Kenzie’s pulse skipped, everyone in the room seeming to hold their breath.
“Still waiting for confirmation,” the woman’s voice said.
Another burst of static.
This time the excitement in the woman’s voice was unmistakable. “… Conrad… It’s definitely him… must’ve fallen into the crevasse or something … He’s alive!”
The Ops Room exploded in cheers.
Boneless with relief, Kenzie found herself blinking back tears.
Chapter 1
Tengboche, Nepal
August 26
Harrison Conrad satin the lotus position in the back corner of the Dokhang—the prayer hall—at the Tengboche Monastery, his eyes closed, his back pressed against the wooden planks of the wall.
“Om muni muni maha muni shakyamuni soha.”
He chanted along with the monks, focusing his awareness on the words and music. The monks’ deep voices filled the space around him, drums, cymbals, and horns punctuating the chant. The spice of incense mingled with the warm scent of butter lamps and the musky odor of so many human bodies together.
The last of the season’s tourists were there, too, watching, sneaking illegal videos with cellphones, coughing from the altitude, but Conrad had forgotten about them. Everything around him was light. It penetrated him, raised him up, driving out the darkness that lived inside him.
“Om muni muni maha muni shakyamuni soha. Om muni muni maha muni shakyamuni soha.”
Om, wise one, wise one, greatly wise one, wise one of the Shakyans, Hail!
Time lost all meaning, the mantra spinning itself over and over again, weaving through Conrad’s consciousness until his mind was blank, the emptiness bringing with it a sense of peace. No pain. No regret. No guilt.
Then it was over.
The monks shuffled out, but Conrad stayed as he was, sitting, waiting for the tourists to leave, his eyes closed. Any trekker or climber who came to this region likely knew who he was. Some would stare. Others would try to get his autograph. Some would ask questions, and those questions would bring the darkness rushing back.
He willed himself to focus on the feeling of emptiness, trying not to hear the shuffling and whispering around him.
“Is that Harrison Conrad?”
“Yeah, man.”
A hand touched his shoulder. “Hey, dude, can I get an autogra—”
A familiar voice silenced the first. “If he wanted to hand out autographs, he wouldn’t be meditating, would he? Let him be.”
Megs.
Conrad’s eyes flew open. What the hell was she doing here?
“You’re Megs Hill!” said a guy in a Peruvian ski hat.
“You win the prize. Want me to sign that?” Megs took a notebook and a pen from him and scribbled her signature across the page. “Okay. Show’s over. It’s time to go. This is a prayer hall, not a party.”
Megs walked over to Conrad, waiting until they were alone to speak. “It’s time to knock this shit off and come home. Do you think you’re the only climber who’s ever lost a partner?”
Conrad’s temper surged, but the exhaustion on Megs’ face broke his fury. He knew only too well that she had lost friends, too. “What are you doing here?”
Tengboche was high in the Himalayas on the route to Everest Base Camp, but it was the end of August now. Climbing season was long over.
