by David Wood
“What’s going on here?” His voice sounded too high-pitched, almost shrill. He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m conducting research up at Halcón Rock.”
“Site’s closed.” The speaker was a brick of a man—short and thick-bodied with a blocky build and a flat-topped haircut. The bright New Mexico sun shone off his aviator sunglasses and gleamed on the sweaty bald patch of tanned flesh on the crown of his head.
Matthew waited for the man to elaborate, but no further explanation was forthcoming.
“I’ve been working here for months. I assure you it’s all legal. The sheriff is aware of the situation.”
“Situation’s changed.” This time, the man on the passenger side spoke. He was of late middle years, with silver at his temples and deep cracks marring his weathered, coffee-and-cream complexion. Mischief danced in his whiskey colored eyes as he worked at a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
Matthew wanted to step out of the jeep and smack the toothpick down the man’s throat, but he was outnumbered and outgunned. His eyes took in the scene. The men wore desert camouflage clothing free of patches, insignias, or other identifying marks. Their vehicle was equally void of identification.
“Who are you guys? You’re not Feds.” Matthew wasn’t certain of that statement, but his gut told him it was true.
“That’s classified.” Bald Spot cleared his throat and spat on the ground. “You need to get out of here, Sir.”
“I have a right to be here.” Matthew knew he was defeated. He supposed he could drive around the makeshift roadblock, but then what? They’d follow him and stop him climbing the rock. Hell, they might even shoot him.
Toothpick man rapped on the passenger window.
“What?” Matthew snapped.
The man pointed in the direction from which Matthew had come.
“Is that supposed to mean something? Use your words,” Matthew said.
“Leave now, or we’ll be forced to incarcerate you and impound your vehicle.”
Matthew knew there was nothing left to say. He shifted into reverse and hit the gas, engulfing the two men in a thick fog of dust. Neither of them flinched. He yanked the wheel hard to the left and hit the brakes. The jeep skidded off the road and came to a halt. Matthew shifted into drive, floored it again, and tore away down the road. As he drove away, he gave the men the one figure salute for good measure.
“Son of a...” He pounded his fist on the dashboard. Who the hell were these guys, and how had they found out about Halcón Rock? Were they friends of his dad? Surely his father would have warned him of potential interference. That left Bonebrake.
According to his father, the Cherokee’s biography was as full of holes as Swiss cheese, but he had military and government connections. Matthew’s thoughts raced. Bits and pieces of information sorted themselves and began to fall into some semblance of order.
“Sure, you just happened to break down in Quemadura,” he muttered. “You went jogging and just happened to run straight to Halcón Rock. And you just happened to chat up my girlfriend.” That sealed it. Bonebrake was behind this, and Matthew needed to find out exactly what the man knew, and Matthew knew where to start.
The sound of a vehicle rumbling up her dirt driveway roused Mari from fitful sleep. She rolled over and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was late morning. She hadn’t intended to sleep in, but it was her day off, so why not? Squinting against the bright light, she turned to see who was coming. Her heart sank when she recognized Matthew’s jeep. He was the last person she wanted to see.
She hastily threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. The tile floor felt cold under her bare feet, but the air inside her tiny bedroom was already warm and heading toward hot. She could open the windows and catch a breeze, but that would mean a house coated in dust before too long. She longed for an air conditioned home, but she couldn’t afford even a tiny window unit.
She hurriedly tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt and tousled her hair for good measure. Maybe if she convinced Matthew she was sick, he’d leave. Not for the first time, she chided herself for lacking the courage to end it with him. He just never took no for an answer. The solution was to get out of this place, but where could she go? She had no money, an incomplete education, and no job skills beyond waitressing. She was stuck.
Three sharp knocks and the front door squeaked open. Mari winced at the sound of heavy footfalls covering the few steps from the front door to her bedroom. She hopped back onto the bed, leaned back against the headboard, and closed her eyes.
“Mari?” Matthew opened the door. “What’s your problem?”
“Migraine,” she groaned. “It kept me up all night.”
Matthew snorted. “I’ll bet you didn’t have a migraine when you were talking to your new friend.”
Mari froze. She covered the reaction by slowly raising her hands to her head and massaging her temples. “What are you talking about?”
“How much time have you spent in Bonebrake’s hotel room?”
“I went there to tell him to leave you...” The words were out before she could stop them, and she hadn’t finished her sentence when Matthew grabbed her by the wrists and hauled her to her feet.
“I knew it! What did you tell him?” Matthew yanked her up so their noses were almost touching.
Mari stood, trembling, on her tiptoes. She could see every blemish in his scarlet face, feel his hot breath. She tried to push away, but he shook her with such force that a sharp pain shot up her neck. The meager resistance she’d mustered now melted away. She tried a softer approach.
“Matthew, you can’t think I like that man.”
“You admit to being in his hotel room?”
“Only to tell him to stay away from Halcón Rock,” she said in a rush.
“What else did you tell him about the rock?”
“Nothing at all. Just to stay away.” She gazed into his wide eyes, wondering what would happen next.
