“This could be the first one.”
“What?” JR asked.
I’d done it again. “I was just thinking about choices,” I mumbled. “Saying no is also a choice.”
They stared at me. Embarrassed, I changed the subject. “I didn’t know Sebastian Plank was interested in climbing.”
“I didn’t know either,” JR said. “The assignment came out of the blue a couple days ago. Got a call from his people. Met them at our hotel last night.”
“So they’re paying you well?”
Will smiled. “A lot more than your dad paid.”
“What about the climbers? Are they getting paid?” Not that it would make any difference to me.
“They’re climbing for the glory,” JR admitted.
“And the gear,” Ethan said, dreamily. I knew the look. “Don’t forget about the gear. Plank’s people showed us the list. It’s all top of the line, and the climbers get to keep it.”
All climbers are gearheads. Including me. The storage unit in the basement of our building is stuffed floor to ceiling with my gear and Mom’s old gear. I’m not even sure what’s in the unit anymore, but I know it’s not enough. Ethan knows the best way to get to another climber is with the allure of gear. I tried to hide my gear addiction, but it didn’t work. Ethan gave me the gear-gotcha grin. A gearhead can always pick out another gearhead.
Once again, I changed the subject. “Who’s the climb master?” A climb with this many people had to have somebody in charge. Probably more than one person.
JR shook his head. “Don’t know. They didn’t say, but I’m sure it will be someone well known. Plank can get anyone he wants.”
Which got me thinking about who else was being recruited for the climb. I’m not in the elite climbing circles, but because of my mom and dad, I know a lot of climbers who are.
“I assume Sun-jo is climbing,” I said. “I wonder if he’s climbing for Nepal or Tibet.”
“Neither,” JR said. “He’s not on the list.”
“That’s weird.”
“We thought so too. There’s a girl climbing for Tibet. Seventeen years old. I haven’t heard of her before.”
“Probably Chinese,” Will said.
He was probably right. The Chinese think Tibet is China. They wouldn’t allow a real Tibetan to climb for peace, or any other cause that wasn’t in China’s political interest.
“What about Nepal?”
“A boy,” JR answered. “Also seventeen. Never heard of him, either. I’m sure they tried to recruit Sun-jo, but he must have passed. I hear he’s been pretty busy since his Everest summit. Endorsements, personal appearances, and media interviews.”
Which reminded me why I was happy that I wasn’t the youngest person to summit Everest. I liked hanging out with the twins. I liked going to the zoo.
“Sun-jo is nearly impossible to reach,” Jack said. “Everything has to go through Zopa. And you know Zopa.”
I don’t think anyone really knows Zopa. He’s Sun-jo’s ex-Sherpa. He’s also his grandfather and a Buddhist monk who magically appears and disappears when you least expect it.
For a second, probably because of the gear, I had drifted toward saying yes to the climb. But now, because of the media attention, I was drifting back to no.
“I’ll think about it,” I told JR, which was a polite way of saying no.
“There isn’t much time to think about it,” Ethan said. “The climb is next week.”
“A climb for two hundred people from all over the world cannot possibly be put together in a week,” I said.
JR shrugged. “Plank is famous for getting businesses up and running at lightning speed.”
“Climbing is not a business.”
“That’s debatable,” Will said.
He had a point. A lot of climbers, including my father, were in the business of climbing.
“What’s the big rush?” I asked.
“Maybe Plank’s worried that peace will reign on earth and he’ll miss his window of opportunity,” Will said.
We all laughed.
“Seriously, though,” JR said. “There is a deadline. Plank wants the Peace Climb documentary to air on Christmas Day.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No joke. He’s already bought the airtime. If we don’t have the vid in the can by Ho Ho Ho Day, we don’t get paid.”
That was insane, but I guess if you’re one of the richest people in the world, insane is not an obstacle.
“So if I don’t climb, who’s next on the list?”
JR looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, that’s the thing, Peak. If you pass, the U.S. won’t have a climber in the mix.”
“That’s ridiculous. There must be a thousand climbers in the States under eighteen who could do the climb. I could give you names of dozens of climbers right now who would jump at the chance.”
JR looked even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. He glanced at the others as if he was asking for their permission. Ethan, Jack, and Will all gave him a nod. JR took a breath and said, “We . . . um . . . we sort of assured them that you . . . um . . . that you would climb if they hired us to film the climb.”
I stared at JR, not quite understanding what he was saying.
“Are you saying that if I don’t climb, you lose the job?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Kind of optimistic, wasn’t it?”
“What?” JR asked.
“Assuring them that I would go on the climb.”
“I guess,” JR admitted. “But there wasn’t much choice. I’m not sure they would have come to us if it weren’t for our connection to you.”
A tenuous connection. Like being fixed together on a frayed rope.
“I’m not convinced of that,” Jack objected. “They saw the Sun-jo video. They were impressed.”
