Iced!: The 2007 Journal of Nick Fitzmorgan Page 4

  The camera!

  Suddenly, the lyrics in that goofy song my dad had recorded on the MP3 player made sense. I told Maura how my dad used the words “shutter,” “bug,” and “develop” in his song.

  “Everything has been leading up to that,” I said, thinking out loud. “The key must lie with the camera.”

  Maura looked doubtful. “The camera shouldn’t be here, Nick. It was never found.”

  “That’s right!” I agreed. “It was lost somewhere toward the top of Mount Everest. If Mallory climbed to the summit, he might have taken a picture of himself there. In other words, the film in the camera might show whether Mallory was the first person to make it to the top of Everest It could solve the Mallory mystery once and for all.”

  SHUTTERBUG MAGAZINE

  THE VEST POCKET MODEL B was introduced by Kodak in 1924. This pocket-sized folding camera may have looked just like larger folding cameras—except for its size and that it used little rolls of film that could make tiny 1 5/8–inch by 2 1/2–inch exposures. The original Vest Pocket Camera was popular with soldiers during World War I and cost about six dollars. The Model B had a new “autographic” feature that allowed users to slide open a little window and write information like the time and date through backing paper directly onto the film.

  As I spoke, I realized what I’d have to do to find my dad. But how would I ever reach my destination, which was halfway around the world?

  Aha! I looked at Maura.

  She held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say. And it’s crazy.”

  “You were here when we put the clues together. I think my dad has been kidnapped because of that camera, and I think he’s telling me that he’s with the camera or heading toward it. He left the clues because he wants me to come and help him.” I could see that Maura wasn’t buying this. Trying to sound as commanding as possible, I said, “Judge Pinkerton told you to take me to my father.”

  “Yes, she did, Nick,” she replied with a cocked eyebrow. “But I don’t think she ever dreamed that meant taking you to another hemisphere. Do you?”

  I shrugged. “Let’s call her and see what she says.”

  “You and I both know that’s she going to be out of touch for the next few days,” Maura said. “But I’ll give it a shot.”

  I watched as she tried a series of different numbers on her cell phone. Finally, she snapped it shut. “I can’t get through to any of her numbers.”

  “You really don’t need to,” I said. “I’m telling you, Judge would want you to take me to my dad.”

  Maura was shaking her head. Still no sale. “What about a family member or friend you can trust?” she asked.

  I thought about my godfather, Benny, and about my cousin, Helen Moorie. Could they help me? But then I quickly dismissed those options.

  “Why didn’t my dad call anyone else for help?” I asked. “There must be a reason why he left such a complicated series of clues that only I could follow. It’s clear that my dad wanted me to piece them together on my own.”

  With Maura’s face still stony, I decided to try a different approach to getting what I wanted. I said, “‘To refuse the adventure is to run the risk of drying up like a pea in its shell.’”

  Rolling her eyes, Maura asked, “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  “It’s something that George Mallory once said.”

  “You know, I think you’re confusing adventure with madness,” Maura proclaimed. Clearly, quoting famous people wasn’t going to convince her, either.

  “Look,” I said, “Judge told you not to trust the police just now. Right?”

  Reluctantly, Maura nodded. “That’s true …” Something in her eyes softened.

  “So who else can I turn to?” I asked. “You have a plane, I have my passport …”

  GEORGE MALLORY

  Once again, she shook her head. “Let’s just wait—”

  “But while we’re waiting, my dad could be in danger!” I exclaimed.

  “But you’re asking me to fly you out of the country. …” Maura’s eyes looked away for a moment. “I’d have to file a flight plan—No! This is crazy! We’re not even sure where your dad is.”

  She had snapped back from it, but she’d begun talking about the trip as if it were a real possibility. I would have to somehow seal the deal. I remembered something Judge had said to me as I was leaving PDA. “Judge told me we have something in common,” I said. “What is it?”

