Read Hillerman, Tony for Free Online Page B

voice, explained why. Nothing was working in Saigon anymore without bribery. Planes that were scheduled to fly sat on the runways. Planes that were scheduled to arrive didn’t arrive. Airports were closed. Borders were closed. Castenada droned on, describing chaos replacing civilization. Across the room Mr. Lee was slumping again, fighting off sleep, being overpowered by some terrible accumulation of fatigue. He sagged in the chair, face bloodless. Through the thick, distorting lenses his eyes seemed to waver out of focus. Moon glanced at Lee’s grandson. The big man was watching his grandfather, looking concerned.
    “What are you doing now?” Moon asked. “What steps are you taking to find that child?”
    Silence while Castenada considered this. Lee sighed, removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes.
    “Everything that can sensibly be done,” Castenada said, finally. “We are waiting for information. When the child arrives at the school, the Sisters will—”
    “Can’t you do more than wait?”
    “Mrs. Mathias arrives today. I will help her make contacts. There seems to be a need to trace this situation backward.”
    “My mother won’t be there today,” Moon said. “She’s in. the hospital. I think she had a heart attack.”
    Castenada expressed shock. He expressed sympathy and regrets. He would do what he could, but Moon must understand that might be very little. More was beyond his power. He could determine if the child had arrived in Manila. If she had, he would attempt to trace her. If she had been delayed en route, he would attempt to find where this had happened. But it was not likely that he, Castenada, would have the power to effect the outcome of this affair if the Asian mainland was involved. Perhaps someone would have to go. Sometimes the personal touch was needed. But he could not travel. He could serve only as adviser.
    “Thank you,” Moon said. “I will call you when I decide what to do.”
    “And I will keep you informed,” Castenada said. “If I learn anything.” His tone suggested he didn’t expect that to happen. “Good-bye.”
    Mr. Lee’s eyes were open again, his consciousness returned to this hotel room by some triumph of will.
    “I beg your pardon,” he said. “We have intruded on your privacy. A family matter.”
    Moon dismissed that with a gesture. “We were talking about records of your transaction.”
    “Yes,” Mr. Lee said. “I was about to ask if you could allow me to look through your brother’s letters. I hope that will help me determine the place where my family’s little urn was left.”
    “That might be possible,” Moon said. “I will get them from my mother and look through them and get in touch with you.”
    “You don’t have them?” Lee no longer looked sleepy. His eyes shifted to the luggage beside Moon’s dresser—a woman’s matching blue suitcases, an expensive-looking leatherbound case, and Moon’s grubby hanging bag.
    Moon’s distaste for deception warred with his fatigue and lost. He was tired. He yearned for solitude to consider what Castenada had told him. To decide what he must do about it. Besides, the sympathy he felt for Mr. Lee was overlaid with skepticism. None of this seemed real.
    “I will have to get them,” Moon said. “Where can I call you?”
    Mr. Lee made a faint sound that probably would have become the first word in an argument. But he cut it off and rose shakily to his feet. He extracted a card from his wallet, a pen from his coat, and wrote.
    “Here is where I am staying.” He handed Moon the card and walked stiffly to the door, trailed by his grandson. There he turned back and looked at Moon. “This urn is very important to my family,” he said. “I intend to offer a reward of ten thousand dollars for assistance that leads to its recovery.”
    “I’m not eligible for a reward,” Moon said. “If my brother misplaced your urn, I feel responsible. I’ll do all I can to help you recover it.”
    Mr. Lee made a