Vesper leaped from the bed and landed between the two men, preventing Crenshaw from wading in for another attack. The dog bared his teeth, a deep growl rumbling in his chest.
Crenshaw blinked twice at Vesper protecting Tino, then spun toward the door.
Tino realized he couldn’t move fast enough to stop him.
“Security!” Tino bellowed, but Crenshaw was already through the door.
Panting with the effort of the fight, Tino stumbled over to a chair and sat down, trying to stem the blood still flowing from his nose. He realized that Declan was awake, watching them with wide eyes.
“That is a seriously good dog,” the boy said softly.
Vesper’s tail wagged as he jumped back up next to Declan and settled back down for another nap.
UNKNOWN LOCATION
Kate kneeled over the smashed radio parts.
Tears ran off her chin onto the plastic shards.
She didn’t know what to feel right now. Fury at Becky for telling him about the transmitter. But then he’d dragged that poor girl away.
A shiver shook Kate’s body as she imagined what might be happening to Becky. No matter what she’d just done, no one deserved to suffer like she probably was right now.
Kate looked up at the faces of the other girls. They were all wet-eyed, scared and angry at the same time as well.
She took a deep breath and pulled herself together. “Well, looks like the radio’s a no go. I think it’s time to fight.”
FBI COMMAND CENTER, QUANTICO, VA
As evening fell, Tino sat next to Sayer at the conference table holding an ice pack to his swollen nose. Vesper snored on the ground, curled up between them so he could press against both of their feet. Sayer chewed on a stale granola bar.
Across the table, Ezra turned his laptop so Tino could see the screen.
“This him?” he asked about the fake witness who claimed to spot the bus earlier.
Tino squinted at the screen. His eyes were already both starting to blacken along the inner edge. “No, this guy was like a weight lifter, big arms. Maybe six foot two.”
“And it definitely wasn’t the kidnapper?” Ezra pulled up Al’s sketch.
“No way. Totally different face shape. Plus, Declan was right there. He would’ve recognized the kidnapper. No, this guy felt like an enforcer for the Russian mafia or something.” Tino winced as he shifted the ice on his face.
“You sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” Sayer asked for the fifth time.
“No, I don’t think it’s broken. Not much they can do if it is.” Tino’s eyes were wet with pain. “Any word on the agent that was guarding the door?”
“He’s fine. Apparently, so-called Agent Crenshaw told him he was taking over door duty so he just left.”
Tino shook his head. “What a bastard. He was coming for that kid…”
“A ballsy bastard,” Ezra added. “Don’t worry. The hospital definitely caught him on camera so I’ll grab a still and get his face everywhere. They’re sending it over now.”
“So,” Sayer said, “we’ve got one guy faking a bus sighting, and another impersonating an FBI agent to gain access to our child witness. You think he meant to hurt Declan?”
“I don’t know.” Tino gingerly shook his head. “I mean, he definitely wasn’t there for a friendly visit.” His face fell into a baleful frown.
“Hey, you know it’s not your fault that he got away, right?” Sayer patted Tino’s arm.
He just looked at her.
“I guess nothing I say will make you feel better,” Sayer said.
“Ah, calida, I’m confident that you know exactly how I feel right now,” Tino said without malice.
And he was right. Sayer was still reeling from the false bus sighting. She’d wasted hours of precious time, and the girls might be the ones to pay for her mistake. Now the sun had gone down and they didn’t know when the killer would strike again.
As if summoned by her dark thoughts, the phone rang with a D.C. area code.
“Agent Altair,” she answered.
“This is Detective Wyatt. We found another body up here in the city. I think it’s one of ours.”
WASHINGTON MONUMENT, NATIONAL MALL, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Sayer’s phone rang as she navigated the narrow feeder road along the National Mall.
“Sayer,” Subject 037’s voice echoed in her helmet.
“I can’t talk right now. I’m on my way to a crime scene.”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling. How is poor Tino?” he said with overly sweet sincerity.
“Just tell me why you called.”
“I’ve been watching your investigation and decided to do my own digging…” he trailed off as if he had something very meaningful to share.
“You know I don’t want your help.”
“Oh stop. You know I have access to resources that you don’t. Plus, you know I like to help you, Sayer.”
His overly familiar tone made her clench her teeth. His interest in her felt a little too much like a cat playing with its dinner.
“I think you’ve stepped into something much larger than you know,” 037 said simply with no false sincerity this time.
“Could you be more specific?”
“Sadly, no. But alarm bells are going off all over Washington about your investigation.”
“Do you know who or where the killer is?” Sayer demanded.
“Well, no.”
“Do you have any sort of actionable information for me beyond a vague sense that something is going on?”
“Also no.”
“Okay then, I’m going to set some hard-and-fast boundaries right now. I don’t want to communicate unless we have a prearranged call. Is that clear?”
Sayer waited out the silence that followed.
Finally, 037 spoke with his low half growl. “You might not know exactly who I am, but you know what I can do. Listen to me when I warn you to watch your back.”
“Duly noted. But right now I have no time for games. Unless you have something I can use, I’m going to hang up.”