The Sun-jo video. Would it have been called the Peak video if I had succeeded? Not that I have any regrets. I chose not to reach the summit for a very important reason. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about Sun-jo trudging up those last ten feet, imagining myself following in his heavy footprints to the summit or, better yet, Sun-jo following my footprints to the summit.
“There are a thousand videographers right here in New York with more climbing creds than we have,” JR said. “They picked us because of Peak.”
“It’s nice of you guys not to mention the fact that I totally let you down on Everest.”
“You didn’t let us down!” Will said. “You shot the vid of Sun-jo reaching the top. We used almost every second of it in the documentary. If it weren’t for that, we wouldn’t have had anything.”
I didn’t take the video for their documentary. I took it to prove that Sun-jo had reached the summit of the highest mountain in the world.
“I don’t understand why Plank’s people didn’t come directly to me if it was so important that I join their Peace Climb.”
“That’s a great point,” JR said. “We talked about it all the way up here in the cab.”
“And what did you come up with?”
“Zip,” JR said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Let me ask you this,” Ethan said. “If Plank’s people had asked you directly, what would you have said?”
I thought about this, but not for long. “I probably would have said no.”
Ethan grinned. “Well, there you go. Maybe their approach was shrewder than we think. We’ve been talking to you for ten minutes, and you haven’t said no.”
Apparently Ethan didn’t understand that I’ll think about it meant no. But then again, maybe it didn’t mean no. Not any longer. Because now I was thinking about saying yes. If I said no, they’d lose the contract. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to let them down again. If I said no, I’d probably never find out why Plank wanted me to climb so badly that he was willing to forgo a climber from the USA altogether.
And then there was the gear.
Ethan maintained his grin. “What do y
ou say, Peak? Are you in or out?”
I returned the grin, which I suspected looked a lot like Ethan’s.
“In,” I said.
The crew visibly relaxed.
JR pulled a folder out of his backpack and gave it to me. “We leave first thing in the morning. Plank is sending a car for us. We’ll swing by and pick you up on the way to the airport. We’ll be at your apartment building around seven. Your visa is inside.”
“Visa?”
“Yeah. And don’t forget to bring your passport. You can’t get into Afghanistan without it.”
I stared at him, trying to wrap my mind around our climbing destination and recalling the titles in the stack of books Mom had been carrying. I wasn’t certain, but I thought all of them had the word Afghanistan on the spine. I wondered if I would have said yes if I’d known where the climb was taking place.
“Isn’t there a war in Afghanistan?”
“Technically, no,” JR says.
“What about untechnically?”
“Yeah, there is still stuff going on over there. Skirmishes. Political unrest. Protests.”
“Terrorism,” I added.
JR shook his head. “I don’t think so. Our troops have all but pulled out. I think they have an international peacekeeping force there. Something like that. But we’ll be a long way from where the problems are, and we’re doing something positive. The risks are minimal. And Plank has hired a private security force to watch our backs just in case.”
Mom walked in, still carrying the stack of books. “Well?”
I looked at the spines. I was right about the word. “Is it okay if I go to Afghanistan tomorrow?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said, then looked at JR. “I just got off the phone with Plank’s people. I’m going with you.”
Planked
BEFORE ROLF CAME along, Mom and I were together twenty-four-seven because Josh was gone twenty-four-seven. It had been a long time since we’d gone anywhere together, just us. She was sitting across the aisle from me in one of Plank’s private jets, sound asleep with an open book about Afghanistan in her lap.
Rolf had been pretty good about the whole thing, considering the twins let him know about it the second he walked through the door from work with . . .
“Peak has to write in first people presents. He and Mommy are going to After Can Stand on a little vacation, just them, but they’ll be back in ten days. We ordered Chinese food for dinner. I’m not eating the egg food young. Yuck.”
Rolf understood egg food young was egg fu yung.
“After Can Stand?”
“That’s right. We looked at a map. It’s right next to Pack Her Stand.”
Reading and diction were not the Peas’ strong suit. It took Rolf a few seconds to translate twin-talk into English, and when it dawned on him what they meant, I could see by his expression that he thought he had it wrong. He looked at Mom.
“Afghanistan?”
Mom nodded.
“Tomorrow?”
Another nod.
Rolf poured himself a drink and sat down. “Tell me about it.”
It took all of about five minutes for Mom to explain. The twins got bored halfway through, wandered into the music room, and began practicing a duet of Mozart’s sonata in B-flat major. I said nothing. Mom’s explanation was succinct and to the point. After she finished, even I thought the idea of flying to war-torn Afghanistan in the morning to climb a mountain for a Christmas television special made perfect sense.
Rolf took a gulp of his drink, then a second gulp, before responding.
“Of course you both know that Sebastian Plank, like many geniuses, is nuts.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Twice. He’s a little hard to follow when you’re talking to him because he talks faster than any other human being on earth, and most of what he says has nothing to do with what he’s supposed to be talking to you about. But that’s okay because he always shows up with four personal assistants. When Plank leaves a meeting—no more than ten minutes after he arrives—two PAs stay behind for a couple of hours and interpret what he just said. In our firm we call it getting Planked. Other firms call it a Planking.”
