Page 12 of Wild Temple (Tyson Wild Thriller #84)
I asked about Isabella and showed Winslow her picture while Brooke filled out paperwork. “Have you heard anything about her? She’s been missing for several days now.”
He studied the image, frowned, and shook his head. “You’re welcome to fill out paperwork as well. Your friend’s case is less cut and dry. She could have just moved on.”
“And left all her stuff behind?” I said, growing annoyed myself.
“Have you checked the hospital, the jail? Quite often, people run afoul of local laws and get in hot water.”
Talia had contacted the local hospital, but they didn’t have a record of any patients named Isabella and said they had no Jane Doe’s matching her description.
“I checked. No record of arrest.” If she had been traveling under an assumed identity, she could still be rotting away in a cell. But I figured she’d find a way to contact someone if that were the case.
“Where are you staying?” Winslow asked.
I told him. “I’m under an assumed name in #306.”
“Good to know, in case I need to get in touch.”
I filled out a report as well. What could it hurt?
We returned to the Bamboo Lofts. I escorted Brooke to her room on the second floor. She slid the key card into the slot, and we stepped inside. The room felt empty and heavy without her friend.
Brooke fell onto the bed and buried her face into the pillow. I took a seat in a chair and looked out the window. The midday sun was high overhead.
Brooke rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "I can't believe this happened. I’ve got to call Hannah's mother. I don't know what I'm going to say to her.”
"Just tell her like it is. That's all you can do."
Brooke sat up. "I can't believe how screwed up this is. We’re never going to find Hannah. I’m never going to get to Pura Jiva.”
I knew the answer, but I asked anyway, "Why do you want to get to Pura Jiva?”
She frowned and gave me a sheepish look. "You’re gonna think this is silly?” After a pause, she said, "My mother is dying. The doctors have done everything they can. They gave her six weeks, tops. She's 57 years old. 57! How messed up is that? ”
"You think the Mata Vaya can save her life.”
Brooke gave me a look. "You think I'm stupid, right?"
I raised my hands innocently. "I think you're someone who cares about your mother. I think you're someone who is willing to do anything just to have one more day with her.”
Brooke frowned. "I should be back home, at her side, making the most of every moment.”
"Don’t beat yourself up about this. It's not your fault.”
"I should never have told those guys about the map. We should have just gone on our own.”
"If you don't know how to survive in the jungle, you won't last a day.” My curiosity had been piqued. “What map?”
Brooke gave me a cautious look. "I guess it doesn't matter now. If you were going to screw me over, you would have done it by now." She paused. "Hell, you’re the only person on this island I trust.”
Brooke climbed off the bed and moved across the room to her backpack.
She dug into it and pulled out a small leather-bound diary that was worn and weathered.
This wasn’t the kind of thing that you picked up online or in a drugstore.
This was old. The yellow, tattered pages said so in no uncertain terms.
Brooke walked across the room and handed it to me with care. I took the diary, unclasped it, and flipped it open.
"That belonged to my grandfather. He lived to be 112 years old, while everyone else in his family died in their 60s. To say he had unnatural longevity would be an understatement. ”
The pages were handwritten in cursive. Black ballpoint pen marked the pages. It was part of a series. The cover page read: If found, return to Tom Dalton.
An address listed below was long since defunct.
I had no doubt there were other diaries just like this one, chronicling the early years of her grandfather's life. This edition picked up in 1943.
"My grandfather was OSS during the war," Brooke said.
It was a precursor to the CIA. Brooke was about to tell me a tale of high adventure.
The diary would back up everything she said.