Iced!: The 2007 Journal of Nick Fitzmorgan (7 page)

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.

“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.