“What a shame. I do love games.” The dark glee returned to his voice. “All right then. I’ll keep digging and let you get back to work.”
Sayer hung up and took a few deep breaths as she approached the crime scene.
She parked and made her way across the Mall toward the Washington Monument. Behind her, the columned Lincoln Memorial glowed like a welcoming lantern. She paused at the end of the reflecting pool to take in the iconic beauty of the capital city.
At the heart of the mall, the Washington Monument thrust into the dark night sky like a ghostly beacon rising from the vast expanse of snow-dusted grass. The mirror image of the pale obelisk shimmered in the long reflecting pool, surrounded by stars. The water was so calm, it looked like Sayer could simply step forward directly into the heavens.
“As above, so below,” she whispered as she continued around the pool toward the crime scene.
Despite the beautiful scenery, her stomach churned as she trudged through the wet snow. She had spent half the day chasing a hoax while this young woman was likely being murdered. And now 037 was claiming that there was something larger going on here. Normally she would dismiss his claim, but between the false witness and then the fake FBI agent who attacked Tino, she suspected he could be right. Though she had no idea what “something bigger” might even mean. She would have to dig into that thought later.
Right now, her focus had to be on what lay directly ahead.
A few tourists gawked from the sidewalk, held back by police tape. Their eyes followed Sayer’s progress hoping for some excitement.
The detective from the first murder scene waved Sayer over to the base of the monument.
Detective Wyatt wore the same puffy jacket, red winter hat, and rueful expression. “Agent Altair, hate to see you again under these circumstances.”
“Likewise,” Sayer said, more clipped than she intended. “Evidence R
esponse Team and medical examiner will be here soon. Thanks for securing the scene and calling us in right away.”
“Of course,” Wyatt said softly. “It’s our girls that are missing. We’ll do whatever it takes to help you out.”
Sayer glanced up at Detective Wyatt. She hadn’t noticed before, but she realized that he was angry. Took it personally that the kids murdered and missing were from his city.
She nodded with understanding and did a slow turn, taking in the overall scene. “So, who called this in? Any witnesses?”
“Couple of tourists found her. Called 911 at”—Wyatt consulted his notebook—“8:37. She couldn’t’ve been here long.”
“Hmm, 8:37.” Sayer looked at the gathering crowd outside the police cordon. This time of year, around that time, there had to be at least a dozen people walking the Mall. Not to mention the Park Police that patrolled the area were on high alert after Rowena’s body was found nearby. “How the hell did he get the body here without someone noticing?” She gestured to the wide-open grassy field around her.
Wyatt shook his head. “Hell if I know. We have been pushing for better light along the trails here, could be he just stuck to the shadows.”
“I’ll have the Evidence Response Team look for his approach in the snow when they get here,” Sayer said mostly to herself. After one last look around, she finally turned her attention to the body.
The girl lay against the very base of the monument. Her pale skin was already turning dusky blue in the cold.
Sayer pulled on booties and tied her thick curls into a wrap to step closer. Like Rowena, there were no immediate signs of trauma. Also like Rowena, this girl had a single smudge of blood across her lips. However, there were no props and Egyptian artifacts. Instead, a thin black line was drawn down the center of her face from forehead to chin.
Only after clinically assessing the display of the body did Sayer turn her attention to the girl’s features. To her actual identity.
No matter how many bodies she found or how many killers she caught, this part never got easier. The constant drumbeat of violence, almost always against women, made her heart ache every time. She tried not to dwell on the thought, but she couldn’t avoid imagining this poor child’s last moments. How terrified she must have been. How alone.
It made Sayer want to reach beyond death to comfort her, to somehow reassure her that she wasn’t alone anymore.
Detective Wyatt joined her and they stood next to each other in reverent silence, observing the dead girl together.
Sayer recognized her cropped black hair. Her narrow chin and sharp blue eyes. She was definitely one of theirs.
“Rebecca Blane.” Wyatt finally broke the quiet.
“Yeah,” Sayer agreed. “I remember her file. Single mom, called her Becky…”
Their soft voices were interrupted by the media helicopter that flew in as close as it could, thundering above them.
“Dammit.” Sayer waved over the evidence techs that were already hurrying across the Mall. While the techs expertly unfolded a pop-up tent over the body, Sayer went to get the scene process going. She sent field agents to interview witnesses and canvass the area. The evidence techs began their painstaking job gathering forensics while the medical examiner prepared the body for transport to the lab. Sayer called the family liaison to give her a heads-up that they were likely going to need Becky Blane’s mother to come to the lab to ID the body.
With everyone doing their jobs, Sayer stepped back and watched her fellow agents all working toward the same goal—to stop the man who did this.
Her phone buzzed and she felt a spike in her heart rate seeing Ezra’s name.
“The researcher from the museum just got here. He has something for us!” He sounded breathless. Even gentle Ezra felt the thrill of the hunt.
“I’m on my way.” After making sure the scene was in good hands, Sayer spared one last look at Becky’s body before heading back toward Quantico.
As she rode away, her heartache twisted into a visceral focus on her prey. Becky wasn’t alone anymore because Sayer would stand by her from here on out. Sayer would be her voice now. And Sayer was pissed.