  Maura just looked at me. “I don’t know what she meant.”

  Inspiration struck. “Did something happen to your parents, too?” I asked. “Like with my biological parents?”

  Pain flashed across her face, and I could see that I had struck a nerve. Suddenly, I felt really guilty. I didn’t want to use something painful to get my way. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly and backed off.

  MAURA FINALLY GAVE IN!

  I didn’t say anything else. Sometimes the best thing you can do as a detective is just shut your mouth.

  Maura’s lips were set in a firm line. She stared back at me. “Drying up like a pea in its shell, huh?” she said, almost to herself.

  A few more moments passed in silence.

  Finally, Maura threw up her hands. “But the camera is on Mount Everest!” she shouted.

  I smiled. I knew she was in.

  “Then you’d better pack a winter coat,” I said.

  IN MY DREAM, JUDGE WARNED ME ABOUT TRUSTING PEOPLE.

  June 5, 2007

  2:15 AM

  “You have to be careful, Nick,” Judge whispered. She was leaning on her driftwood cane; and we were standing near the door in her darkened office at PDA. Moonlight slanted through the window Hinds and a lamp on her desk cast an eerie circle of light.

  I had the sinking feeling that something awful was about to happen … or had already happened.

  But I was so happy to see Judge. “We’ve been trying to reach you,” I told her. For some reason I was whispering, too. “Is everything okay?”

  Judge glanced over my shoulder. Smiling, she put a hand on my arm and tried to soothe me. “You’ll be fine, as long as you follow my advice.”

  My head was spinning and I couldn’t remember what she had told me.

  “Relax, Nick,” she said gently. “I just advised you to be careful about whom you trust.”

  “Okay—”

  ”Especially that person.” Judge’s blue eyes flicked once again to the space behind me. I turned to follow her gaze. There was nothing but an open door and beyond that … darkness.

  I glanced back to ask Judge what she meant—but she was gone!

  “Judge?” I whispered, my stomach clenching in panic. The office was empty. Judge had vanished.

  A scratching noise brought my attention back to the doorway.

  A dark, menacing figure was detaching itself from the shadows outside. I couldn’t make out who it was—but he or she seemed familiar somehow. The —figure was coming through the door. And just from the way it moved, I knew that I was in danger.

  Terror struck me, but I forced myself to remain still. I needed to see the identity of the person that Judge was warning me about.

  Hands emerged from the darkness and before I could turn to run—they were suddenly shaking me.

  I woke up from the dream with a start. I found myself looking into Maura’s icy green eyes.

  “You were having a nightmare, Nick,” she said matter-of-factly, removing her hand from my shoulder “I thought it best to wake you up.”

  The shadows of the dreams slipped away. In a flash, I remembered that I was sitting in the copilot’s seat of the Learjet. I rubbed drool from the side of my mouth. Maura, who sat in the pilot’s seat, turned back to the controls of the plane. They were a dizzying array of blinking lights, spinning dials, and electronic readouts. If the controls were this complicated on a small jet, I wondered what they must look like on a 747.

  But the blinking lights didn’t hold my interest for long.
I was too busty looking at Maura.

  Dad always said I should follow my instincts. Had the dream been my subconscious telling me to beware? Was Maura someone who shouldn’t be trusted?

  As if sensing my inner struggle, Maura turned again and cocked an eyebrow at me. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” I replied, pushing aside my growing suspicions. This was silly. Maura wasn’t the bad guy. “I guess I’m just tired,” I told her. “Traveling for two days will do that. Any luck reaching Judge Pinkerton while I slept?”

  Maura shook her head. “No, and I’ve been trying constantly.”

  Disappointed, I asked, “Where are we now?”

  “Over the Khumbu Valley in Nepal,” she answered. “We’re approaching the airstrip in the village of Lukla.”

  THE HIMALAYAS WERE AMAZING!

