Ice Shock(83)

“One day … months ago now … I found myself in the rocks on the slope of this mountain. I had a head injury, but nothing more. I was found by a climbing guide, who took me down to the first hut. They wanted to take me to the hospital but I wouldn’t let them. I was terrified—of people. I didn’t want to go where there were many people. This fear was like nothing you can imagine. Completely irrational! And yet it consumed me. I couldn’t even stand to see the people arriving in the hut. I looked into each face and I wondered—are you the one who’s come for me? So they let me stay in this hut. It’s usually an emergency hut, but with me here it’s always warm and safe, for anyone who gets caught in bad weather.”

Ixchel says, “So … you don’t remember anything?”

Andres shrugs. “Not so far.”

“You don’t remember me, or Mom, or Oxford, our house … anything?” I say.

“No, son. I’m truly sorry. I don’t.”

“What do you remember about the people who are after you?”

“Almost nothing. There are some very, very vague memories, like fragments from a dream. And they don’t make sense.”

“Try us,” I say.

“I’m flying … and being chased by another aircraft. That’s one. I’m in a cage, like a prison. That’s another. I’m being shot at, but I don’t die, and I’m not afraid.”

“What were you wearing when you woke up on the mountain?”

“Just an orange jumpsuit. I nearly froze to death. And a piece of really tasteless jewelry.” He reaches under the mattress and pulls out a chunky bracelet. Even though I’ve never seen it before, I know immediately that we’re looking at the Bracelet of Itzamna. Dad doesn’t miss our unspoken recognition.

“But it’s not just jewelry, is it? Even I guessed that much. This has something to do with why I’m here. I think it may even be why those people are looking for me.”

Dad doesn’t let us touch the Bracelet, but instead fits it onto his left wrist, like a watch. It’s about twice the width of a fat digital watch, made of a copper-colored material that shines, but without the sheen of metal. It’s engraved with wedgelike symbols, similar to the inscriptions on the Adapter. Some symbols look like buttons. Placed just to the left of center is a small dent, a hollow to hold something about the size of a small pea.

“It’s got some kind of power source,” Dad says, staring at the Bracelet with what I could swear looks like affection. “It hums. Like static electricity. It’s not from this world. I’m sure of that. And it’s broken.”

“Broken?”

“When I look at it, I have one thought, one memory. Burned out.”

I give the Bracelet a careful look. “It doesn’t look burned.”

“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”

“You don’t know how to use it, or what it does?”

He shakes his head. “But I think that once, I did.”

“I think you did too,” I say. It’s all beginning to make sense. Montoyo told me that Dad either took the Bracelet from Blanco Vigores, or Vigores gave it to him. If the Bracelet is a time-travel device, then that explains how Dad escaped from the NRO.

He jumped in time.

Which means that somehow, Dad must have figured out how to use the Bracelet. Or fixed it. Montoyo said they hadn’t been able to make it work. But Dad did!

And now all that knowledge is lost …

I can’t even imagine how long Dad’s been away, or where he’s been. For me, months have passed. But for him? It might be longer … If it weren’t for the fact that like me, Dad has dark brown eyes, I’d even wonder, was Arcadio really my own father, traveling in time?

“Josh … do you know what this is?”

“I think it’s the Bracelet of Itzamna,” I tell him, looking at Ixchel for confirmation. She only shrugs. I guess she’s never seen it either. “You’re right, people are looking for it. Maybe they’re even looking for you. The people who captured you were agents from the U.S. National Reconnaissance Organization. It’s part military, part secret service. They faked your death, to make it look like you died in a plane crash. They really didn’t want anyone looking for you, I guess. But what I can’t figure out is—how did they fake your dental records? The coroner identified the body, said it was you.”

Dad shrugs. “Maybe they bribed the coroner.”

Openmouthed, I say, “People can do that?”

“Not without connections, I imagine. But if what you say is right, then this agency must know pretty powerful people within the Mexican government.”