Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 Mildew. Rotting paper. Amy smiled. There was nothing more intoxicating than the aroma of old books. In a small air-conditioned library room in Java, she set down a stack of music books from the library archives. The books were heavy, and they made a comforting thump on her table. Amy's backpack sat in a small puddle on the floor, and a young librarian rushed over with a towel to protect the cloth seats from Amy's wet clothes. She frowned, scolding Amy softly in Indonesian. "Thanks," Amy said. "S-s-sorry." Sheepishly she concentrated on the books, opening the top one first: Glees, Shanties, Fight Songs, Madrigals, and Motets. Just inside the cover was a stamp— the book had been donated by a

local Harvard graduate. As she opened the book, she heard a commotion by the door. The librarian and Nellie were chasing Saladin around the room. Dan skulked behind them. He shrugged at Amy. "Sorrrrry… I took him out for dinner and a cleaning. Now he's frisky." "Got 'im!" Nellie said, snatching Saladin by the collar. As Nellie scooted outside, Amy turned to her brother. "How is Saladin feeling?" "Angry," Dan said. "After the bath, we found an Internet café. I checked a Mau-lovers' listserv? Oops, no red snapper in this area. He had to eat tuna." But Amy didn't hear a word. She was too busy staring at a song title on page 47. Fewer than a hundred miles away, on a highway outside the airport, Bae Oh watched his nephew in the throes of heart failure. "Eccckkkk… Unc… Uncle…" Alistair cried

out. The driver was kneeling over Alistair, urgently talking on a cell phone while trying to hold his nephew still. The officer who had been cuffed to Alistair was fumbling with the keys to the cuffs. "Good grief, men, do something!" Bae shouted. Alistair reached up with trembling hands. He was gagging, his body contorted. Seeing him this way shocked Bae. Alistair had always carried himself with dignity. He had survived deadly explosions and massive collapses with nary a hair out of place. How ironic that his own heart would do him in. And nothing to show for it, Bae thought, but a life frittered away. College, business, and now health—Alistair had failed in everything. If only he hadn't been so soft. So ignorant of the uses of power. So willing to put others first. College is needlessly competitive, Uncle… I want my own business to feed people at reasonable prices, Uncle… By now he could have been something in the Ekaterina branch. Instead of a constant problem. Ah, well, Bae thought, watching the life ebb

from Alistair. Often problems have unexpected solutions. The officer finally unlocked the cuff. As it fell away, Alistair's arm thudded heavily to the roadbed. His head lolled to the side. The officers were dumbfounded. "Mati?" one of them muttered. Dead, Bae translated silently. He steadied himself on the police van. Alistair's eyes were open, staring. Accusing. In repose, he looked like his father. "Gordon…" Bae whispered. Stop. It's not Gordon. It's the boy. Struggling to stand, Bae walked farther into the road's shoulder, away from the noise of traffic. Leaning on his cane, he spoke into his cell. "Hello… I am calling to report the natural death of Alistair Oh…." "AAAAAAAGHHHH!" At the sound of an officer's scream, Bae hurried back toward the car. He stopped short, dropping his phone and his cane. The two officers were flat on the ground,

writhing in pain. Alistair Oh stood between them, brushing himself off. He turned to Bae, nodded cheerfully, then scooped Bae's cane off the ground. "You dropped this, Uncle?" Bae reached out. "But… but you were…" "I may have been expelled from Harvard, but I got an A in acting," Alistair said, flipping open the top of Bae's cane to reveal a collection of small black switches. "My, what have we here?" Bae lurched forward. "No, Alistair, you don't know what you're doing!" "Watch me," Alistair said. He swung the hilt of the cane toward Bae, releasing a black cloud of pepper spray. Bae dropped to the road in a fit of coughing. His leg twisted. He heard a snap below the knee. Pain shot upward from his leg and downward through his lungs, and he felt as if his body were exploding. He screamed, fighting to keep consciousness. Alistair approached, the cane raised. "You look distressed, my dear, compassionate uncle." Breathe. Eyes open. Focus. Bae stared at his

nephew. Alistair had the perfect chance. One rap to the head was all it would take. "AAGHH!" Alistair raised the cane over his head. Bae closed his eyes. He heard a thump on the ground. He felt his hand being pulled upward. His back sliding against the grass. A cuff clanking shut on his wrist. Another on the car door handle. Over the sound of his own shrieking, he was vaguely aware of a distant police siren piercing the air. And his nephew's voice, growing fainter and fainter. Alistair was singing. "I'm with you and you're with me and so we are all together…."