  I was glad Maura had woken me up. The views outside the window were spectacular. Beneath a sky more blue than I ever imagined, the Himalayas spread out like giant, natural skyscrapers made of rock, ice, and snow. Because they were so high above sea level, the peaks of the mountains were shrouded in drifting white clouds.

  Two days ago, we had flown from Los Angeles to Kathmandu. There we spent a day wrangling permission from Nepal’s government to fly into the mountains. Now we were approaching Lukla. The small village had the closest airstrip to Mount Everest that could accommodate the landing of a Learjet.

  Below us, the Khumbu Valley spread out in all its splendor. Green fields bordered by glistening streams gave way to the gray rocks of the mountains. The valley was the gateway to the southern approach to Mount Everest

  Maura and I had discussed earlier that in 1953 when Sir Edmund Hillary made the trip from Kathmandu to Lukla, it had taken him three weeks. According to the Nepali guidebook I had printed from the Internet before we left, Hillary had had to travel on foot and deal with five-inch-long bloodsucking leeches dropping from the trees. Tine trip by plane was only two hours.

  “Prepare for landing,” Maura said, breaking into my thoughts.

  “What?” I asked, startled. I was still looking out the window. All I saw were mountains and more mountains. “Where are you going to land?”

  “The airstrip.” She pointed down.

  THE LUKLA AIRSTRIP IS REALLY SHORT!

  I squinted and finally spotted a sliver of pavement perched precariously on the side of a mountain. A tiny village, which must be Lukla, butted up against the strip.

  I think someone forgot to tell whoever built the strip that planes, not gnats, were going to land here.

  As we descended, I could see a group of villagers gathered halfway up the mountain. They were pointing at us, clearly watching our approach—almost as if they expected us to crash.

  Looking back at the impossibly small airstrip, I expected the same thing.

  “This is crazy!” I shouted.

  But Maura remained calm. The comers of her mouth twitched. “I bet those bloodsucking leeches are sounding pretty good right now,” she said, the closest thing to a joke I’d ever heard her say.

  I couldn’t laugh. The nightmare I’d had earlier was nothing compared to the terror of this!

  The plane went almost completely vertical for a moment, and I was looking straight down. Swirling air created by the nearby mountains slammed into us. My head bumped up against the ceiling. I pulled the strap of my seat belt more tightly around me and held on.

  Maura leveled out the plane at the last second. I was impressed not only with myself for keeping my eyes open the entire time, but also with Maura for the way she managed to bring the plane down safely and relatively smoothly.

  “Wow,” was all I could manage to say as the plane came to a halt near a small building that I guess served as the terminal.

  We unbuckled our seat belts and climbed out of the plane. Maura looked as relaxed as if she made this kind of landing every day, but my feet had never been happier to be on solid ground. The air was crisp and pure and was a pleasant 60 decrees or so. At this altitude, I knew the oxygen levels in the air would be much lower than I was used to.

  Some people can develop altitude sickness or hypoxia. This sickness can get really bad. In fact, it can lead to hallucinations and messed-up decisions. Thanks to the last three weeks of training in the mountains around PDA, I thought I had a head start on getting acclimated, or used to, the higher altitudes.

  Maura said we should wait by the plane. A tall, dark-haired man wearing a gray business suit was already walking across the tarmac toward us. Two armed soldiers strode behind him.

  “That must be the government official. Give me your passport and let me handle this,” Maura said quietly to me.

  OUR GREETERS AT THE AIRSRIP

  “No problem,” I replied, happy to avoid dealing with the gun-toting soldiers. “I’ll get our bags and wait for you over by the terminal.”

  I grabbed our two backpacks and made my way over to the small building. My head had started buzzing, and I felt the twinges of nausea in my gut.

  Telling myself to stop being such a baby, I watched as Maura shook hands with the dark-haired man. She handed him our passports. I heard a few words, including Judge Pinkerton’s name. At the mention of her, the man smiled and the soldiers backed off slightly. Obviously, even here, Judge’s name carries some weight.

