Douglas Preston - White Fire

“What do you mean, and the problem ? It’s bad enough that this Captain Bowdree has shown up in person — at least she wants to bury her ancestor’s bones somewhere else. Daniel, what if those other descendants demand reburial in the original cemetery? We’re five million dollars into construction!”

“Now, now, Betty, calm down. Please. That’s never going to happen. If any so-called descendants take legal action — which they haven’t yet — our attorneys will tie them up in knots for years. We’ve got the money and legal power to keep a case like this going forever.”

“It’s not just that. I’m worried about where it could lead — if you know what I mean.”

“That girl’s just looking at the bones, and when she’s done, it ends. It isn’t going to lead where you’re worried it might lead. How could it? And if it does, trust me, we’ll take care of it. Your problem, Betty, is that you’re like your mother: you worry too much and you cherish your anger. Mix yourself a martini and let it go.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you.” A chuckle. “I’ll tell you what. To ease your mind, I’ll get my people to dig into their background, find some dirt. The girl, the FBI agent…anyone else?”

“Captain Bowdree. Just in case.”

“Fine. Remember, I’m only doing this to keep our powder dry. We probably won’t have to use it.”

“Thank you, Daniel.”

“Anything for you, my dear cousin Betty.”

They sat in comfortable chairs in the all-but-empty Starbucks. Corrie cradled her cup, grateful for the warmth. Across the small table, Stacy Bowdree stared into her own coffee. She seemed quieter, less effusive, than she had that morning.

“So why did you leave the air force?” Corrie asked.

“At first I wanted to make a career of it. After 9/11. I was in college, both my parents were dead, and I was looking for direction, so I transferred to the academy. I was really gung-ho, totally idealistic. But two tours in Iraq, and then two more in Afghanistan, cured me of that. I realized I wasn’t cut out to be a lifer. It’s still a man’s game, no matter what they say, especially in the air force.”

“Four tours? Wow.”

Bowdree shrugged. “Not uncommon. They need a lot of people on the ground over there.”

“What did you do?”

“On the last tour, I was the commanding officer of the 382nd Expeditionary EOD Bunker. Explosive Ordnance Disposal. We were stationed at FOB Gardez, Paktia Province.”

“You defused bombs?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time, we’d clear areas of the base or take munitions to the range and get rid of them. Basically, any time they wanted to put a shovel in the ground, we had to clear the area first. Once in a while, we had to go beyond the wire and clear IEDs.”

“You mean, with those big bomb suits?”

“Yeah, like in that film The Hurt Locker. Although mostly we used robots. Anyway, that’s all in the past. I got my discharge a few months ago. I’ve sort of been drifting, wondering what to do with my life — and then Pendergast’s bit of news came along.”

“And so you’re here in Roaring Fork.”

“Yes, and you’re probably wondering why.”

“Well, I am, a little.” Corrie laughed, still a little nervous. She had been afraid to ask the question.

“When you’re done with him, I’m taking Great-Great-Granddad back to Kentucky and I’m going to bury him in the family plot.”

Corrie nodded. “That’s cool.”

“My parents are gone, I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I’ve been getting interested in my family’s past. The Bowdrees go back a long way. We’ve got Colorado pioneers like Emmett, we’ve got military officers going back to the Revolution, and then there’s my favorite, Captain Thomas Bowdree Hicks, who fought for the South in the Army of Northern Virginia — a real war hero and a captain, just like me.” Her face glowed with pride.

“I think it’s great.”

“I’m glad you think so. Because I’m not here to rush your work along. I don’t have any burning agenda — I just want to reconnect with my past, with my roots, to make a personal journey of sorts, and in the end bring my ancestor back to Kentucky. Maybe by then I’ll have a better idea of what to do next.”

Corrie simply nodded.

Bowdree finished her coffee. “What a bizarre thing, getting eaten by a bear.”

Corrie hesitated. She’d been thinking about it all afternoon, and had decided she really couldn’t in good conscience keep back the truth. “Um, I think there’s something you should know about your ancestor.”

Bowdree looked up.

“This has to remain confidential — at least until I’ve finished my work.”

“It will.”

“Emmett Bowdree wasn’t killed and eaten by a grizzly bear.”

“No?”

“Nor were the other remains — at least the ones I’ve looked at.” She took a deep breath. “They were murdered. By a gang of serial killers, it seems. Murdered and…” She couldn’t quite say it.

“Murdered and…?”

“Eaten.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Corrie shook her head.

“And nobody knows this?”

“Only Pendergast.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Corrie paused. “Well, I’d like to stay here and solve the crime.”

Bowdree whistled. “Good God. Any idea of who? Or why?”

“Not yet.”

A long silence ensued. “You need any help?”

“No. Well, maybe. I’ve got a whole lot of old newspapers to comb through — I guess I could use a hand with that. But I need to do all the forensic analysis on my own. It’s my first real thesis and…well, I want it to be my own work. Pendergast thinks I’m crazy and wants me to finish up and go back to New York with what I’ve got, but I’m not ready for that yet.”

Bowdree gave a big smile. “I get it totally. You’re just like me. I like doing things on my own.”

Corrie sipped her drink. “Any luck finding a place to stay?”

“Nada. I’ve never seen such a gold-plated town.”

“Why don’t you stay with me? I’m house-sitting an empty mansion on Ravens Ravine Road, just me and a stray dog, and to be honest the place is creeping me out. I’d love to have someone keep me company.” Especially ex-military. She’d been thinking about those footprints all afternoon, thinking how much better she’d feel with a roommate. “All you’ll have to do is avoid a few security cameras — the nonresident owner is a bit of a busybody. But I’d love to have you.”

“Are you serious? Really?” Bowdree’s smile widened. “That would be fantastic! Thank you so much.”

Corrie drained her drink and stood up. “If you’re ready, you can follow me up there now.”

“I was born ready.” And with that, Bowdree grabbed her gear and followed Corrie out into the freezing night.

At five minutes to four in the morning, London time, Roger Kleefisch stepped into the large sitting room of his town house on Marylebone High Street and surveyed the dim surroundings with satisfaction. Everything was in its precise position: the velvet-lined easy chairs on each side of the fireplace; the bearskin hearth rug on the floor; the long row of reference works on the polished mantelpiece, a letter jammed into the wood directly below them by a jackknife; the scientific charts on the wall; the bench of chemicals heavily scarred with acid; the letters V.R. tattooed into the far wall with bullet holes — simulated bullet holes, of course. There was even a worn violin sitting in a corner — Kleefisch had been trying to learn how to play, but of course even discordant scrapings would have been sufficient. As he looked around, a smile formed on his face. Perfect — as close as he could possibly make it to the descriptions in the stories themselves. The only thing he’d left out had been the solution of cocaine hydrochloride and hypodermic needle.