Iced!: The 2007 Journal of Nick Fitzmorgan (9 page)

Unfortunately, no one in the lobby, including the young receptionist behind the counter, had seen my dad. But he did say that
the inn had two available rooms for the night. We also told us that dinner was now being served in the dining room.

Just the word “dinner” was enough to wake my mouth water. Rather than dropping our bags in our rooms, Maura and I headed straight
to the chow.

The lodge’s simple dining room had a long wooden table and equally long benches on either side. We sat with other travelers.
My detective’s ears picked up Australian and German accents. Down the table, four people from Japan were celebrating a successful
climb up Mount Everest. Maura and I ate in silence.

We ordered a traditional Sherpa stew, “shyakpa,” a meat-and-potatoes dish with vegetables. Normally, I would have loved the
spicy beef and vegetable stew, but my stomach was feeling as bad as my head. After we ate, we headed up the stairs to the
second floor and our rooms.

As I was unlocking my door, Maura asked me, “Are you sure you’re okay, Nick? Do you want me to get a doctor?”

What was she talking about? Was this some kind of trick? I felt fine!

But I just shook my head. “I guess I must look tired, that’s all. It’s been a long trip.”

“Okay, then,” she said. “If you’re sure. Good night.”

“’Night,” I said.

We went into our separate rooms. Mine was a simple room, with just a bed, a chair, a lamp, and a window that overlooked the
dark street.

I told myself it didn’t matter what the room was like. I wouldn’t be staying there.

I gave myself a second to look at the bed longingly. My eyes were burning. I was so tired, and that strange ringing in my
ears was now deafening.

But I had work to do. And sleeping wouldn’t help me find my dad.

I unzipped my backpack and removed the slide with a long hair on it. This was the hair that was stuck to the piece of cloth
that had torn off the strange man’s coat back in Los Angeles.

I dug back into my pack and pulled out my compact microscope. I unfolded it and placed it on the bed. I compared the slide
to one of the hairs I had plucked off the poor yak in the street.

It was just as I thought.

While the hairs weren’t from the exact same animal (one of the hairs was much darker than the other), they had both come from
the same type of creature. I had confirmed at least one thing. The hair I’d taken from the torn cloth had come from a yak.
The analysis I’d done before leaving home was right.

So now that I was in the right area, I’d just have to find a yak farm to see if I could track down the strange man who had
visited my house. And he might be able to lead me to my dad.

It all sounded like too much for me to deal with. …

I looked again at the bed. How great would it be to just curl up and go to sleep?

Or at the very least share my thoughts with Maura.

But Maura had lied to me about what the official had said at the airport. She couldn’t be trusted.

There was a reason, I reminded myself, that Dad had left clues that only I could understand. I would have to head out on my
own.

I looked at my pocket watch. It was almost two in the morning. There was no light coming through the window. Was I really
prepared to wander off into the pitch-dark night on my own?

It was a gamble, but I didn’t see any other choice. My dad was depending on me.

If I was going to do this, though, I had to disguise my appearance. Otherwise, someone like the receptionist might spot me
leaving the inn and inform Maura.

IN THE MIRROR, I LOOKED LIKE SOMEONE ELSE.

After I packed up my microscope and my hair samples, I grabbed my thick down jacket and pulled the sleeves inside out, so
it looked like I was wearing a different coat. Then, I turned my hat inside out so that it was gray instead of blue. These
simple changes were enough to alter my appearance—or I least I think they were. For some reason, it’s hard for me to stay
focused now.

As I get ready to slip out the door and into the night, I realize my hands are trembling and my head is pounding.

I hope with all my heart this isn’t the last journal entry I ever make.

I’m coming for you, Dad!

THE LAST BRIDGE BEFORE NAMCHE BAZAR

Luckily, there was a full moon, and the
rocky path was easy to spot. I set off from Phakding and followed the Dudh Kosi river south. Using a small flashlight from
my backpack, I constantly checked my progress on the map.

I’d already gone a few hundred yards when I remembered that I should be going north. My fuzzy brain couldn’t seem to get things
straight. Back on the right track, I trekked along the west bank of the fast-moving river.

Hiking in the middle of the night in a strange, mountainous country is terrifying. Every time I heard a noise, I couldn’t
help imagining that wild creatures were eyeing me hungrily or that bandits were about to descend upon me.

I passed through the small village of Zamphuti, and the path climbed steeply. Now I was walking along a ridge high above the
Dudh Kosi. One false step and I would plunge down into the churning waters. I crossed several swaying suspension bridges and
passed through two more small towns that weren’t even on my map. After crossing the river one last time, I trudged up a steep
hill and finally spotted the much larger town of Namche Bazar.

Though it had been just a five-hour hike, it felt like a lifetime. But I had made it! I walked into Namche Bazar just as the
sun was coming up over the mountains. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a sunrise in my whole life. And as exhausted
and out of it as I was, I still noticed that the view of Everest was breathtaking.

In the village streets, traders were already setting up their booths, preparing to sell pottery, cloth, and sweet-smelling
meats. Tourists were emerging from several of the lodges, looking ready for a day of hiking or shopping. It was a great chance
for me to find out if anyone had seen my dad. He would have had to pass through here if he was being taken to Everest. Maybe
someone had seen him.

I showed his photo to several people but always got different variations of the same response. “No” or “Sorry, ol’ chap” or
just a shake of the head.

As I talked to different people, I started to feel my mind wander…

What’s wrong with me? I wondered to myself. Must just be tired…

It was time to get to the real purpose of this visit. Time to track down the yak farmers.