  Then the wind picked up, and I couldn’t hear anything else.

  Luckily, I can read lips.

  I saw the dark-haired man say the words: “A private plane landed here yesterday.”

  Maura glanced over at me quickly and then turned away. She indicated that the man should do so as well. They both had their backs to me, and I couldn’t hear or see any more of their conversation.

  After a moment, Maura and the man shook hands. I saw her tell him that we would be back for the plane within a week. The man smiled, and I could see him say, “No problem. No problem.”

  The man told the soldiers they could go, and Maura led the man over toward me. He asked if I was bringing any food or dangerous substances into the village. When I answered no, he handed our passports back to us and told us to have a nice day.

  I saw him give Maura a look. A silent communication seemed to pass between them.

  Or was I just imagining things?

  My head was really starting to pound now. Maura and I slung our packs over our shoulders and headed through the terminal. I was bursting with questions. Had the official seen my dad? Had he been on the plane that landed yesterday? But Maura held a finger to her lips and said, “Let’s wait to talk.”

  We made our way into the village, which cascaded down the side of the mountain at seemingly impossible angles. The hard-packed dirt road twisted and turned through the various one-story buildings. The window frames and doorframes of the wood houses, inns, and businesses were painted in cobalt blue or other bright colors. Villagers bustled about, some carrying goods to trade, others shopping. There were women with bright purple and red shawls wrapped loosely around their heads and some of the men wore “dokos,” a kind of backpack. The tourists were easy to spot—because of the way they were dressed and the cameras most of them had slung around their necks.

  LUKLA VILLAGERS

  But the buzzing in my head was growing louder. And I was having a tough time concentrating on anything, let alone the pleasant postcard setting.

  “you have to tell me,” I demanded impatiently. “Did you ask that man if he’d seen my dad?”

  Maura stopped walking, seeming surprised by my urgency. “The official told me that no other private planes have landed here in the last day.”

  “What?” I stammered. That isn’t what he had said … or maybe I had misread his lips. “Are you sure?”

  “I was standing right next to him. So, yes, I’m sure.”

  The involuntary twitch of the corners of her eyes and the quick jerking movement in her shoulders told me all I needed to know.

  She was lying!

  I was too stunned to speak. Had my dream been an accurate warn
ing after all? Had I just flown to a distant country with someone whom it was dangerous to trust? But why would Judge have sent Maura to help me if she wasn’t trustworthy? Had Maura actually managed to fool her?

  If only my head would stop ringing, maybe I could piece it all together. But I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. …

  “Can I see your guidebook?” Maura asked, apparently oblivious to my inner doubts. Without a word, I handed her the book. She flipped to the map and studied it for a second. Then she looked at me. “You seem tired. Should we bunk here in the village tonight?”

  “No,” I said absently. “Our plan is to catch up to my dad before he reaches Mount Everest. And we won’t do that if we go to sleep.”

  “Okay. You’re right. There’s still plenty of daylight. I think we can make our way to Phakding. We’ll be that much closer to Everest the next day.”

  Maura and I headed west, and the road took us out of the village and soon became a wide dirt path, which dropped steeply. Then the trail turned north and descended once again to a village called Thado Kosi Gaon. We hiked through an enormous green field. I was surprised by all the tall grass and yellow wildflowers. I always Imagined the area around Everest would be rocky and snow-covered.

  My head now felt like it had been stuffed with a pillow full of angry bees. But I was able to come to a decision: I would pretend that everything was fine between Maura and me until I had a chance to act.

  We crossed over the Dudh Kosi river on a rickety wood bridge and twenty minutes later, we reached Phakding. The sun was going down as we entered the small village. Two men walked by, leading a large yak.

  Now’s my chance, I thought.

  I acted as if I’d stumbled on a loose rock on the road. I fell against the yak. It smelted horrible! With my hand hidden from view, I quickly plucked several hairs out of the beast.