UNKNOWN LOCATION
Kate and Nell stood at the front of the bus. Nell’s face was plastered into a grim scowl. The girls were all ragged with exhaustion and fear.
All Kate could feel was sorrow.
She had wanted to see her mom and dad again. She’d wanted to kiss Declan Iverson one more time. She’d wanted to see what college was like.
“Fight?” one of the girls asked.
Kate realized that all eyes were on her.
She dug her fingernails into her palm and swallowed her despair. They needed to keep it together. If she was going to die soon, she wanted to die being the kind of person her parents would be proud of.
The kind of person she would be proud of.
She wanted to die fighting to live.
“The radio’s beyond repair, so I think it’s time for option three.”
“You want us to fight him,” someone said with disbelief.
“I don’t want us to fight, no. But I don’t know what else to do,” Kate said matter-of-factly.
“You saw how he picked up Becky like she was a doll. He’s way stronger than us,” another girl said.
“But there are way more of us.” Nell squeezed her hands together into little balls. “We outnumber him.”
“Uh,” a slender girl spoke up. “Multiple studies show that, when women fight back, they are less likely to be assaulted or raped. Those same studies also show that they are no more likely to be injured. Fighting back doesn’t increase our chances of injury, but does increase our chances of escape. Citations for the studies include the American Journal of Public Health, the Journal of Social Issues, and…” she faded off, realizing how bookish she probably sounded.
“Okay.” Kate smiled. “We’ve got some statistics. It’s true, some of us might get really hurt if we attack him. But if we can take him down, that might be the only way some of us will survive. I’m not willing to die without putting up a fight. And the longer we wait, the less of us there’ll be.”
Horrified silence filled the bus.
But a few girls nodded. Others looked ready, lips tight, eyes hard.
“Do, uh, any of you know how to fight?” Kate asked.
“I took karate for a few years when I was little,” Nell said. “And I remember that scene in Star Wars where those fuzzy little creatures take on the evil empire.”
“Ewoks.” Kate huffed an empty laugh. “I remember. They were clever, set traps, drew the stormtroopers in, and then used surprise to overwhelm them. That’s exactly what we should do.”
Nell nodded in agreement, which seemed to cement the girls’ resolve. “I think one of us should run while the rest attack him,” she added. “Both times now, he’s left the door wide open while he’s on the bus with us. Maybe there’ll be a way out. Is anyone on the track team?”
“I am,” Kate said reluctantly, not sure she liked the idea of being the one to run. “But I shouldn’t run. I want to stay and fight with you all.”
“Is anyone else here a fast runner?” Nell asked.
No one responded.
“We each do what we’re good at. And I’m definitely not a runner. You are. You should be the designated runner. If we can’t beat him, then at least someone can escape and bring help.”
“Okay.” She hated the thought, but Nell was probably right. “First, we need weapons.” Kate clapped her hands, ready to fight back.
FBI COMMAND CENTER, QUANTICO, VA
It was after midnight when Al Valentine plopped a heavy book next to Sayer’s coffee on the conference table. The thick tome was covered with tattered green and black fabric. The uneven edges of the pages were yellowed with age. “I assume you’ve all heard of the Egyptian Book of the Dead?” the Egyptologist asked, eyes gleaming.
“The murders are tied to the Book of the Dead?” Ezra asked.<
br />
“No, but it is tied to another ancient Egyptian text. Meet the Amduat.” Al spread his arms open over the book like a game show host.
“The what?” Sayer asked, in no mood for roundabout clues so soon after processing Becky’s murder scene.
“Let me back up. When you say the Book of the Dead, popular culture would have us imagine a cool black leather-bound book with spooky skulls on the cover, used to summon undead mummies. But really ancient Egyptian funerary texts are more like rotating collections of spells and rituals used by their priests. Each version contains a slightly different set of spells. Ironically, the Book of the Dead is probably one of the most boring funerary texts. It’s real title means ‘Coming Forth by Day,’ and it’s just a manual to help dead royals live a full afterlife. You know, good sex, good food.”
“So, what are the cool books?” Ezra asked, clearly interested.
“There are three major collections of funerary literature. You’ve got the very first Egyptian texts, starting around 2400 BCE, called the Pyramid Texts because they were inscribed inside pyramids. Then you’ve got the Coffin Texts, which were more advanced versions of the earlier spells. The point of the Pyramid and Coffin texts were to help souls navigate the afterlife to the immortal realm where they could live out eternity.”
“Like guidebooks?” Ezra asked.
“Exactly.” Al nodded.
“If I remember correctly, the Egyptian afterlife isn’t a particularly pleasant place,” Sayer said, thinking back to the Cage Killer case.
“Well, the underworld is a horrifying landscape, think lakes of fire, deadly rivers guarded by demons and monsters,” Al said. “Basically the souls of the dead had to use magic to make it through the underworld to an immortal afterlife among the gods. But, once you make it to the realm of the heavens, you’re all set. Assuming you can get in after you’re judged by the gods.”
“And this book is one of those guides?” Ezra gestured to the book on the table.
Cut to the Bone Page 11
