Conspiracy of Bones (And the Beat Goes On)

by Tracy Krauss

  Jack.

  He’d just received the email that morning. Jack Burton, jazz great, had passed away peacefully in his sleep. Jack Burton, mentor, grandfather, confidant. Dead.

  Mark drew in a shuddering breath, willing himself to get control. He had a job to do. The biggest discovery of his career - perhaps of all time, lay buried under a pile of rubble deep in an African cave. And time was not on his side. He couldn’t afford to go gallivanting halfway across the globe to Winnipeg. No, he would just have to take it on the chin - another one of life’s left hooks - and carry on. He rose from the rickety folding chair, stroking the gleaming metal instrument with gentle fingers before placing it reverently back in its carrying case.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  Mark entered the mess tent. It was later than usual and there was no line up, so he was able to fill his plate quickly and walked to where Rocco and Anthony sat. “You have another crew working the night shift?" he asked without greeting.

  "As we speak." Rocco kept his eyes on his plate as he pushed some food around with his fork.

  "Good. I want back in there in less than a week. Tell your men I’ll be checking their progress myself."

  "It might take a little longer, considering the damage done to the bracing. But don’t worry. Joey’s on it this time.” Rocco looked up. “By the way, Joey says there was nothing wrong with the initial bracing. That level of seismic activity could have damaged almost anything.”

  Mark looked down at his plate, his stomach suddenly rebelling at the thought of food.

  "Say, did I tell you about the latest theory Rocco and I were discussing this afternoon?" Anthony piped up.

  “Um, no. What about it?”

  Laura sat down beside Mark with a clatter. "Where have you been hiding all day?"

  He didn’t look at her when he answered. "Why? You need something in particular?"

  "There were a few inconsistencies in some of the lab work that came back from Harare," she explained. "Plus, I’ve made some progress on those photo comparisons from the antechamber. I thought you’d like to know."

  Mark nodded. "I’ll take a look as soon as I’m done here."

  "I thought you were going to check on the progress at the excavation?" Rocco reminded.

  "Right. Of course." Mark nodded absently. Anthony said something else, but Mark didn’t hear him. He placed his utensils on the untouched plate of food and pushed his chair back from the table.

  "Boss? You alright?" Rocco followed his boss’s abrupt movements with his eyes.

  "I’ll be fine," Mark clipped. "Let’s have a look at that information right now," he said to Laura.

  Anthony and Rocco exchanged a bewildered glance as Laura scurried after Mark’s retreating figure.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  It took about half an hour for Mark to look over everything Laura had to show him. He rubbed his neck wearily as he clicked the laptop shut.

  "Thanks," Laura offered. "I’m glad things aren’t looking as bad as I feared. After so many problems, I was really beginning to think this project was jinxed. I guess I over reacted to what I thought were more glitches in the lab reports."

  "It’s okay," Mark said. "Better safe than sorry."

  Laura surveyed him for a moment. "You look beat.”

  "I most certainly am," he replied without hesitation. “But, it’s off to inspect the dig.” He pasted on a false smile and stood up.

  Laura frowned up at him with concern. "You’re working yourself to the bone. You’d be a lot more useful to the entire operation if you got a good night’s rest."

  "I doubt that. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway."

  "Mark, what is it?" She placed her hand on his forearm. "And there’s no use saying ‘Nothing’. What aren’t you telling me?” She waited a moment before letting her hand slip to her side. “Stubborn,” she mumbled.

  Mark allowed a slight tug at his lips. "I know.”

  “And if it’s us... you know, what’s been going on between us, I don’t want that to stand in your way. I’m your friend first and I’m also a scientist. This dig is as important to me as it to you. You’ve got to know that.”

  Mark let out a sigh. “You’re right. It’s not just the dig.”

  “Go on.” Laura folded her arms.

  Mark shut his eyes for a few seconds, squeezing tight, then expended another burst of carbon dioxide. "I got news today from home.”

  "Oh? What news?"

  "About my Grandfather, Jack Burton. Remember I told you about him?” Mark asked and Laura nodded. “He died.”

