We moved from panel to panel, studying the quotes and the faces captured in black-and-white. “Through our scientific genius, we have made this world a neighborhood; now, through our moral and spiritual development, we must make of it a brotherhood,” read one panel. “I would rather die in abject poverty with my convictions than live in inordinate riches with the lack of self-respect,” read another. “When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered,” read a third.

“The guy had a way with words,” said Peter in admiration.

“But I have a feeling he wasn’t much in demand as a speaker at his local Young Republicans club,” I said.

“Or at his local Old Republicans club,” said Peter.

“I wonder what Iggie would make of all this?” I asked, still trying to figure out if we were in the right place and if the reason we were here had anything to do with Hilary. It was better than thinking about Peter’s list, assuming anything with less than two items on it could accurately be called a list. “He’s all about inordinate riches and computers and profit motives.”

“You’re an investment banker,” Peter reminded me. “And I run a start-up. And we both hope to profit inordinately from our work one day. It’s not like we’re so much purer than Iggie.”

“But we do have better fashion sense.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

Studying the panels further didn’t yield any startling insights into the mysterious keychain, or even any insights that weren’t startling. I was getting frustrated when we heard footsteps on the walkway and first Ben and then Luisa appeared around the corner.

“This had better be worth it,” said Luisa.

“Find anything?” asked Ben.

“No, unfort-” I started to say before I realized there was someone else with them.

“Hey, Abigail,” said Peter.

“Hey,” said Abigail. A slight breeze ruffled her silky brown hair. “I hope you don’t mind that Luisa invited me along-we were having dinner when you called.”

“Of course not,” I said.

I would have given anything at that moment to be able to raise one eyebrow, and to raise it in Luisa’s direction. As it was, I had to make do with smirking, which was nowhere near as satisfying. She ignored me anyhow. Withdrawal, in addition to making us both blunt and cranky, was doing nothing for our respective levels of maturity.

“Did you find anything?” asked Ben again.

“No, we seem to be on a wild goose chase,” I admitted.

“I keep waiting for another skateboarder to show up,” added Peter.

“So we didn’t have to rush through our meal to meet you here?” asked Luisa. “We could have ordered dessert like civilized people? They had crème brûlée. I could be eating crème brûlée right now. You know how I feel about crème brûlée.” I didn’t know how she felt about crème brûlée, and I couldn’t remember her ever having a sweet tooth before, but I guessed her withdrawal symptoms were taking the form of an insatiable need for sugar. They were clearly strong enough to offset any desire to show Abigail the sunnier side of her personality.

“Well, this is still a nice place, and it’s educational, too,” I said.

“I’m sufficiently educated already,” said Luisa. “Let’s go.”

“What’s that?” asked Abigail, pointing at a spot near my right foot.

“What’s what-” I started to say.

Then I looked down at the spot she’d indicated. “Oh.”

A small rock rested in the shadows of the walkway, sitting at the base of the panel with the quote about machines and computers. And there was something propped between the rock and the panel.

I crouched to get a better look. A small padded envelope had been wedged into the space, but one corner protruded from behind the rock, as if whoever had left it there wanted to ensure it would be seen only by someone searching the area with care. I took hold of the protruding corner with my thumb and index finger and delicately slid the envelope from its hiding space.

Even in the dim light, it wasn’t hard to see that the envelope was a twin of the one Skater Girl had delivered that afternoon or to make out the now-familiar block letters spelling my name.

13

Peter took off immediately, disappearing around the other side of the waterfall. He returned a few minutes later, just as disappointed as he’d been earlier that day. “Nobody’s out there,” he said. “The people who were on the Esplanade before have gone.”

Ben, meanwhile, had been looking for cameras. Checking for surveillance tape must have been a standard part of FBI training, or perhaps it was the part Ben remembered best. But even if there were cameras, I doubted they’d be helpful. Hundreds of people must have come through here today, maybe even thousands-it was tourist season, after all. Assuming we’d be able to talk whatever security personnel there were into letting us view any footage, what were the odds that there was a camera pointed at just the right angle to provide a clear view of whoever had tucked the package into its hiding place? Ben must have been thinking along the same lines, because he gave up his search with a shrug when Peter returned. “I don’t see anything,” he said.

Which left us with the package itself. The five of us stood in a circle on the walkway, looking at the padded envelope resting in my hands.

“This had better not be another keychain,” I said, testing its weight. The envelope and the handwriting on it were identical to the envelope from Union Square, but this one had a bit more heft to it.

“Maybe it’s a bomb,” suggested Luisa, but she was mocking me. I was beginning to wonder whether our friendship would be able to withstand another thirty-six hours of withdrawal.

“Do you want me to open it?” asked Peter.

“No, I can do it.” I pulled on the little tab that peeled back to slice open the top of the envelope and peered inside. Light glinted off something metallic.

“What is it?” asked Ben.

“Strange,” I said. “That’s what it is. Very, very strange.”

I reached into the envelope and withdrew a shiny new iPod, complete with headphones.

“Nice,” said Peter appreciatively. “I was thinking of getting you one just like that to take to the gym.”

I didn’t know when, exactly, he thought I’d be going to the gym, but I could disabuse him of that particular fantasy later. “I guess Christmas came early this year. But why would somebody give me an iPod?”

“Perhaps to help you expand your cultural horizons beyond national monuments and television shows meant for teenagers,” said Luisa. “You could download operas and symphonies. Or subscribe to podcasts from the BBC and NPR.”

“I don’t think whoever left this intended for me to bore myself to death.”

“Maybe there’s something already on the iPod that’s a clue of some sort,” offered Abigail. “A song or photograph. Something like that.”

This, in contrast to Luisa’s suggestion, was a good idea. I wondered if it was possible to trade in Luisa for Abigail, at least until Tuesday morning at ten. “How do I turn it on?” I asked. It’s possible I was the last American under the age of eighty who had never used an iPod.

“Here,” said Peter. He took the device from my hand and pressed the track wheel. A second later, the small screen lit up. We huddled around him, watching as the Apple icon gave way to a menu of options.

“Try Photos first,” I said, thinking about the picture we’d found in the safe, but clicking on Photos led only to an empty screen. He clicked on Music next, but this also produced nothing. Then he clicked on the Videos option in the menu.

“Jackpot,” he said, tilting the screen up so we could all get a better look. There was only one item listed, but it was clearly meant for me: it was titled “Play Me, Rachel.”