Page 56 of The Search

“Where we always start.” She reached down, checked Monty’s bandage, then fastened his orange halter with the red cross on both sides. “With the dogs.”

Logan’s face had turned pale. “My God.”

“I told you mudslides were the worst.”

“Yes, you did.” He took a deep breath and dragged his gaze from the mountain to Monty. “He didn’t wear that halter when we were in Santo Camaro.”

“It wouldn’t have done any good there. On disaster sites it identifies him as a lifesaver, not one of the wild dogs that often scavenge among the ruins. I’ve seen starving families kill those dogs for their next meal.” She put up the hood on her poncho and tied it under her chin as the bus slithered to a stop in front of the hospital tent. “That’s not going to happen to Monty.”

Logan watched Sarah and the rest of the team disappear into the tent to be briefed by the military. It was getting dark, and the slide looked like a monstrous obscene mass in the half-light.

No screams . . .

No sobbing . . .

No children singing . . .

Silence.

Silent as a tomb.

“You’re getting wet, Mr. Logan.” Chang was standing beside him. “There’s hot food in the mess tent.”

“Not now.” He gazed up at the mountain. “Where did the slide start?”

“They’re not sure. It happened in the middle of the night.” He pointed to a spot near the top of the mountain. “Close to that area.”

“I want to go there.”

“The military isn’t letting anyone up there. The mud is still shifting and the rain—”

“Then take me around it.” He jerkily moved toward the mountain. “I want to go there.”

The rocks were slippery underfoot as they neared the top of the mountain.

Death.

A monument to death.

No coincidence. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“What are you looking for?” Chang asked.

“I don’t know.”

It would be protected. He would want Logan to find it.

The beam of his flashlight flared on the rocks around him.

Nothing.

“We should go down,” Chang said. “The military wouldn’t like it if they knew—”

“You go down.” Logan scrambled over the rocks, the light from his flashlight weaving back and forth. The scarab had been small. . . .

So was the blue and white box shining in the beam of the light.

Chen Li’s box. He had seen her handle it a hundred times, her fingers tracing the lapis lazuli flowers on the lid.