  "Oh Mark! I’m so sorry!”

  Mark shrugged, feeling a certain amount of release now that he had told someone. "My father emailed me this morning. He died peacefully, in his sleep. So that’s a blessing."

  "But it’s still hard," Laura said. She rubbed down the full length of his arm.

  Mark nodded.

  "Are you going to the funeral?" she asked.

  "Of course not. How can I? I couldn’t leave the site now. Not at this critical time."

  "Why not? You think we can’t handle it?" She cocked an eyebrow.

  "Of course not. But the cave in. The casket. The tight time frame..."

  "Exactly why you should go," Laura reasoned. "It’ll be at least a week until they get back into that tunnel. In the mean time, you’ll be roaming around like a caged lion making it difficult for the rest of us to do our jobs. You’d be better off taking that week to visit your family. Grieve with them."

  Mark furrowed his brow. "You really think so?"

  "Of course," she replied. "You’ll get the closure you need and arrive back just in time to open the casket. After that we’ll still have some time to finish everything up here, crate what we need to send, maybe even get an extension once the government sees what we’re sitting on."

  "Hm... You really think you can handle it?" he asked again uncertainly.

  "Of course," she said confidently. "Trust us for a change. You’ve got a great team assembled here." She paused. "Well, except maybe for Rocco. But other than that you’ve just got to trust us. Trust me." She went up on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his lips.

  What she said made sense. Maybe he did need some closure if he was ever going to be able to continue on this project without going crazy himself.

  Chapter Eight

  Mark glanced out the tiny porthole. Nothing but swirls of cottony whiteness could be seen far below. The jet flew too high above the earth for there to be any other sites in view. They were somewhere above the central plains of the North American continent by now. It had been a long and physically taxing trip from the dig, first by jeep, then Cesena 185, and finally jet, making several transfers along the way. It was quite a trek from the backcountry of Africa to Winnipeg, Canada.

  It seemed like forever since he’d seen them last. How long was it anyway? Three years? It had been for his sister’s graduation from High School. Harmony was almost twelve years younger than he was. In many ways he felt like he’d been part of the parenting team, rather than just an older brother. It was hard to believe she was now twenty-one. It would be good to see her again - and the rest of his family.

  Well, almost the rest. Jack wouldn’t be there. The realization hit him again, in the gut like a punch before tightening one’s muscles against it. Of course it was bound to happen one of these days. Jack was getting old. But for some reason Mark had always thought he’d get back one more time before…

  "Excuse me, Dr. Graham," a pretty flight attendant with a French accent interrupted Mark’s thoughts. "The Captain has asked that all electronic devices be turned off. I will have to ask you to shut off your computer."

  Mark blinked at her absently for a moment. "Oh, of course," he acquiesced as her words registered. He may have heard just such a request over the intercom only moments before, but he couldn’t be sure.

  He scanned the screen of his laptop once more before shutting down, then clicked the lid shut with finality before zipping it into its
carrying case. He sighed heavily. Jack Burton had been more than a grandfather. He had been his mentor and his friend.

  The familiar monotone melody of the seat belt sign broke into his thoughts, and Mark concentrated on the changing view out the window as the airplane began its descent. They broke free from their cottony cocoon and were suddenly thrust into a clear expanse of blue sky. The curvature of the earth stretched out beyond the horizon of flattened landscape; a patchwork quilt of brown and gold and green pocked frequently with small, irregular ponds that spoiled the precise grid of man’s claim to the land.

  On the table flatness of the prairie he could already see in the distance the heart of the province of Manitoba, its capital city of Winnipeg. The downtown core rose like a multifaceted steeple among the sprawling parish of suburbia. At its core, the meeting of two mighty rivers, the Red and the Assiniboine, sliced the city. The forks of these two water highways had been the centre of commerce during the early days of the fur trade, the birthplace of a revolution, and afterwards, the seed of a province.

  He felt bone weary as he joined the other passengers in the tunnel leading out of the plane. The travel home had been long and arduous, and the emotional stress that he was sure to face, already had him feeling drained.

