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“There are many paths to enlightenment,” Emerson said. “The Siddhar was also a mentor.” Emerson turned to the little monk. “How did you get here?”
“I walked,” Wayan Bagus said.
“From Samoa?”
“I walked onto a boat. Then I walked onto a plane. Then, when the plane landed in Virginia, I walked some more.”
“How long did it take you?” Riley asked.
Wayan Bagus smiled politely. “Buddha tells the story of a granite mountain that reached many miles into the sky. Every hundred years it was wiped with a silk cloth held in the mouth of a bird until the mountain was worn away to nothing. So, not so long.”
Riley suppressed a grimace and managed a tight smile. She didn’t want to be rude, but, criminy, wasn’t it bad enough she had to endure this philosophical baloney from Emerson?
“I suppose everything is relative,” Riley said to Wayan Bagus. “Still, it had to have been a long, difficult trip. And how did you manage to get into the house once you found it?”
“The universe provided a way. Also, the door was unlocked.” He turned to Emerson. “I need your help. The island I was using as a hermitage is missing. I think it was stolen.”
“Define ‘missing,’?” Emerson said.
“Gone,” Wayan Bagus said. “Vanished without a trace.”
“Islands normally don’t go missing,” Emerson said.
“Nevertheless, it is missing just the same,” Wayan Bagus said.
“Fascinating,” Emerson said. “Where exactly did you see it last?”
“It was right where I’d left it. About two hundred miles north of Samoa.”
“And what makes you suspect it’s stolen and not just lost?”
“For the love of Mike, Emerson,” Riley said. “You can’t steal—or lose, for that matter—a whole island.”
“That’s exactly what makes it so intriguing,” Emerson said.
“Last month some men appeared on my island and told me I had to leave,” Wayan Bagus said. “When I objected they forcibly removed me and placed me on a different island. By the time I found my way back, my island was gone.”
“What did these men look like?” Emerson asked. “Did you know any of them? Were they Samoans?”
“They were wearing khaki shorts and funny hats. Only one man spoke to me, and he spoke in English. Another man gave me an injection, and I woke up hours later in the cargo hold of a boat.”
“Was there anything special about your island?” Emerson asked.
“I know of nothing that would be of extraordinary value. It was typical of the hundreds of uninhabited, unmapped islands around Samoa. It had a mountain and beaches and rain forests. It was a very nice place for a hermitage, except for the volcano.”
“I’m quite fond of volcanoes,” Emerson said.
“They are interesting,” Wayan Bagus said, “but I find the energy can be disruptive to meditation.”
—
When Wayan Bagus was comfortably settled in a third-floor guest room, Emerson and Riley made their way to the cavernous library, with its intricate parquet floor, hand-carved oak bookshelves, and a second-level balcony. Newspapers and magazines were neatly stacked on the floor, and half a dozen whiteboards were scattered about, covered with Emerson’s cryptic notes. Some of the notes were devoted to the tangled estate left behind when Emerson’s father had died under mysterious circumstances the previous year. Most were simply concerned with whatever sparked Emerson’s imagination, ranging from quantum physics to tarantula crossings. A weather-beaten Coleman tent had been erected in front of the massive stone fireplace. Buddhist prayer flags hung from a line stretched between the tent and the fireplace mantel.
Emerson crossed the room, climbed a rolling ladder, and inched his way along, looking for a specific book in the science section.
“It’s almost two in the morning, and the crazy little monk is asleep in bed,” Riley said. “Why are we here in the library?”
“Wayan Bagus is many things,” Emerson said. “Crazy isn’t one of them. His mental and emotional acuity are exceptional. If he says his island is missing, then it is most certainly missing.”
