The Kingdom

The guard said in broken English, “Please sit. Wait,” then slammed shut the door.

Clothed in a similar jumpsuit, Sam stood up from the table, walked over to Remi, and gave her a big hug. He pulled back and looked her up and down and smiled. “Ravishing, simply ravishing.”

She smiled. “Idiot.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better. Amazing what a few minutes with a washcloth and hot water can do. Not quite a warm shower or a hot bath, mind you, but a close second.”

Together, they sat down at the table. The space in which the Kathmandu police were keeping them wasn’t so much a cell as it was a holding room. The cinder-block walls and the floor were painted a light gray, and the table and chairs (all bolted to the floor) were made of heavy aluminum. Before them, across the table, was a four-foot-wide mesh-embedded window through which they could see the squad room. Half a dozen uniformed officers were going about their business, answering phones, writing reports, and chatting. So far, except for a few polite but firm commands in rough English, no one had spoken to them in the two hours since they’d been “rescued.”

Riding in the back of the police van in the rapidly fading dusk light, Sam and Remi had watched the passing scenery, looking for the slightest clue as to where they had emerged from the cave system. Their answer had come almost immediately as they crossed over the Chobar Gorge bridge and turned northeast toward Kathmandu proper.

Their underground march to freedom had brought them to the surface a mere two miles from where they’d entered. This realization brought first a smile to Sam’s and Remi’s lips and then, to the bewilderment of the two police officers in the front seat, a gale of laughter that lasted a full minute.

“Any clue as to who raised the alarm?” Remi now asked Sam.

“None. As far as I can tell, we’re not under arrest.”

“We have to assume they’re going to question us. What’s our story going to be?”

Sam thought for a moment. “As close to the truth as possible. We came out here a little before sunrise for a day hike. We got lost and wandered around until they found us. If they push, just stick with ‘I’m not sure.’ Unless they found our equipment, they can’t prove otherwise.”

“Got it. And providing we don’t get thrown into a Nepali prison for some obscure crime?”

“We’ll need to retrieve the-”

Sam stopped talking, his eyes narrowed. Remi followed his gaze through the window to the far left side of the squad room near the door. Standing at the threshold were Russell and Marjorie King.

“I wish I could say I was surprised,” Remi muttered.

“Just as we suspected.”

Across the squad room, the sergeant in charge spotted the King twins and hurried over to where they were standing. The trio began talking back and forth. Though neither Sam nor Remi could hear the conversation, the sergeant’s ma

A few moments later Sam and Remi’s door opened, and the sergeant and one of his underlings stepped inside. They took the seats opposite the Fargos. The sergeant spoke Nepali for a few seconds, then nodded to his underling, who said in heavily accented but decent English, “My sergeant has asked that I translate our conversation. Is this acceptable?”

Sam and Remi nodded.

The sergeant spoke, and a few seconds later the translation came: “If you would, please confirm your identities.”

Sam replied, “Have we been arrested?”

“No,” the officer replied. “You are being temporarily detained.”

“On what grounds?”

“Under Nepali law, we are not required to disclose the answer to that question at the present time. Please confirm your identities.”

Sam and Remi did so, and for the next few minutes they were taken through a series of routine questions-Why are you in Nepal? Where are you staying? What prompted your visit?-before getting down to substance.

“Where were you going when you got lost?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Remi responded. “It seemed like a lovely day for a hike.”

“You parked your car at Chobar Gorge. Why?”

“We heard it was a beautiful area,” said Sam.

“What time did you arrive?”

“Before dawn.”

“Why so early?”

“We’re restless souls,” Sam replied with a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“We like to stay busy,” said Remi.

“Please tell us where your hike took you.”

“If we knew that,” Sam said, “we probably wouldn’t have gotten lost.”

“You had a compass with you. How did you lose your way?”

“I flunked out of Boy Scouts,” said Sam.

Remi chimed in. “I only sold cookies in the Girl Scouts.”

“This is not a laughing matter, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. Do you find this fu

Sam put on his best chastised expression. “Apologies. We’re exhausted and a little embarrassed. We’re grateful you found us. Who alerted you we might be in trouble?”

The officer translated the question. His sergeant grunted something, then spoke again. “My sergeant asks that you restrict yourselves to answering his questions. You said you pla

“We didn’t expect to be gone that long,” Remi said. “We’re not the best pla

Sam nodded sadly to emphasize his wife’s point.

The officer asked, “You expect us to believe you went on a hike with no equipment whatsoever?”

“I had my Swiss Army knife,” Sam said drily.

At this translation, the sergeant glanced up and glared at Sam, then Remi, then stood up and stalked from the room. “Please wait here,” the officer said, and left the room.

Not surprisingly, the sergeant walked straight through the squad-room door to the hallway. Sam and Remi could see only his back; Russell and Marjorie were out of view. Sam stood up, walked to the far-right side of the window, and pressed his face against it.

“Can you see them?” Remi asked.

“Yep.”

“And?”

“The twins look unhappy. Not a smarmy smile in sight. Russell’s gesturing . . . Well, this is interesting.”

“What?”

“He’s mimicking the shape of a box-a box that looks remarkably like the same size as the chest.”

“That’s good. I imagine they’ve searched the area in which they found us. Russell wouldn’t be asking for what’s already been found.”

Sam stepped back from the window and hurried back to his seat.

The sergeant and his officer stepped back into the room and sat down. The questioning resumed, this time with a bit more intensity, and in a roundabout fashion designed to trip up Sam and Remi. The gist of the queries remained the same, however: we know you had to have had belongings, where are they? Sam and Remi took their time and stuck to their story, watching as the sergeant’s frustration grew.

At last the sergeant resorted to threats: “We know who you are and what you do for a living. We suspect you have come to Nepal in search of black market antiquities.”

“On what do you base your suspicions?” Sam asked.

“Sources.”

“You’ve been misinformed,” said Remi.

“There are several statutes under which you can be charged, all of which carry serious penalties.”

Sam leaned forward in his chair and fixed the sergeant’s gaze. “Charge away. Right after we’re booked we’ll want to talk to the legal attache at the U.S. embassy.”

The sergeant held Sam’s eyes for a long ten seconds, then leaned back and sighed. He said something to his underling, then stood up and left the room, banging the open door against the wall as he left.

The underling translated, “You are free to go.”

Ten minutes later, back in their own clothes, Sam and Remi were out the front door of the police station and walking down the steps. Dusk was falling. The sky was clear, and a scattering of diamond-speck stars began to shine. Streetlights illuminated the cobblestoned street below.