“No. We’re not splitting up.”
“But you can still see me—”
“We’re not splitting up. I don’t care if I can see you. These people might come out of nowhere or cause a different kind of diversion that prevents me from getting to you. We’ll look together. You scan this section; I’ll take the one next to it.” He swung the strap of the bag over his shoulder, then used his free hand, two fingers extended, as a guide to read names on the stone.
Madalina took her cue from Cole and scoured the wall directly in front of her, skimming past all the crypts with flowers or pictures or notes attached to the front. They made their way down the wall in this fashion, each searching a different part without ever breaking the connection of their hands.
Midway down the wall, smack in the center, Cole suddenly stepped forward and touched the flat front of a crypt. “Here. ‘Walcot Nagel. A restless old ghost.’ Wasn’t that reference in his initial letter?”
“Yes. His friend mentioned it regarding his spirit. How fitting that he immortalized those words here.” Despite the extreme circumstances, the danger, the chase, Madalina experienced a surge of fondness and love for her grandfather. For a single moment, she could see him with a secretive smile on his face as he ordered those words to be engraved on his stone. In remembrance of an old friend, yet also recognizing the truth in that about himself. Although Madalina had been close to Walcot in life, she felt strangely closer to him now in death. Maybe it was the intimate, personal nature of the letters, or the stories that went with them, or the deeper understanding of his beliefs and wishes. Cole squeezed her hand as if he was in tune with her thoughts.
“And look. A little keyhole. Let’s see what’s inside,” Cole said, finally releasing her fingers.
Madalina swallowed a knot of emotion and dug the little key out of her pocket. While Cole surveyed the area for signs of a threat, she stepped up to the musty-smelling stone and inserted the key. It took a little finagling to get the lock to turn. Prying at the little door, Madalina pushed it aside enough to see inside the gloomy interior. The scent of stale, damp stone was nearly overwhelming.
Expecting to encounter another box with the Rain Dragon in it, she instead discovered a medium-size white envelope with Madalina written across the front.
No box, no Rain Dragon. Beside her, Cole exhaled a quiet breath.
It meant more delays exchanging the dragon for Brandon.
As worried as she was about Cole’s brother and as anxious as she was about the recent chase, she couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of excitement to see what this latest letter had in store. Growing up, her favorite times were those when Walcot appeared from one of his extended trips with little eccentric gifts and endless stories to accompany each one. He was doing the same thing now, in a sense, except she was the one traveling the world.
After opening the letter, she read the contents aloud—quietly—so that Cole could remain on alert for threats.
My dear girl, is São João Batista not the most resplendent cemetery you’ve ever seen? The carved saints and angels watching over the dead never fail to bring me a sense of peace. I had planned to be interred here once upon a time, as I mentioned, but decided after I fell ill in the States to remain close to family. It still feels like I added to a piece of history when I purchased my small crypt so many years ago, and it has come in handy with its special access door. I have hidden many things in that space off and on, as needed. Few people would think to look here for maps or directions or dragons.
I hope you take a day to reflect on the beauty of the cemetery and the foothills and trees. Breathe in the history, the ambiance. I have spent many hours sitting on the fourth bench. People-watching. Sky-watching. Bird-watching. Listening to the wind in the leaves, the way the cemetery seems to absorb the hectic sounds of the city and leave tranquility behind (this is only true in the off-hours, but I am a man early to rise and, thus, never lingered long when rush-hour traffic was at its height).
There are times I fancied I felt the dead around me. I wonder, do you feel it, too? The welcoming acceptance? I imagined in my last days that I would return to São João, the restless ghost my friend suggested I was, and I cannot help but wonder if you feel closer to me here than elsewhere. Brazil holds part of my soul, as do many places in the world. If I am able, I will be right here, while you’re reading this, a familiar presence in strange surroundings.
Madalina paused when a stray shiver left goose bumps on her arms. She glanced away from the letter, at the benches, the trees, the wall, then up to Cole’s eyes. He must have felt her stare, her pause, because he arched a brow and met her gaze.
“My imagination is running away with me,” she muttered, and went back to reading.
It would have been easy to leave another thing here, with the letter, but I am not done guiding you through your discoveries. This is not just about finding the pot at the end of the rainbow, but about self-discovery as well. I’ve always believed that travel and immersing oneself in different cultures was the best way to unlock secrets about yourself that you might never have otherwise known existed. Take yourself out of your comfort zone, experience new things.
For a different perspective of Brazil, one that will take your breath away and guarantee that your trip here has been worth it, visit the Christ the Redeemer statue at the peak of Corcovado Mountain. At the top, on the terrace where the base of the statue sits, look left along the railing. A stone bench has been turned into a shrine of sorts, where letters, notes, and small gifts are left from one person to another. No one bothers things not left for themselves, which is charming and heartwarming and turned out to be a perfect spot for you to find what comes next.
I truly hope you take a moment to revel in the beauty and atmosphere on the peak, with its stunning vista of Rio.