“So you don’t trust him,” Mom said.
“On the contrary. Sebastian Plank, as odd as he is face-to-face, is completely reliable. If he says something’s going to happen, it happens or it has already happened.” Rolf looked at me. “This might be my fault. I may have let the cat out of the bag.”
“How so?”
“Plank was in the office a couple weeks ago. He asked about the family. I told him about the twins, the bookstore, and”—he took a breath— “your Everest climb. I told him you stopped just short of the summit to let a friend get the glory.”
Mom frowned.
“I’m really sorry, Peak,” Rolf said. “It was out before I knew it. I didn’t think Plank was even paying attention. I thought he was just being polite.”
“No big deal,” I said. And I meant it. Sun-jo was still the youngest person to reach the top of Everest.
Rolfe looked relieved. “Did you know about this Peace Climb before the film crew showed up at the bookstore?”
“No.”
He looked at Mom. She shook her head.
“I bet nobody else knows about it either, except for his people and the people participating in the climb. This is how Plank works. There’ll be some rumors floating around by now because of the Internet and social networking. But the climb will be over before any of the rumors are confirmed. Did they have you sign anything?”
“A nondisclosure agreement,” Mom said.
I hadn’t signed anything, but at fifteen, my signature wouldn’t have been legally binding anyway. I knew this because Rolf was my stepfather. Obviously some of his legalese had rubbed off on me.
“There you go,” Rolf continued. “You just got a Planking. It seemed like a last-minute deal to you, but it wasn’t. I’ll bet you that almost every climber and participant was contacted within a two-hour window. The only odd thing, in Peak’s case, is that they sent the film crew to enlist him. But there was a reason for it. Of that you can be sure.”
I told him about the film crew’s deal being dependent on me agreeing to climb.
“What did I just tell you?” Rolf said. “I guarantee there was a backup plan to your saying no. Probably a plan C and D as well. One of the backup plans, no doubt, was to call me, or someone in our firm, and enlist us to get you to climb.”
“Do you want us to pass?” Mom asked. “It’s not too late. We don’t have to go.”
Rolf laughed. “It might be fun to see what Plank’s next move would be if you did change your mind, but no, I don’t want you, or Peak, to pass up this opportunity.” He set his drink down and took Mom’s hand. “To be honest, I’ve been waiting for you two to go climbing together for years. I didn’t think it would take this long, and I certainly didn’t think it would be in Afghanistan, but the day has finally arrived.”
“I’m not climbing,” Mom said. “I’m just a technical advisor.”
Mom had not climbed since she smashed her leg in a fall years before. She still walked with a slight limp, very slight, from time to time.
Rolf smiled. “Oh, I suspect you’ll be doing some climbing. I’m happy you’re going. I’d be worried about Peak if you weren’t.”
The intercom buzzed. The piano stopped. The twins ran to the front door shouting, “Egg food young!”
Approach
We are somewhere over the Atlantic. I miss the two Peas, and I’ve only been gone a few hours.
Mom’s not the only one sleeping at forty thousand feet. JR, Jack, Will, and Ethan are behind us with their seats reclined as far as they’ll go. They all looked pretty rough this morning when the van swung by to pick us up. They were asleep before the jet took off. Behind them is one of Plank’s people. His name is Tony. He’s dressed in a three-piece suit. I don’t think he’s climbing with us. When we got onto the jet, he gat
hered our passports and visas and has been madly typing on his laptop since takeoff. His skin is pale, like he’s never been off the jet. I want to go back and talk to him, but every time I turn to look at him, he’s hunched over the machine tapping away.
THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT came down the aisle again, carrying a basket of snack food. His name is Rob. Every fifteen minutes he has offered me the basket.
I smiled again. “No thank you.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I’m stuffed.”
“Already? I haven’t even served brunch yet. We’re having fresh crepes. Five varieties. My favorite is the pesto, cheese, and egg.”
“Then I definitely don’t need any more snacks. I’ll save myself for a pesto crepe when it’s ready. But I do have a question.”
“Ask away.”
“Is this your first trip to Afghanistan, or have you been here before?”
“This is my second trip in a week.”
“This is my first trip,” I said. “What can you tell me about it?”
He gave me an odd look. “Virtually nothing. It’s strictly touch-and-go for us. We fly into Kabul, refuel, and take off. The next trip will be in ten days to pick you up.”
“What about Tony? What does he do?”
“Tony’s the man to talk to you about Afghanistan. He’s an international travel facilitator. An expert in passport and immigration control. His job is to make certain that when you get off the plane, there are no hassles. He’s fluent in Pashtun, Dari, Wazari, and I think Farsi. He’s here to grease the wheels, so to speak.”
“Who else have you flown into Kabul?”
“An older man last week. He didn’t give me his name, and even if he had, I wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was. Mr. Plank believes in need to know. All I know is that your name is Pete.”
“Actually, it’s Peak.”
“Really?”
“Common mistake.”