“Thank the General, sir.”
The Admiral looked over Alex’s face and arms.
“Your wounds have healed well,” the Admiral said. “How’s the brain?”
“Better,” Alex said. “I still go on the fritz when I’m too stressed out, but I’m working on my Zen practice.”
The Admiral laughed at the idea.
“We’re fortunate to be alive,” Alex said.
“Yes,” the Admiral said. “Please start with Marcos Ruiz. Did we have any idea he was affiliated with . . .?”
“No,” Alex said. “Honestly, in the last few years, I haven’t had much time to think of him. When we realized we were going to see him, I contacted Gitmo and reviewed his therapy and medical notes.”
“Nothing?”
“There’s a mention that he ‘thinks he’s a jihadist,’” Alex shrugged. “The doctor thought he was full of it. I would have, too.”
“What have you found?” the Admiral asked.
“We went to talk to his family,” Alex said. “Turns out, he was in and out of mental institutions since he was in elementary school. He spent a couple summers in Pakistan with his church youth group. His family thought he was there building schools. Pakistan’s special forces, the SSG, have been able to track his movements there.”
“And?”
“He was building schools at a jihadist training camp,” Alex said. “He appears to have come back to the US only to prepare to himself for an assignment. He told Erin he knew who she was and that his mission’s target was always me, the Fey.”
“How is Erin?” the Admiral asked.
“Better than you’d think,” Alex said. “Neev used mind-control techniques to set up barriers in her mind. She didn’t take in what he said.”
“How did he pull it off?” the Admiral asked. “That’s what I don’t get. According to every report, he’d been a model prisoner. Yes, he grew his hair out. Yes, he started openly practicing Islam, but everyone there is Muslim. It seemed normal for him to want to fit in with the rest.”
Alex looked at the Admiral. His face was a wash of guilt.
“You can’t possibly know what you don’t know,” Alex smiled when she repeated Dahlia’s words.
“It’s my job to know,” he grimaced.
“We believe his lawyer brought Marcos Ruiz the bomb,” Alex said. “Since he was killed, we assume the lawyer wasn’t aware it was a bomb. The explosives were coated with chocolate and appeared to have come from Marcos’ mother. They were small, about the size of your pinky, and attached to each other via some kind of coated wire or thread. They took a photo of them at the desk. You couldn’t see the wires because they were tucked under the plastic. They looked like a box of chocolates.”
“Nice mother,” the Admiral said.
“Oh, they weren’t from his mother,” Alex said. “We think they were built in China, possibly near the Pakistan border. Very sophisticated. We haven’t found the manufacturer, and the SSG has found no evidence of the explosive being made or handled in Pakistan.”
“How many of these chocolate-covered exploding sausages did he swallow?” the Admiral asked.
“Twenty-five, maybe thirty,” Alex said. “The entire set-up was enteric coated. They were specifically intended for swallowing. The explosives would move right through the stomach and settle in the small intestine. They might not even show up on an x-ray.”
“How did he detonate them?” the Admiral asked.
“Forensics is unclear,” Alex said. “Possibly with a remote, but that’s a guess.”
“But he detonated them himself?”
“Yes, sir,” Alex said. “We believe the lawyer was just a convenient patsy. Ruiz lured Erin to Gitmo in order to kill her. He knew I’d never let her go there alone. He hoped to kill me, as well.”
“My other confusion has to do with the room they were in,” the Admiral said. “Why did you create your own interrogation room rather than use the secure facilities they have there?”
“I thought he might pull something,” Alex said. “I wanted to control the room’s security. The walls were made out of N-rated cinderblock. There were blast shields around the viewing room as well as the hall. We set up surveillance cameras and tried to ensure the very best safety for Erin and the team.”
“Blast shields?” the Admiral asked. “Did you expect this kind of trouble?”
“No, sir,” Alex said. “My superior officer tells me to expect the very worst. A bomb in that room was my very worst outcome. If I’d expected anything, it was something from the outside. An RPG, maybe.”
“Your superior officer is brilliant,” the Admiral said.
“Yes, sir,” Alex said. “We spread the rumor that it was an advanced interrogation chamber, but, really, the room was set up to interview Ruiz. “The table and chairs didn’t arrive until we were already there. That’s why they weren’t bolted down.”
“Hutchins and Tubman owe their lives to that unbolted table,” the Admiral said.
“Yes, sir,” Alex said. “As I said, we were very lucky. Trece and White Boy are still on leave but are healing remarkably well.”
“I saw them in the parking lot,” the Admiral said. “White Boy was with this tiny woman . . .”
