Ted Kosmatka - Prophet of Bones

He turned his collar up against the damp and stepped out into the rain.

Paul got a hotel for the evening and stayed the night. He left the next morning, preparing for the long drive back.

Halfway between Indianapolis and Dayton his phone rang. Unknown caller.

He hit the button and it was her voice: “I was able to track down a location for you. Quick, got a pen?”

Paul pulled over on the side of the highway.

“Ready.”

“It’s 12467 Hallis, Toomey Hills, Florida. A company called Axiom. That’s where the bones are shipped sometimes.”

“Thanks, Lilli.”

“Tell me I won’t regret this.”

“You won’t,” he said. He spent the rest of the drive home hoping that was true.

The congressman stood in the central courtyard, sweating in the shade. His personal security detail flanked him to the right and left—four men with active eyes and identical dark jackets. By the congressman’s impatient expression, Gavin judged that they’d been standing there for some time.

“Peter,” Martial exclaimed loudly, as he and Gavin stepped finally into the courtyard’s muggy air. “Welcome to Axiom.”

The congressman didn’t smile. His eyes narrowed. Behind him, his security detail pivoted slightly in response to the approaching party. Gavin had the sense that some training was in play—just where to stand, just where to look, eyes scanning for potential threats while simultaneously locating possible exits. He wondered, idly, if the men had been trained to jump in front of a bullet, if necessary. Who among them would react first, if it came down to it? Who would rush most quickly to die for this man?

Martial and Gavin crossed the overgrown expanse of the central courtyard, their own security detail following at subtle remove. Gavin was careful to walk an important half step behind the old man as they approached. Even from a distance, Gavin could see the beads of sweat on the congressman’s brow. He was a tall man, dark hair graying slightly at the temples. Large and ruggedly handsome, he seemed the perfect physical embodiment of a certain breed of modern politician. As if the physical appearance of elected officials were constrained by some selective process. If he’d been an actor, they would have cast him as president or CEO. Regardless of what his other qualifications might be, he looked the part, which was perhaps the most important qualification of all, when you came down to it. Now he stood in the ninety-degree shade, waiting for his tardy host to provide some excuse for keeping him waiting.

Martial offered none. Instead, he smiled and stuck out his hand. “I trust your flight went well?”

The congressman shook Martial’s hand but ignored the question. “You never responded to my invitation.” His voice was flat and hard.

“The summons, you mean? Washington. Yes, well, we’re in the middle of something important. I’m afraid we’ve been very busy of late.”

“Do you think I’m not?”

Martial gestured to Gavin. “Allow me to introduce my associate Gavin McMaster. He’s one of our researchers here, until recently an outside asset but now brought more fully into the fold. Gavin, Congressman Peter Salinder, our friend in Washington.”

Gavin extended his hand, but the congressman didn’t even look at him.

“I don’t like my invitations being ignored,” the congressman said. His face was stone, but his eyes smoldered with barely controlled anger. More than just a rugged face after all, Gavin decided.

Gavin lowered his hand.

Martial didn’t react immediately. He let the silence grow between them, meeting the congressman’s stare with his own. Behind each of the two men, their guards eyed one another with wariness across the gap of undeclared hostility. It was the Korean Peninsula, the demilitarized zone.

“Anything you wanted so urgently, Mr. Congressman, we could have discussed over the phone.”

The congressman glared at him. “You’re joking, of course.”

Martial smiled. “Or, if the phone is unacceptable, and you really needed to see me, well, here I am.” He opened his arms. “I’m always amenable to meeting here, at our facility.”

“Thus making me complicit.”

“Congressman, now who’s joking?” Martial asked. “You’ve been complicit all along. Come, let’s get out of this heat.”

Martial turned and led them back through the courtyard and into the building. Their respective security retinues followed a dozen steps behind.

“To what do I owe the honor of your distinguished company?” Martial asked. The air-conditioning stood like an invisible membrane as they crossed the threshold into the building. Martial veered them immediately left, toward the eastern wing of the complex. This was the part of the facility Gavin was least familiar with. The research staff mostly used the west side of the complex.

“There’s been chatter,” the congressman said.

“What kind of chatter?”

“The ugly kind. The kind that can get out of hand.”

“There will always be whispers in the halls.”

“But this talk has a body behind it. Where there is a body, the talk isn’t so easily dismissed.”

“A body?” They continued down the corridor, dress shoes making clicking noises on the tile.

“Skeletal remains, actually. Found in a shallow grave in a rural area a few hundred miles from here. Decomposed for more than a decade.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with us.”

“Dental records match the body to an old missing person’s report, and suddenly this body has a name. That name has a paper trail that leads him back here.”

“Here?”

“An employee of Axiom, according to tax records dating to the time of his disappearance. Do I need to tell you his name?”

“Manuel.”

“Yes.”

“An unfortunate accident,” Martial said. The old man led them toward a corridor that Gavin had never explored before, a hall down which Gavin had occasionally seen the old man disappear for hours at a time.

“A bullet in the face is an accident?” the congressman said.

“It can be.”

“Who was he?”

“One of our workers here. A deranged lad. A tragedy, really, and a mess not cleaned up as well as I’d hoped, apparently.”

“There are people asking questions.”

“Then make them stop asking questions. That’s what you do, right?”

“We give you latitude to do your work, but our indulgence isn’t endless.”

They came to a wide set of double doors at the end of the hall. Martial pushed through the doors, and Gavin paused in the entryway. He stuck his head through the open doorway and looked at what lay beyond.

Gavin blinked. It was a place of worship. A church. Here, in the middle of the research center. Like a chapel in a hospital.

A dozen pews lined up in neat rows before an altar that stood upon a raised dais. Behind that, a simple cross graced the far wall. The room was dark and silent. White walls and small, rectangular stained-glass windows.

“Come into my cathedral, gentlemen.”

Gavin and the congressman followed the old man inside. An electronic scanner above the door flashed green as they entered. Martial got a few steps down the aisle before he turned. “A necessary precaution against unwanted ears,” he said, gesturing toward the scanner. “Green means there are none.” The old man smiled. “In here, none should hear us but God.”

Martial cast a look at the guards, then at the congressman. The congressman hesitated, considering. He moved his head almost imperceptibly toward Martial’s guards, a complex conversation without a single word. Martial nodded. “Please wait outside,” he said to his security.