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“Wu what?”
“It’s the Zen art of doing nothing. If we can do nothing in just the right way, the universe will provide the answers to all our questions.”
“How do we know if we’re doing it in the right way?”
“Spring comes effortlessly, the grass grows by itself,” Emerson said.
Riley gave him her most withering squint. “If you answer me with one more vague and basically meaningless piece of philosophical crap I’m going to kick you in the knee.”
Emerson opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and made the sign that he was zipping his lips shut.
Fifteen minutes later two men entered the conference room. The first was tall with a Mediterranean complexion and a lean and hungry look.
“Emerson Knight and Riley Moon? My name is Eugene Spiro. I’m chief scientist for the National Park Service.”
“The Park Service has a chief scientist?” Riley asked.
“It’s a relatively new position. I report to the director on the scientific assets of national parks and federal lands. I’m responsible for protecting park resources, ranging from dinosaur fossils to giant redwood trees.”
Emerson stood. “Then you’d be concerned to know that an entire island under your protection is missing.”
Spiro smiled. “I suppose an entire island would qualify as a park resource. Except that it’s impossible for an entire island to disappear. Do you know the principle of Occam’s razor? Given two explanations, the simpler one is usually correct.”
“I agree,” Emerson said. “Except that Occam’s razor assumes there are two explanations. I can think of only one.”
“And that is?”
“It’s been stolen.”
Spiro shook his head. “Even if such a thing were possible, and it’s not, then by whom? For what purpose? The entire area is an uninhabited marine sanctuary. It’s worthless except to a bunch of green turtles, humpback whales, and seabirds.”
The second man was at parade rest a couple feet behind Eugene. He was very fit. Closely shaved head and a three-day-old beard. Tattoo of two crossed sabers with a number one above them on his right hand. Both men appeared to be in their early forties. Both were wearing gray suits and white dress shirts. Top button open. No tie.
Riley thought neither looked like a scientist. She thought the man with the tattoo looked like a hired assassin, and Eugene looked like his pimp.
“We ran a background check on you just now,” the man with the tattoo said to Emerson. “Bottom line is, you’re a well-known troublem
aker.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” Emerson said. “But I’m not sure how well-known I am. Maybe in certain circles I’ve achieved some degree of prominence, but I wouldn’t really describe myself as famous. Really, I just put my pants on one leg at a time, like every other troublemaker.”
“Is that supposed to be clever?” the man said.
Eugene stepped to one side and turned slightly. “This is my associate, Tim Mann, but everyone around here calls him Tin Man. He’s in charge of protecting park resources for the Pacific West Region.”
“Tin Man,” Riley said. “That’s a clever play on your name.”
“And like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz, I could be kind of human if I only had a heart.”
“Well, that’s certainly not extra creepy,” Riley said.
Emerson nodded. “I agree. There are so many other less creepy explanations you could choose. Like, I’m a grown man who collects tin soldiers in my spare time. Or, hello, would you like to see my tin thimbles, which happen to belong to me, a man?”
“Criminy, Emerson. That’s even worse,” Riley said. “Who asks someone he’s just met if she’d like to see his thimbles? That’s serial killer creepy.”
Emerson looked from person to person around the room. “Can we all just agree that Tin Man is creepy, but not, you know, serial killer creepy?”
No one offered any objection.
