pulling up from the debris didn't belong to Hideyoshi at all. When Dan saw what it was, a cry snarled in his throat. It was a bowler hat, crushed and misshapen.