All my love,
Walcot
“He wouldn’t have left the dragon up there, so it’s another note leading us somewhere else,” Madalina said the moment she stopped reading. She remembered glimpsing the enormous statue on the drive from the airport, with its arms spread wide, towering over the landscape below. It had been impressive then, and she was sure would be more so standing at the base.
Cole’s restless shifting reminded her that she had no time to marvel over the lengths her grandfather had gone to in his effort to show her “his” world, so to speak. They needed to find the dragon—if her grandfather still had it in his possession. She was starting to fret that they would ultimately come to a letter that would explain his giving the dragon—or dragons—to someone he’d met and cared for in one of his travels. Madalina didn’t want to contemplate what that might mean for Brandon.
“Yeah, no way would he have left the thing in a public place. Come on. Let’s get going. We’re going to have to get a room within the next four or five hours if we don’t find what we’re looking for.” Cole set a hand under her elbow, panning a look over her head at their surroundings.
Closing the crypt door, she folded the note into her pocket, stashed the key along with it, and allowed Cole to guide her away from the cemetery.
“I feel like I should apologize or something,” she said, stepping quickly along at Cole’s side.
“Don’t. You couldn’t have known. I’m sorry that what should have been an exciting time of discovery for you has turned into this,” he replied, hand cupping her elbow. He guided her toward the curb.
“I just care about seeing Brandon released safely. Brazil will always be here. We can come back another time,” she replied. She locked eyes with Cole for a moment and saw appreciation there.
As Cole hailed another cab, Madalina sent up a silent prayer that this next letter would give them an answer one way or the other regarding the location of the Rain Dragon.
Four streets away from the cemetery, Cole caught the eye of the driver in the rearview mirror for the sixth time. Because of a
ll that had happened, he found himself a little more paranoid than usual, and that resulted in a more confrontational mood. Why was the driver continually glancing at him? Maybe he’d been hired by the thugs who’d attacked them near Walcot’s house.
When the driver looked quickly away and checked his side mirror, Cole twisted in the seat to look behind them. There were so many cars of different makes and models that he couldn’t pick out anything that immediately looked suspicious. Sunlight gleamed off windshields, making it that much more difficult for him to discern a threat. If he had a clear view to the occupants of the sedan directly behind him, he would be able to tell if they were the same people who’d attacked them near Walcot’s house.
Which reminded him that the men lying in wait hadn’t appeared to be related to the Chinese agents.
“What’s wrong?” Madalina whispered.
Cole faced front. The driver, slightly hunched over the steering wheel, was looking at the road instead of at him in the mirror. Cole tipped his head toward Madalina to assure that his words wouldn’t reach the front seat. “The driver keeps glancing at me. It’s starting to make me suspicious. Be ready and alert, just in case we have a scenario like the last one.”
“Do you think anyone is following us?” She sounded alarmed.
“I can’t tell. There’s too much traffic,” he replied.
“Are we actually on the right course to reach the mountain, or is he driving us in another direction? I’m all turned around since I can’t see the statue from inside the car.” Madalina glanced out the back window. She faced forward a moment later. “I see what you mean about the traffic. Any one of those cars might be following us.”
“We’re headed in the right direction. That doesn’t mean we’re not going to be diverted at the last second.”
“Do you have a hanky in the duffel bag?” she asked, seemingly at random.
“What? No, I didn’t bring any.” He straightened in his seat. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror again. Cole resisted the urge to lean forward and grab the driver by the throat to demand answers.
Madalina reached forward to yank several tissues from a box sitting between the driver and passenger’s seat. “Here. This is why he’s staring. Your nose is bleeding.”
He took the tissues and dabbed his nose. Sure enough, a dark streak of red marred the pristine white tissue. “Great,” he muttered.
“The driver’s probably wondering if he has reason to be afraid,” she said, a touch of irony in her voice.
“He does if he’s working for those men.” He dabbed at his lip and nose until no more streaks appeared on the tissue. Stuffing the wad into a small trash holder provided for customers, Cole said, “We’re almost there. Once he pulls over to drop us off, be particularly aware of other cars and people. Wait until I get out before you do.”
“I will.” She sought his hand for a squeeze.
Cole gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze in return, then reached down to pick up the straps of the duffel bag.
When the taxi came to a stop at the curb, Cole set more than enough money on the console and exited the car. He surveyed the traffic and nearby pedestrians, glad to see the vehicles continue to speed around the taxi along the street. No cars pulled behind the taxi; no bodies came running to kidnap them.
He gestured for Madalina to disembark, which she did in short order.
“All clear?” she asked as the taxi pulled away.
“As far as I can tell.” In his business it paid to listen to gut instinct. Although he couldn’t see any threat, the hair was up on the back of his neck, and he had that uncomfortable feeling of being watched.
“You have that look on your face,” Madalina said, falling into step beside him.
He guided her along the sidewalk toward a booth selling tickets. “What look?”
“The one you get right before you’re about to go into battle.”
