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“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t really help you. It turns out that this island and all the islands around it are part of the National Park of American Samoa. All the national parks are mapped by the Department of the Interior. Everything else is the responsibility of NOAA, at least when it comes to bodies of water. It’s been that way ever since the National Park Service was formed back in 1916. Interior is pretty territorial when it comes to the national parks.”
“Excellent,” Emerson said. “You wouldn’t happen to know who we should talk to over there?”
Cheryl scribbled down a name and phone number on a piece of notepaper. “I’d recommend you speak with the Park Planning, Facilities, and Land Directorate. They’re in charge of surveying all the national parks, including a lot of the waterways around American Samoa. If you want, I’ll send an email so you can get to see somebody without bringing the ‘Dalai Lama’ along with you.”
Emerson took the paper. “That would be helpful. Wayan Bagus isn’t a very convincing Dalai Lama, and the National Park Service has had it in for Dracula for years.”
—
The Office of Park Planning shuffled Emerson off to the liaison for the Pacific West Regional Office. The Pacific West Regional Office sent them to the Information Resources Directorate, and the Information Resources Directorate sent them back to Park Planning. Wayan Bagus had given up after the Pacific West Regional Office and was meditating in President’s Park.
“Look, James,” Emerson said to the paunchy middle-aged man sitting across the conference room table from him. “You’re in charge of surveying the national parks. Aren’t you the least bit curious how an island goes missing? An island that has been deleted from your survey, despite the fact that this emergency beacon clearly shows someone was living there?”
James shrugged. “Doesn’t seem especially significant to me.”
“And you don’t think it’s odd that my friend was forcibly removed from that same island, and when he came back it had disappeared?” Emerson asked.
James shifted in his seat and glanced at the security camera in the corner of the room. “Not really. These things happen all the time.”
Emerson paused for a moment. He leaned across the table and looked the bureaucrat in the eye. “Actually, they don’t.” He turned away and stared directly into the camera. “In fact, under normal circumstances, this never happens.”
“I’m not sure I’m the right one to help you,” James said.
Emerson continued to stare into the camera. “That’s the first honest thing anybody has said to me today. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
James stood to leave, but Emerson remained sitting.
“Um. Are we done?” James asked.
“You’re done. However, I am not.”
James turned the knob and opened the conference room door a couple inches. “You’re not coming?”
“No, I’d prefer not to.”
James opened the door fully and walked out into the hallway. He turned around to look at Emerson and Riley, still sitting at the conference table. “So, you’re really not coming?”
Emerson smiled politely. “Thank you. I’d prefer to stay here.”
“Okeydokey,” James said. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No. We’re good,” Emerson said.
James stood in the doorway for a beat, unsure what to do next. He glanced at the security camera one last time, shrugged, and walked away down the hall.
Riley and Emerson sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity to Riley.
“So what are we going to do now?” she finally asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing! We can’t just do nothing!”
“Why not?” Emerson asked.
“Why not? Because this isn’t the couch in your living room. It’s a moldy old conference room in some government office building.”
Emerson slouched lower in the chair, getting more comfortable. “Wu wei.”
