David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

'But it's absurd to suspect…" Tess jerked forward. 'Sure, some Greenpeace members were once arrested for taking over a whaling ship in Peru. And it often puts boats filled with people between whaling ships and their quarry. But there's a big difference between seizing private property or risking your life to save an endangered species and - '

'Executing someone you blame for contributing to the destruction of the planet?' Trask raised his eyebrows. 'Of course. And don't get me wrong. Greenpeace is a reputable organization. I certainly don't think it would ever resort to violence. But the new director of the Pac-Rim Corporation did receive a note warning him that he'd better make sure another spill doesn't happen, so we know that fanatics were responsible for those murders. My point is, I agree with you – extremists hurt our cause. Every time protestors invade a nuclear-power facility or steal research animals from a medical lab or throw blood on a woman who wears a fur coat, the public reacts as if all environmentalists are a bunch of lunatics. The rest of us who believe that education, common sense, and good example are the proper ways to gain converts become guilty by association. So let's not avoid the issue. Let's face it head-on and make clear that the majority of environmentalists are not crazed, Looney-Tunes weirdos, that we don't approve of excessive protests any more than the public does.'

Tess studied her boss and slowly nodded. Burdened with grief, she fought to pay attention. 'You know, Walter, the more I think of it…'

'Not a bad idea? Of course, if I say so myself. Does that mean you'll do the piece?'

Tess nodded again, pensive, straightening.

'Good.'

'I see several possibilities.' Her voice sounded cramped. With effort, she continued, 'While I'm condemning extremists, I'll still be able to emphasize the threats to the environment that make them behave the way they do. Right motives, wrong methods.'

'You got it, kid. And if you get deeply enough into the story you never know – maybe you'll be able to take your mind off what happened to your poor friend.'

'I doubt it, Walter. Very much. But Lord knows, I'll try my best.' Her eyes misted. 'I definitely need distracting.'

For the rest of the morning, Tess almost succeeded. Struggling to immerse herself in the subject and stop brooding about Joseph's death, she searched through her files. Determined, she called the reference department at the public library, the Daily News , and the Times . She jotted notes and quickly made lists. Trask's reference to animal-rights activists prompted her to recall that last year a group of protestors who'd stolen rabbits being used for medical research had destroyed a five-year experiment that might have resulted in a cure for muscular dystrophy. In another case, the animals that were stolen had been infected with anthrax to test a new vaccine. A minor epidemic had resulted before the animals were recovered.

Seeking further examples, Tess recalled what had happened in Brazil last week. Pedro Gomez, a rubber-tree tapper who'd been trying to organize his fellow villagers to stop developers from their slash-and-burn destruction of the Amazon jungle, had been blown apart by automatic weapons while making a speech. At his funeral, his wife had received a 'gift,' the head of the financier suspected of ordering Gomez's death. The theory was that one of Gomez's followers had killed the financier to get even. Nonetheless the beheading, like the supposed revenge slayings of Billy Joe Bennett and Harrison Page in Tennessee, was related to a major environmental catastrophe, and Tess decided to include the incident as an example of radical behavior ultimately caused by an ecological crisis, and while condemning that behavior, she still could emphasize the crisis itself.

By noon, Tess had a rough outline for her article, amazed by how much she'd been able to accomplish so quickly, given her need to distract herself. But the truth was, a festering corner of her mind continued to brood about Joseph. More and more, she kept glancing at her watch, its hands proceeding relentlessly, with surprising speed yet paradoxical slowness, toward one o'clock and her appointment with Lieutenant Craig. What had he wanted to show her? Why had he been evasive yet again?

The lieutenant drove an unmarked rust-colored car this time. When he stopped at the curb and Tess got in to fasten her seatbelt, she noticed that his creased brow was beaded with sweat. His blue suitcoat was lumped beside him. The front of his wrinkled white shirt and the underarm she could see were dark with moisture.

'Sorry.' He coughed. The windows were open, but the only breeze on this sultry smog-hazed June afternoon came from passing cars. 'The air conditioner doesn't work.'

'I'll adjust.'

'Good. That makes one of us.'

'Asthma, you said?'

'What?'

'Your cough.'

'Oh.' Craig steered into traffic. 'Yeah, my cough. That's what my doctor tells me. Asthma. Allergies. This town's killing me.'

'Then maybe you should move.'

'Sure. Like to someplace wholesome? Like to Iowa? What's that line in the movie? Field of Dreams . Yeah, that's the movie. "Is this heaven?" and Kevin Costner says, "No, it's Iowa." Cornfields? Give me a break. I was raised here. This is heaven.' Craig frowned, his voice dropping. 'Or at least, it used to be.'

He turned east off Broadway.

'We're heading in the same direction we did last time.' Tess became rigid. 'Don't tell me we're going back to - '

'The morgue?' Craig shook his head and coughed. 'I'd have warned you. No, we'll be driving up First Avenue again.'

'To Carl Schurz Park? But I don't want to - '

'No, not there either. Let me do this my way, all right? So I can explain and prepare you? And don't frown. I swear, cross my heart, you won't see anything gross.'

'You're positive?'

'I'm not saying it won't disturb you, but I guarantee it won't make you sick. On the other hand… Okay, here's the deal. You told me your friend was different? That's an understatement. According to the FBI, he doesn't exist.'

'Doesn't…? What are you…?'

'We sent your friend's name to the Bureau to help them find a match for the fingerprints on the corpse's unburned left hand. They searched their computers for a file on Joseph Martin. No surprise. It's a common name. There are plenty of Joseph Martins. What is surprising is that none of the fingerprints in those files matched the fingerprints we sent to the Bureau.'

'But surely not everybody has fingerprints in the Bureau's files.'

'Right.' Craig continued toward First Avenue. 'So the next step is to check with Social Security, to match the number your friend gave his employer with the names and addresses on their list.'

'And?'

Craig steered around a UPS truck, its driver hurrying to make a delivery. ' And ? There is a Joseph Martin with that number. The trouble is, he lives in Illinois. Or used to live in Illinois. Because – and this took several phone calls – Joseph Martin who has that social security number died in nineteen fifty-nine .'

'There's some mistake .'

Craig shook his head. 'I doublechecked. The result came up the same. Joseph Martin – your Joseph Martin – should have quit fooling everybody. He should have done the decent thing, stretched out on the floor, crossed his arms, stopped breathing, and been as dead as the Joseph Martin who's in a cemetery in Illinois.'

While Craig reached First Avenue and headed north, Tess felt pressure behind her ears. 'You're telling me Joseph assumed the identity of a dead man?'