II, who didn’t want whatever my great-grandpa found ever getting out?”
“Possibly.” Jake glanced at the banker, and then shrugged. “Or the American government.”
“The Americans? But Great-grandpa was American.”
“He left a hero, a government agent, and came home a dropout. Why, we don’t know. That’s the mystery I’m trying to unravel. I thought we had more time until that bomb went off.”
“What bomb?” Dunnigan looked alarmed.
“Watch the news tonight, Mr. Dunnigan. But don’t worry, we’re well past them. Don’t call the press and they won’t call you. But let’s not linger, shall we? What if reporters find the same paper trail I did and trace Rominy up here? Or cops do? Or Nazis?”
“Exactly.” Now the banker was brisk. “Let’s get the pretty lady on her way.” He took the folders and began spreading papers out on the table as if dealing cards, suddenly in a hurry to have them gone. “Here are the genealogical tables Mr. Barrow assembled, birth certificates, address reports, news clippings, and the DNA testing documentation. It’s been quite an exercise in investigation, because Benjamin Hood was apparently quite the recluse. We never saw him; he was a complete hermit. He was represented by a woman; possibly your great-grandmother. But we have the will, the bank records, and information on the Cascade River property.” He glanced at Rominy. “Are you a fan of compound interest, Ms. Hood?”
“Of what?”
“The way savings can accumulate over time. Mr. Hood left a relatively modest savings account here when he died in 1944 and it by rights now belongs to you. It was a little over $8,000. Which has become with compounding interest . . .”—he searched a table of figures—“a healthy $161,172, after deductions for the safety deposit box, taxes on the Cascade River property, and our administrative fees. Would you like a cashier’s check? We’d like to clear out the account.”
She was stunned. First her car gone, now this? Was she on drugs? She looked at Barrow.
“Now do you understand why this is important?” he asked. “And this is just the tip of the iceberg.” He turned to Dunnigan. “We may need travel money. I suggest thirty thousand dollars in cash and a check for the rest.”
“That’s quite a lot of cash to carry around,” the banker cautioned.
“Not for long. She’ll be careful.”
“I’m afraid the young lady is going to have to speak for herself.”
Rominy was dazed. “Thirty thousand?” Her annual salary wasn’t much more.
“Just for a day or two until we figure out if we need to go to Tibet,” Jake said.
“Tibet!”
“Hang with me just a little longer, Rominy. It will make sense.”
“Right.” She threw up her hands. “In twenties, please.” Wasn’t that how they did it in the movies? It didn’t seem like real money. “And you can transfer the balance to my account in Seattle.” Her voice sounded small even to her. But she wasn’t taking a check Barrow or neo-Nazis could run off with.
“I think we may have difficulty accumulating that many twenties in this branch. Now if you could give us a day or two . . .”
“Whatever bills you have, Mr. Dunnigan,” Jake said. “As much as you can spare. We’re a little pressed for time, remember?” He gestured toward the door. “Don’t want anyone following us here.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Sign these forms, and I’ll start the arrangements.”
Hand shaking at the thought of so much money, Rominy signed everything put before her. Then the bank vice president gave her a small brass key. “This is yours for the safety deposit box, should you decide to keep it. I trust you want to look inside?”
She still had a headache, but what answer could she give?
“Yes. Let’s see what all this fuss is about.”
13
The Lhasa Road, Tibet
September 2, 1938
T he Tibetan Plateau averages three miles in height and sprawls across an area four times the size of France, but it
“Possibly.” Jake glanced at the banker, and then shrugged. “Or the American government.”
“The Americans? But Great-grandpa was American.”
“He left a hero, a government agent, and came home a dropout. Why, we don’t know. That’s the mystery I’m trying to unravel. I thought we had more time until that bomb went off.”
“What bomb?” Dunnigan looked alarmed.
“Watch the news tonight, Mr. Dunnigan. But don’t worry, we’re well past them. Don’t call the press and they won’t call you. But let’s not linger, shall we? What if reporters find the same paper trail I did and trace Rominy up here? Or cops do? Or Nazis?”
“Exactly.” Now the banker was brisk. “Let’s get the pretty lady on her way.” He took the folders and began spreading papers out on the table as if dealing cards, suddenly in a hurry to have them gone. “Here are the genealogical tables Mr. Barrow assembled, birth certificates, address reports, news clippings, and the DNA testing documentation. It’s been quite an exercise in investigation, because Benjamin Hood was apparently quite the recluse. We never saw him; he was a complete hermit. He was represented by a woman; possibly your great-grandmother. But we have the will, the bank records, and information on the Cascade River property.” He glanced at Rominy. “Are you a fan of compound interest, Ms. Hood?”
“Of what?”
“The way savings can accumulate over time. Mr. Hood left a relatively modest savings account here when he died in 1944 and it by rights now belongs to you. It was a little over $8,000. Which has become with compounding interest . . .”—he searched a table of figures—“a healthy $161,172, after deductions for the safety deposit box, taxes on the Cascade River property, and our administrative fees. Would you like a cashier’s check? We’d like to clear out the account.”
She was stunned. First her car gone, now this? Was she on drugs? She looked at Barrow.
“Now do you understand why this is important?” he asked. “And this is just the tip of the iceberg.” He turned to Dunnigan. “We may need travel money. I suggest thirty thousand dollars in cash and a check for the rest.”
“That’s quite a lot of cash to carry around,” the banker cautioned.
“Not for long. She’ll be careful.”
“I’m afraid the young lady is going to have to speak for herself.”
Rominy was dazed. “Thirty thousand?” Her annual salary wasn’t much more.
“Just for a day or two until we figure out if we need to go to Tibet,” Jake said.
“Tibet!”
“Hang with me just a little longer, Rominy. It will make sense.”
“Right.” She threw up her hands. “In twenties, please.” Wasn’t that how they did it in the movies? It didn’t seem like real money. “And you can transfer the balance to my account in Seattle.” Her voice sounded small even to her. But she wasn’t taking a check Barrow or neo-Nazis could run off with.
“I think we may have difficulty accumulating that many twenties in this branch. Now if you could give us a day or two . . .”
“Whatever bills you have, Mr. Dunnigan,” Jake said. “As much as you can spare. We’re a little pressed for time, remember?” He gestured toward the door. “Don’t want anyone following us here.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Sign these forms, and I’ll start the arrangements.”
Hand shaking at the thought of so much money, Rominy signed everything put before her. Then the bank vice president gave her a small brass key. “This is yours for the safety deposit box, should you decide to keep it. I trust you want to look inside?”
She still had a headache, but what answer could she give?
“Yes. Let’s see what all this fuss is about.”
13
The Lhasa Road, Tibet
September 2, 1938
T he Tibetan Plateau averages three miles in height and sprawls across an area four times the size of France, but it
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