The Edge (3 page)

“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.”

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!”

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 gathered 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.”

“Odd first name.”

I nodded at my sleeping mother. “Odd parents.”

“That's your mother?”

“Yep, that's Mom.”

“She doesn't look old enough to have a son your age.”

“When she wakes up, tell her that. It will make her happy.”

“I will.”

“So do you know what we're doing here?”

“Not specifically, but I gather from the equipment onboard that you are climbers.” Rob looked at his watch. “I better get going. You're welcome to go back and talk to Tony.”

“He looks busy. I don't want to bug him.”

“I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you. Unlike me, he's been all over the Stans.”

“The Stans?”

“Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Pakistan, and Afghanistan. The word
stan
means ‘place of.' Tony's parents were British diplomats. He grew up in the Stans.”

Rob wandered back up to the galley to start cooking crepes. I wandered to the back of the jet like I was going to use the lavatory, pausing when I got to Tony's seat. He looked up from his laptop and smiled.

“Is everything well, Peak?” he said with a British accent.

“Everything is fine, thanks. Relaxing flight. But probably not for you. You look busy.”

Tony laughed. “Don't tell anyone,” his whispered, “but I'm playing
League of Legends.
”

“What's that?”

He laughed again. “I take it you are not a gamer.”

“Not even a little.”

“Smart boy.
League of Legends
is an online game that is very addictive and a bloody waste of time, but flying around like this, I have nothing but time to waste.”

“Well, I'll let you get back to—”

“I was just bludgeoned to death. Take a seat.”

I took a seat across from him.

“I hear you're responsible for making sure we get into Afghanistan without any hassles.”

“Yes I am. You are all set. The only small glitch we are going to have is that it appears we will be landing just before afternoon prayers, which could certainly delay things, but only slightly.”

I'd just read about these prayers in one of Mom's books. Devout Muslims pray five times a day.
Fajr,
just before dawn.
Zuhr,
noon.
Asr,
afternoon.
Maghrib,
sunset.
Isha,
evening.

“I also understand you were raised in the Stans.”

“Indeed I was, but I spent most of my childhood in Afghanistan. My parents worked for the British government.”

“Diplomats.”

“Not exactly. Mother and Father—long retired, so it is safe to tell you now—were spies.”

“You're kidding.”

“I am not. And don't be deceived. A spy is nothing like how it is portrayed in novels and films. Their job was to make friends and gather information from them. I'm afraid there wasn't much cloak and dagger to it. They threw dinners and parties, and went to dinners and parties, and I usually accompanied them, along with my sister and brothers. It was a wonderful life. Most of my best friends live in the Stans.”

“Do you work full-time for Sebastian Plank?”

“Good lord, no. I'm an independent consultant. I've worked for him six or seven times. Most of my work is for governmental agencies, especially the Stan governments, which have a very short shelf life in that many of them are overthrown on a regular basis. Business has been booming, as you would say in the States, for the last decade.”

“I don't know anything about Afghanistan.”

“That is nothing to feel bad about. Most of the so-called experts, and I include myself in this small group, know very little about Afghanistan. All you need to know is that the country has been in a state of war for thousands of years. Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, the British, the Soviet Union, Al-Qaeda, the Americans, the Taliban, and several others, have all attempted to take over Afghanistan.”

“Why?”

“Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great wanted the country because of the trade route through the Khyber Pass. The Soviet Union and the British wanted the country as a geographical buffer zone against the Chinese. Al-Qaeda wanted the country as a hideout and training ground for terrorists. The Americans wanted to punish Al-Qaeda for what happened on 9/11. The Taliban wanted, and still want, to turn Afghanistan into a religious state.”

“What do the Afghan people want?”

“Most of them want to be left alone, especially in the tribal areas, or frontier, which I assume is where you will be. The frontier is not much different from your Wild West, except that your Wild West lasted only a few decades. The Afghan frontier has been in place several millennia, and I doubt any group, or any country, is ever going to tame it. They have their own ways of doing things, and the people who live there resent outside interference. Afghans are an independent lot. Cantankerous. Tough. Completely loyal to their friends. Utterly ruthless to their enemies. Unfortunately, the only time the tribes and rural villages come together as a people is when someone from the outside tries to interfere with their way of life. When the invaders leave, they go back to warring with one another.”