  As he walked through the gates from International arrivals, he scanned the crowd for the familiar faces of his family. Then he spotted them. His father, Russ Graham, an older version of himself, stood beside two red haired women. When they made eye contact, his sister Harmony and his stepmother Deanie both came rushing forward.

  "Mark! Oh, Mark, you look terrific! So tanned!" Deanie burst out, squeezing the daylights out of him. "Look, honey! Isn’t he tanned?" she directed at her husband. "It must be all that hot African sun."

  Harmony joined in for her share of hugs and the two women chattered excitedly for a few more minutes while Mark’s father, Russ, held back. Finally Mark was able to extract himself from their embraces and turned with an outstretched hand to his father. "Dad."

  "It’s good to see you, son." Father and son shook hands firmly, before Russ pulled Mark into a quick embrace, slapping him on the back. There had been a day when the elder Graham would not have showed such a public display of affection. His wife had been working for over twenty years to free him from that reserve.

  His parents had not changed all that much in the past three years, Mark noted. Russ Graham had aged slightly, adding a little more grey at the temples to his dark hair. He still kept it closely cropped in an effort to keep the unruly curls in order. Mark’s hair had the same propensity, but Mark usually didn’t have time to worry about such things, and at present his hair was rather bushy, curling over his collar. Both men had dark and intense blue eyes, well chiselled features and solid builds. There was no mistaking the resemblance, except for the quarter century difference in their ages.

  His stepmother, Deanie, looked almost as young as ever. She was close to fifteen years younger than her husband, but regardless of that fact, she looked younger than the early forties that she was. People often mistook her and Harmony for sisters, rather than mother and daughter.

  "I’m so glad you came, Mark," Deanie was saying as they gathered his baggage and headed for the exit. "Jack will be pleased, I think, looking down from heaven. It’s such a comfort to know that he’s gone on to be with the Lord."

  "That it is," Russ agreed.

  "I mean, when I think of how he used to be so sceptical about spiritual things, it’s so awesome to know that he came to know Jesus before he passed on." Deanie smiled.

  Mark felt a familiar tightening in his chest. Naturally. His family couldn’t pass up an opportunity to talk religion. He had kind of forgotten how much it irritated him sometimes.

  Deanie continued, "I guess we have your mother to thank for that, Russ. She just wouldn’t give up on Jack. He didn’t stand a chance!" Even though she was Jack Burton’s daughter, she had always called him by his first name. It was something Mark was also used to. That’s just the way it was in this family. His father’s mother was ‘Grandma’ or ‘Mother’, depending on who was addressing her, but Jack had always just been Jack, even to his own daughter.

  "Grandma Graham can be stubborn," Harmony said.

  "Probably as stubborn as Jack ever was," Russ agreed with a fond grin.

  "You’re a fine one to talk!" Deanie laughed, giving her husband a playful nudge. "If I recall, you wrote the book on stubborn. You’re as immovable as they come."

  "Hardly," Russ scoffed. "I married you, didn’t I?" He slipped an arm around Deanie’s still slim waist and she leaned into him. It was obvious they were still very much in love, even after twenty years of marriage.

  "You’ve got to be stubborn in order to survive in this family," Mark cut in. "And Harmony, here, got a double dose from both sides of the family."

  "Thanks," Harmony shot back. "Nice to have you back in the country, big brother. And when were you leaving again?" she asked with sarcastic humour.

  They continued the good-natured banter as they reached Russ’s sedan and piled in.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  The warmth of the summer sun beat down on the heads of the mourners, as they gathered to pay their last respects to friend, father and grandfather, Jack Burton. Mark scanned the graveside as the minister pronounced the benediction. There were more people here than he would have imagined, including some people from the press. Jack had more friends and followers than Mark had realized. He was once again struck by the simple humility of the man that was also known as one of Winnipeg’s favourite sons. He would be sorely missed.

