Page 88 of The Presidents Shadow

THE PROBLEMS OF the world are drowning Margo, Jessica, and me. Even Bando’s mood is low. The worldwide infestation of the Newbola virus. The terrifying prospect of the destruction of the entire planet by the insane powers of Glenn Ambrose.

Can anything be worse? Yes and yes and yes.

We are overwhelmed with misery and panic at the disappearance of our beloved Maddy.

Maddy, the tough and trained inheritor of my personal crusade for peace and justice.

Maddy, a human vessel of kindness and intelligence, wisdom and joy. Maddy, where the hell are you?

When Grandma Jessica brought the news, we immediately exhausted all investigative skills at our disposal. I contacted every ally I’ve ever had—the premier of Canada, the London School of Science and Technology, the holy Buddhist monks still remaining in the Maldives.

They, and others, are attacking the mystery with full force.

But no one can find even a hint of knowledge of Maddy’s whereabouts.

There are no limits to my pursuit. I even have the audacity to contact Dache.

His only response is “I have a sense of her absence, but there is no communication from her—not even a weak signal. I share your fear. I will employ all my skills to assist.”

This is horrible news. If Dache cannot succeed, then none of us… But as I ponder this impossible situation, a message appears on my personal handheld device.

I study the words intently. It seems vaguely Arabic or Iranian, languages I am usually able to read and speak, but I am unable to translate the script in my current state.

Grandma Jessica shouts out, “It’s Arabic. I know it is. It doesn’t really make sense. But… but… It just sounds foolish, something about a town or a place—” Confused, she furrows her brow, then a light dawns in her eyes.

“If you read the sentence backward, it says, ‘I am lost in a very big city.’”

I am amazed and, I must admit, jealous that I was too blocked or stupid to unearth such a simple solution.

“Could it be from Maddy?” Margo says. “But why so cryptic? Why so vague?”

I theorize that Maddy is confused, frightened, perhaps even weak. I call in Burbank from the adjoining room and ask him to calculate the location of the sender.

With merely a quick glance at the screen and a few clicks, he says, “It’s coming from Dubai.”

“Of course,” says Grandma Jessica. “I should have known by the incorrect use of the nominative case.”

I am gratified that both Burbank and Jessica cracked the case so quickly, but I am also angry that I, someone who speaks so many languages, was unable to solve it. What’s happening to me?

“Everything else is on hold until I get to Dubai and bring Maddy home,” I say.

Jessica, Margo, and Burbank agree that this is the wise and proper way to proceed. I ask them for a moment alone to gather my thoughts and make a plan.

I initiate all my psychic abilities to find and commandeer a flight to the United Arab Emirates.

I make no connections. I keep trying, but with no success.

In fact, my intense concentration is rewarded with a wildly severe headache.

My temples are throbbing. My eyes are stinging. What is happening to me?

I continue to work at making a mental connection.

After a few seconds my headache and eye pain vanish.

They are, however, replaced with a weakness in my spine, my knees, my shoulders.

I am tired. I am also off-balance. I am too weak to rise from my chair.

I am too frail to find Maddy, to save Maddy.

What’s happening to me!?