Matthew’s shoulders sagged, and he relaxed his grip on her.
“I wish I could believe you.” He turned, pushed the bedroom door closed, and turned back to face her. “But I need to make sure you’re not lying.”
Chapter 23
“You stole the book?” Bones gaped at Krueger. Why hadn’t the man said something before now? “So you have it?”
Krueger shook his head. “Not exactly.”
“You are making zero sense, you know that?” Amanda folded her arms and scowled.
“I know, I know.” Krueger began to pace. “I stole the book from Los Alamos, but it’s a fake. A clever one, to be sure, but it’s not the genuine article.”
“How can you be sure?” Bones asked.
“Lots of reasons.” Krueger stubbed his cigarette out, pocketed it, and immediately lit another. “I first grew suspicious when I began translating it. Things that should have been there weren’t.”
“Like what?” The frown hadn’t left Amanda’s face.
“There were no stories about the Ant People. Nothing that even hinted at the existence of underground dwellers, or even sky people, for that matter. There was nothing but the usual legends.”
“Maybe that’s all there ever was,” Jessie offered. “I mean, you didn’t see the original.”
“No, but Klaus Fuchs did, and there was a lot in that book that wasn’t in my copy. Anyway, I took it to an expert who knows how to keep a secret, and he confirmed the forgery.” Krueger sighed. “Someone went to a lot of trouble.”
“Any idea who?” Bones asked.
Krueger nodded. “I’m almost one hundred percent certain I know who has it. And I’m afraid I know what he’s done with it.”
Bones didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“I think Gregory Glade paid someone to steal it for him.”
Amanda rolled her eyes and let out a low groan.
“The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it,” Bones said.
; “He’s that crazy millionaire who hid the treasure,” Jessie said. “Once a month he gives a new clue to its location. One of my friends thinks he knows where it is. He wants me to help him search for it over spring break.”
Now Bones remembered. Gregory Glade was an odd one, no question about that. He’d built a small, but luxurious home inside a cave somewhere in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He was rarely seen in public, save for his annual appearance at opening day for the indoor football team of which he was the sole owner. What’s more, his name had been associated with black market antiquities deals, though that was merely a rumor.
“And you think he hid the Book of Bones along with the treasure?”
Krueger nodded. “The Feds searched his home and his holdings and found no illegal artifacts. Not one week later, he announced his treasure hunt.”
“Maybe the treasure consists of all the illegal artifacts he’s collected,” Amanda mused. “If anyone ever finds it, he’s screwed.”
“Only if the finder goes public,” Bones said.
“And only if they find it before he dies,” Jessie added.
“What makes you think Glade has it? Or had it?” Bones said to Krueger.
Krueger was about to speak, but a sudden frown creased his brow. “Let’s get out of here. I see some actual tourists coming.”
Bones snapped his head around, senses on high alert. He relaxed when he saw an elderly couple approaching. He stepped off the sidewalk to give them room to pass, and the others followed suit.
“Thank you, young fellow.” The man paused and frowned. “Did anybody ever tell you you’re one damn big Indian?”
“Only every girl who sees me naked.” Bones winked.
The old man let out a loud cackle and his wife covered her mouth, her blue eyes dancing with delight.
“Don’t believe him,” Amanda called back over her shoulder as the group headed for the parking lot. “I’ve seen him naked, and he’s using all his length elsewhere.”
Now everyone laughed. Everyone except Bones.
“Don’t make me prove you wrong out here in public,” he said.
“Please. Maddock told me the shrinkage story.”
“It was cold water. Really cold,” Bones protested over a new wave of laughter. “Ask him about the time I fished him out of the drink off Wrangel Island. I guarantee you he was... ah, forget it.”
Back in the car, Krueger resumed his explanation. “Once I identified my book as a forgery, I started searching for the real book. I found a few clues. About ten years ago there was a scientist at the lab who shared some of my interests if you know what I mean.”
“Little green men?” Amanda quipped.
“Among other things. Anyway, he kept it quiet because you know how the scientific community rejects anything too different, but we ran in some of the same circles, so I was aware of his leanings. He quit Los Alamos unexpectedly and moved to Crested Butte, Colorado. He bought a five million dollar home there. Now he spends his days skiing and his evenings writing about aliens.”
“He definitely wouldn’t make that kind of money at the lab,” Jessie said.
“He sold something valuable to someone,” Krueger said. “Less than a month after this man leaves the lab, Glade suddenly becomes a true believer in the so-called ‘world beneath.’ He hops on message boards and assures people he knows it’s true, though he won’t say how he knows. He even grants an interview where he says the same thing.”
“It’s thin,” Amanda said. “You have anything else?”
“A picture. Glade allowed the interviewer to snap a single photograph inside his home. In the background, you can see what I believe is the Book of Bones. It’s only the corner, mind you, but it’s identical to my copy.”
Amanda pursed her lips and frowned. Her eyes remained locked on the road ahead, but she was clearly deep in thought. “If anyone is crazy enough and rich enough to make a copy of the book and have it switched out for the original, it’s Glade.”