  The minister talked about Jack’s faith in Christ at the church service. It was surprisingly upbeat, considering that someone had just died. The surviving members of Jack’s band, and several other friends played a musical tribute and dignitaries gave short testimonies about Jack’s life and character. Mark’s own father, Russ, read the eulogy. He could tell that it was difficult for him, but Russ was a man of stalwart disposition, and carried it through despite the eruptions of tears coming from Deanie and Harmony.

  Now they stood huddled together at the graveside, along with Jack’s closest friends. They continued that way for several more minutes as the general mourners began to disperse. "Good bye, Daddy," Deanie said softly, blowing a kiss toward the lonely coffin. She’d never called him that. Russ’s arm encircled her shoulders a little more tightly.

  The intensity was almost too much for Mark. He let out a pent up breath and stepped back for a little more air.

  "Mark," someone addressed him, hand out stretched. "So good to see you. I didn’t get a chance to say ‘hi’ earlier. It’s been awhile, eh?" Brent Walters pumped his hand vigorously. Mark was glad for the friendly diversion.

  "Good to see you, Brent. How are Holly and the kids?"

  "Great, just fine," Brent responded. "Around somewhere," Brent waved vaguely. Mark caught a glimpse of Brent’s wife, Holly, hugging Deanie.

  Brent and Deanie went back a long ways. Brent was the son of Jack’s best friend and fellow band member, Benny Walters. He and Deanie had grown up on the road together, more like siblings than anything else. They had quite a history, both good and bad. Mark had been awe struck by Brent in the early days when he had led a rough looking rock and roll band. Twenty years later, Brent no longer looked like the Bohemian artist. He was a regular looking middle-aged man with trim, greying hair and a moustache.

  The rest of the band had pretty much gone their separate ways, but Deanie and Brent had remained connected, partly due to their long history, but mostly due to their mutual faith in Christ. Apparently, there was a time when Mark’s father, Russ, had been jealous of Brent’s friendship with Deanie. But Brent’s conversion to Christ had been a factor in bringing both Russ and Deanie to the Lord, as they put it. The two men had become solid friends since.

  "Here’s Bryan, now," Brent said, waving his son over. Mark was surprised at the difference in the young man that stood before him. Last time he’d
seen Bryan, he was a gangly teenager with a cracked voice. Now he was a young man of about eighteen, who was filling out in muscle and stature, and who addressed him in a decidedly mature tone. Certainly not the same kid whose diaper he’d had to change on occasion!

  "I didn’t see your dad around," Mark said to Brent.

  "Nope. He passed on about two years ago. Cancer," Brent replied.

  "Sorry to hear it," Mark said with genuine sympathy. "He and Grandpa Jack made quite a team."

  Brent laughed. "Kind of like Oscar and Felix," he noted.

  "Who?" Bryan asked.

  "The odd couple," Brent explained. "Oh, never mind. You’re too young. In any case, there’s only Toby and Mike left of the old group."

  Mark nodded. The aging musicians had played their tribute at the service, and had been gathered with the family at the grave. They still stood talking with Russ and the others, Toby Rantt's white head starkly contrasting against his leathery black skin, while Mike Colinsky's gangly height stood out above the rest of the group.

  Mark saw his sister in the tight embrace of another young woman, as they rocked back and forth for a few minutes. When they stepped back from one another, he was surprised to recognize Brent’s daughter Amy. If he thought that Bryan had changed, he was shocked at the transformation in the older sister.

  Last time he’d seen them was at Harmony’s graduation, three years ago. He had flown in especially for the occasion from an archaeological site that he’d been working on in New Mexico. He’d only been able to spare a couple of days, and what with the necessity of spending the majority of the time with his immediate family, he’d had little more than a quick re-acquaintance with the Walters family. What he remembered was a small, unremarkable adolescent; a shy girl who was somewhat underdeveloped and had dirty blonde hair. She was only one year younger than his sister, but at the time she was still the annoying little girl whom he’d had to read the same story to over and over again in order for her to go to sleep.

  What he was presented with now, was a very pretty young woman; still petite, but certainly not underdeveloped. Her blonde hair was piled loosely on her head in an attractive style, and she wore just enough makeup to enhance the green of her eyes without covering the sprinkling of freckles across her nose.