“I’m not sure exactly, but, if I had to guess, I would say he was a bodhisattva-an enlightened person.”

Sam was nodding as he checked his e-mail. “Got it. Professor Kaalrami’s son came through.”

He and Remi walked to a nearby tree to get out of the setting sun. Sam called up the pictures, five in all, and scrolled through them. While they had been digitized well enough, the photos had that old Polaroid feel: slightly washed out, the colors a bit unnatural. The first four photos were of young Lewis King and Adala Kaalrami, each reclining or sitting on a blanket, plates and glasses and picnic supplies laid out around them.

“None of them together,” Remi remarked.

“No timer,” Sam replied.

The fifth photo was of Lewis King, this time standing, facing the camera in three-quarters profile. On his back was an old frame-style backpack.

They studied the photos a second time. Sam exhaled heavily and said, “Shouldn’t have gotten our hopes up.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Remi said, leaning closer to the iPhone’s screen. “You see what he’s holding in his right hand?”

“An ice ax.”

“No, look closer.”

Sam did so. “A caver’s ax.”

“And look at what’s clipped to his back, to the left of his sleeping bag. You can just make out the curve of it.”

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the screen. A smile spread on his face. “I don’t know how I missed that. I’ll be damned. It’s a hard hat.”

Remi nodded. “Equipped with a headlamp. Lewis King was going spelunking.”

Not knowing for sure what they were looking for but hoping they were correct, they took only ten minutes to find it. Near the opposite shore’s bridgehead was a roofed, open-fronted kiosk with wooden slots containing informational brochures. They found a recreational map of the gorge and scanned the numbered dots and description labels.

A mile upriver from the bridge, on the northern bank, was a dot labeled “Chobar Caves. Closed to the Public. No Unauthorized Access.”

“It’s a long shot,” Remi said. “For all we know, Lewis was headed into the mountains and Frank was simply lost.”

“Long shots are what we do,” Sam reminded his wife. “Besides, it’s either this or we spend another day with Russell and Marjorie.”

This did the trick. Remi said, “What are the odds Kathmandu has an REI outlet?”

As expected, the odds were nil, but they did find a Nepalese Army surplus shop a few blocks west of Durbar Square. The equipment they purchased was far from modern but of decent quality. While neither of them was remotely convinced an exploration of the Chobar Caves would further their cause, it felt good to be taking action. This had become one of their mottos: when it doubt, do something. Anything.

Shortly before seven they pulled back into the Hyatt’s parking lot. As Sam climbed out he spotted Russell and Marjorie standing beneath the turnaround awning.

Sam muttered, “Bandits at three o’clock.”

“Oh, yuk.”

“Don’t open the tailgate. They’ll want to go with us.”

Russell and Marjorie jogged over to them. “Hey,” Russell said, “we were getting worried about you. We came by to see how you were doing, and the concierge said you’d rented a car and left.”

Marjorie asked, “Everything okay?”

“We were mugged twice,” Remi replied, deadpan.

“And I think I was tricked into marrying a goat,” Sam added.

After a few seconds, the King children broke into smiles. “Oh, you’re kidding,” Russell said. “We get it. Seriously, though, you shouldn’t wander off-”

Sam cut him off. “Russell, Marjorie, I want you to listen to me. Do I have your attention?”

He got two nods in return.

“Between the two of us, Remi and I have traveled in more countries than either of you can probably name-combined. We appreciate your help, and your . . . enthusiasm, but from this point on, we’ll call you if we need you. Otherwise, leave us alone and let us do what we came here to do.”

Mouths hanging half open, Russell and Marjorie King stared at him. They glanced at Remi, who simply shrugged. “What he says, he means.”

“Are we clear?” Sam asked them.

“Well, yes, sir, but our father asked us-”

“That’s your problem to solve. If your father wants to talk to us, he knows how to reach us. Any more questions?”

“I don’t like this,” Russell said.

Marjorie added, “We’re just trying to help.”

“And we’ve thanked you. Now you’re testing our limits of politeness. Why don’t you two run along. We’ll call if we get into trouble we can’t handle.”

After a few moments’ hesitation, the King children turned and walked back to their Mercedes. They pulled out and slowly passed Sam and Remi, staring hard at them through Russell’s rolled-down window before accelerating away.

“If looks could kill,” Remi said.

Sam nodded. “I think we may have just seen the true faces of the King twins.”

7

CHOBAR GORGE, NEPAL

They set out shortly before four the next morning, hoping to arrive at the gorge before sunrise. While they had no idea how strictly the Chobar Caves’ no-trespassing rule was enforced-or whether the area was even patrolled by the police-they didn’t want to take any chances.

At five, they pulled into Manjushree Park and found a spot under a tree not visible from the main road. Headlights off, they sat in silence for two minutes, listening to the tick-tick-tick of the Nissan’s engine cooling down, before climbing out, opening the tailgate, and gathering their gear.

“Did you really expect them to tail us?” Remi asked, settling her pack over her shoulders.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. My gut tells me they’re bad to the core, and I know without a doubt King didn’t ask them to help us. He ordered them to keep an eye on us.”

“I agree. Hopefully, your heart-to-heart with them will do the trick.”

“Bad bet,” Sam said, and slammed the tailgate.

Led by the glow of the rising sun, they walked down to the bridgehead. As advertised on their map, twenty yards to the east of the bridge, behind a copse of bamboo, they found the trail. With Sam in the lead, they headed upriver.

The first quarter mile was an easy hike, the path three feet wide and covered in well-groomed gravel, but this soon changed as the grade steepened. The trail narrowed and began going through a series of switchbacks. The foliage closed in, forming a partial canopy over their heads. To their right and below, they could hear the river gurgling softly.

They reached a fork. To the left, the trail headed due east, away from the river; to the right, down toward the river. They paused only a few moments to double-check their map and Sam’s iPhone compass, then took the right-hand path. After another five minutes of walking, they came to a forty-five-degree slope into which rough steps had been cut. At the bottom, they found themselves facing not a trail but a rickety suspension bridge, its left side affixed to the cliff by lag bolts. Vines had overrun the bridge, so tightly twisted around the supports and wires that the structure looked half man-made, half organic.

“I have the distinct feeling that we’re looking down the rabbit hole,” Remi murmured.

“Come on,” Sam said. “It’s quaint.”

“With you, I’ve come to equate that word with ‘hazardous.’”

“I’m crushed.”

“Can you see how far it goes?”

“No. Keep ahold of the cliff side. If the span goes, the vines will probably hold.”

“Another lovely word, ‘probably.’”

Sam took a step forward, slowly shifting his weight onto the first plank. Aside from a slight creaking, the wood held firm. He took another cautious step, then another, and another, until he’d covered ten feet.

“So far, so good,” he called over his shoulder.

“On my way.”

The bridge turned out to be a mere hundred feet long. On the other side the trail continued, spiraling first down the slope, then up. Ahead, the trees began thinning out.