CHAPTER NINE
The trek to the top of Corcovado consisted of a trolley that chugged up the side of the mountain, winding its way up a snaking trail taking visitors ever closer to the peak. Madalina sat next to Cole, occasionally glancing out the side of the tram, mesmerized by the increasingly stunning vista stretching out before them. She could see the ocean even before they reached the top, with landmass popping up out of the sapphire blue water. It was a vivid scene of crowded city buildings, a pretty bay, and green terrain where the city gave way to forests. She caught the scent of trees and foliage as the trolley approached the final leg of the trip, clean and fresh and enticing.
Any other time, she mused, she would have loved to immerse herself in the intriguing surroundings, especially the absolutely enormous statue that stared out over Rio and the waters beyond. Today she was distracted with business. With surreptitiously keeping watch on their fellow tourists for signs of trouble.
So far, so good.
Departing the trolley she followed Cole up several flights of steep stairs, forgoing the escalators, which would have spared her legs (and her lungs). The escalators were packed with tourists, and she knew it would take them longer to reach the top if they had to wait in line.
Cresting the peak, where concrete surrounded the base of the statue and led out to a terrace that overlooked the city and the bay, Madalina set a hand on Cole’s arm to let him know she needed to catch her breath. Glancing up she followed the lines of the pale statue with her eyes, overwhelmed at the sheer size. With its arms stretched wide, the landmark was imposing, yet somehow peaceful. She didn’t have any trouble imagining Walcot here, wishing for less noise and chaos so that he might meditate and enjoy the vista alone.
“You all right?” Cole asked. He was barely out of breath.
“Yes. Just needed a second. There’s the bench.” She caught sight of the stone seat near the rail, just where her grandfather said it would be. Heavy candles encased in glass helped keep envelopes, letters, and other paraphernalia from blowing away. There were flowers, teddy bears, T-shirts, records, and small gift boxes awaiting someone to claim them.
“I see it. There are a lot of notes and letters,” Cole said. Bag strap slung over one shoulder, he took her hand and led her forward.
A few people loitered around the bench, picking and plucking at clear plastic bags to see what lay beneath. Looking for something with their name on it. Most of the tourists were circling the statue base, out on the terrace, or still coming up the escalators.
Madalina said, “Let’s see. By now, Walcot’s note might be buried under a few others. It’s been a while since he’s been up here.”
“You look while I keep watch,” Cole said as they drew up to the seat.
Madalina crouched to one side and began searching through the layers of gifts and envelopes. There were plain letter-style envelopes, some with butterflies, and still others that resembled birthday cards. Not expecting Walcot to have left anything but another note, she paid scant attention to the teddy bears and other stuffed animals. She leafed through stack after stack, disturbing the pile only to put everything back in its place when she didn’t find what she was looking for.
Cole stood at her flank, staring out over the crowd.
Madalina pulled a clear Ziploc bag from beneath several others, replaced the candle that had been sitting atop, and rose to her feet. Walcot’s handwriting decorated the front of an envelope resting inside. It simply said: Madalina. She’d found the same kind of envelope at his house and the crypt. “Here. I found something addressed to me.”
Cole eased her to the side, away from the bench and the crowd.
“Should we read it here?” she asked with a wary glance around. More people had arrived while she’d searched. The flux of humanity made it difficult for her to recognize danger. There were too many bodies moving in too many directions at once. Cole seemed to be tense, but not as tense as he’d been in the taxi on the way here, and she took th
at to mean he hadn’t seen anything to be alarmed over.
“How about we stand over here by the rail, then? I’ll read over your shoulder so you don’t have to read it aloud.”
Agreeable, she stepped closer to the rail. Cole positioned himself at her flank, his big body braced partly against the rail, partly against her. She withdrew the envelope from the Ziploc bag, tossed the bag in a nearby trash can, and took out the letter. Inside, pressed and dried, was a pale pink flower that immediately reminded Madalina of the orchids she’d received at home.
Madalina,
Such a lovely name, hmm? Did your mother ever tell you that I tried to get her to name you Laela instead? I lobbied hard for the name when you were born, though your mother, bless her soul, was set on Madalina. The reason I chose Laela was for this flower (called laelia). Not long before you were born, this flower (of the orchid family) crawled up out of a crack between my house and the ground, adding a gracious touch of color to the otherwise unsightly array of oranges and greens and blues that dominate my section of town. It was lovely and fresh and different. I wondered if it was a sign that you would be a girl. In fact, I was convinced of it. And then you came into the world, with your dark hair and pink cheeks and perfect nose.
Every time I looked at the flower, it reminded me of you. Of my intuition. Not only that, but your grandmother became attached to the vibrant blooms (I still wish she had lived long enough for you to remember her).
I picked the initial flower when I knew its time to be at an end, and saved it. To my surprise another grew up in its place. And after it died, yet another sprouted. One pristine specimen among the dingy, grimy hovels and streets.
So you were nearly a Laela instead of a Madalina, but I suppose everything worked out like it was supposed to. I retained my fondness for the flower, and I’m sure you recognize it from the bouquet I arranged to have delivered to you after my death. This is just one more story you can add to all the others I’ve told you over the years. I imagine you’ll save the flower, too, like you’ve saved all the other bits and trinkets I’ve given you from my travels.
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