“Even if he did include the book with the treasure, do you think he made a copy? Took photos? I’ve got a friend who could hack his network for us.” Bones was already reaching for his phone to call Jimmy Letson, a former Navy comrade and an accomplished hacker.
“He has no network. He goes to a coffeehouse to get online.” Krueger sighed. “I even tried bribing the reporter to tell me where Glade’s home is, but he was taken there in a panel van. He said it was like being abducted. He did, however, confirm seeing something that might have been the book. He didn’t get a good look at it, but what he saw fits the description.”
“What does it look like?” Jessie asked.
“It’s basically a stack of tanned, scraped hides with fine writing burned into both sides. It’s wrapped in bones bound together with strips of hide, almost like a breastplate a warrior would have worn into battle.”
“I thought the Ancestral Puebloans didn’t have a written language,” Bones said.
“They didn’t. The stories were passed down orally and recorded much later. They’re written in an odd mix of Spanish, phonetic representations of Tewah, a Puebloan language, and pictures and symbols. It was probably written by someone educated by a Spanish missionary.”
Bones stared out at the hot, dry landscape whizzing past them in a brown blur, and considered their options. “Assuming you’re right about the book, option one is to comb the Sangre de Cristos looking for Glade’s home, hope we can get past whatever security he’s put in place, and hope he made a copy of the book, and hope we can find that copy.”
“What’s option two?” Amanda asked.
“Find the treasure.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” She shook her head. “Do you know how many people have tried and failed? At least one person has died in the hunt.”
“I do have experience with this sort of thing,” Bones said.
“Don’t forget about my friend,” Jessie said. “We can ask...” She broke off as her phone rang. She answered, and after a brief, quiet conversation, hung up.
“That was Manny. Your truck is ready.”
“Good. I’ve missed my Ram.” He noticed her frown. “What’s up?”
“He said Mari is in the hospital, and she’s in bad shape.”
Chapter 24
From his hiding place behind an abandoned store, Sheriff Craig Jameson watched the blue Dodge Ram pull slowly out of the parking lot of Miguel’s Automotive and Pawn. Cupping the screen of his cellphone to hide the glow, he checked the open app. Sure enough, a tiny red dot tracked the movement of the pickup truck as it headed down the road. Bonebrake thought himself clever, sneaking out in the middle of the night, but now Jameson could track the man wherever he went. And so could Jameson’s friends.
Smiling, he tucked the phone into his pocket and headed in the opposite direction to the spot where he’d parked his patrol car. No need to follow Bonebrake just yet. If the man went somewhere interesting, Jameson would pass the word through the proper channels. Hopefully, the troublesome Indian would continue on his way and never set foot in Quemadura again.
When he reached his parked patrol car, he found Matthew waiting for him. The back of Jameson’s neck prickled and he took a few calming breaths before approaching his son. If the boy, and in many ways that’s what Matthew still was, kept screwing up, Jameson would be forced to deal with it. He loved his son, but at some point, his hands would be tied.
“Did you let him go?” Matthew said when his father came within earshot.
“The man who put Mari in the hospital? I’m afraid I did.”
That got a reaction. Matthew flinched, and his eyes drifted toward the ground. “She had an accident.”
“So I wrote in my report.” Jameson sat down on the hood of his squad car and motioned for Matthew to join him. He gritted his teeth, biting down a rebuke, as his son sulked over to his side. The car dipped as Matthew let his bulk drop onto the bumper. He sat there, arms folded, staring down the empty street.
>
“I meant Bonebrake,” Matthew said. “You just let him leave?”
“I told you I planted a tracker on his pickup. I can get to him any time I like.”
“I need that tracking information,” Matthew said. “I’ve got business with him.”
Jameson shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about Bonebrake.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to know, that’s the last time I’ll sweep something under the rug for you.”
Matthew humphed. “I don’t know what you’re...”
“Stop it!” Jameson turned to his son, who continued to stare into the distance. “I don’t care how you fix this problem, but fix it you will. You want some in-patient treatment somewhere? I’ll pay for it. You want to leave town and start over somewhere else? I’ll pay for that too. But you will leave that girl alone, and you won’t put your hands on a woman ever again. However you need to do it, get your shit together.”
“I can’t leave here until I finish what I’ve started.”
“You can finish your book anywhere,” Jameson said.
“You know what I mean. The rock is the key. I need to find out what’s behind that door.”
“And you thought blowing it with a big mess of C-4 was the answer?” Jameson raised an eyebrow.
“How did you...” Matthew’s shoulders sagged. “I couldn’t get it open, so I figured I had to go around it.”
“Do you even know how many things are wrong with that idea? How many reasons it probably wouldn’t work? Not to mention you have no training with explosives.”
“You have no respect for me.” Matthew sprang to his feet and began to pace. “What if Bonebrake’s men get there before me?”
“Bonebrake’s men? Out at the rock? Those are my...acquaintances.”
Matthew stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face his father. “I can’t believe you did that. I considered the possibility, but I never thought you’d betray me like that.”