“His wife, Yvonne,” Alex said.
“She looks like a mouse to his elephant,” the Admiral said.
“She’s tough as nails,” Alex smiled.
“She’d have to be,” the Admiral nodded. “They know about the . . .”
“Women, drugs, travel, party lifestyle?” Alex asked. “Yes. They signed waivers to that effect when Trece and White Boy entered that service.”
“How . . .?” the Admiral asked.
“I doubt they like it, but many women live with a lot worse,” Alex said. “They like that it happens away from the family. And Trece and White Boy are both remarkably loyal. They send their paychecks home. They don’t keep girlfriends. They’re careful about diseases. And, honestly, their lives revolve around their families. So, to their wives, it’s just work their husbands do in service of their country.”
“Takes all kinds,” the Admiral said.
“Exactly,” Alex said. “I have not been able to get updates on Ji Fong.”
“That’s because he’s been tucked away in a private hospital,” the Admiral said.
“How is he?” Alex asked.
“Healing,” the Admiral said. “He’s out of bed and walking, sort of. He wants to speak with you, but you can understand why that’s impossible right now. I received this to give you.”
The Admiral gave Alex an envelope the size of a greeting card.
“Get-well card?” Alex asked.
The Admiral smiled. Alex gave the card to Raz, who tucked it in his pocket.
“Zutterberg?” the Admiral asked.
“Murdered by someone from the driving pool,” Alex said. “The Monk killed the driver, so we’ll never really know for sure why he did it. We postulate that it was for money to cover his gambling debt.”
“Did you get information from Zutterberg?” the Admiral asked.
“He took a job to follow me the eight months before everyone was killed,” Alex said. “He reported on some kind of plot . . .”
“A plot?”
“To make me and Jesse look like we were insane,” Alex said. “With his notes, I was able to piece together that Jesse and I went to apiaries around the world that year. This Colony Collapse Disorder thing was just starting to happen in Denver.”
“I remember you talking about it,” the Admiral said.
“Yes, sir,” Alex said. “I was hoping to find out what was happening to the honeybees. On at least three occasions, two documented by Zutterberg and one he references, we went to an apiary and saw beekeepers slaughtered while working their hives. We believe they were pretending to be dead. Fake blood and everything.”
“Sounds crazy now,” the Admiral said. “Any idea why someone would do that?”
“Theories,�
�� Alex said. “Nothing concrete.”
“What’s your most likely theory?”
Chapter Thirty-five
Alex gave him a long, assessing look. He nodded to encourage her to tell him.
“The conspirators . . .” Alex started.
“The Black Skeletons?”
“That’s the name we’re using for the group of individuals behind all of this,” Alex said. “They seem to have believed that I was on to what they were doing.”
“Why?”
“Thanks to the General, it is commonly thought that I can translate Linear A, the language they use to interact with each other,” Alex said. “When we started looking into sunflower fields and bees, they thought we’d figured out what they were doing. But actually, Jesse found this weird book about old churches in that bookstore in Paris. I found one on beekeeping. We were tracking what was in the books.”
“French Intelligence apologized again,” the Admiral said.
“Good to know,” Alex said. “I’m just glad they’re not apologizing for someone’s murder.”
“Indeed,” the Admiral said. “What about this Dex Zeno character? Your trip to northern New York?”
“Again, a coincidence,” Alex said. “We found some maps that belonged to my grandfather, Rebecca’s father. They had a symbol on them that Raz had seen before. His old NYPD partner was connected to the other side of the Black Skeleton.”
“The white skeleton?” the Admiral asked.
“They call themselves the ‘Ambitum Rosa’,” Alex said. “The compass rose.”
“After the symbol on the map,” the Admiral said.
“Yes,” Alex said. “They are families dedicated to thwarting those who use the natural bust cycles of the world to enhance the destruction of the world.”
“What do they call them?” the Admiral asked.
“According to Dex, they don’t have a name,” Alex said. “He says they move like a fog or cloud, infiltrate existing groups, and use the groups’ natural lust for power and wealth to get them to destroy the world. Giving them a name only focuses on the specific group they’ve co-opted to their purpose.”
“What happens to the group?” the Admiral asked.
“The group is destroyed — think Third Reich — and those who whipped it into a fervor slip away to start over somewhere else.” Alex shrugged. “The group fades to memory while these Black Skeletons soak up the power and wealth. This is what history tells us.”
“And now?”
“According to Dex and the Ambitum Rosa, we are due for another round,” Alex said.
“What do you think?” the Admiral asked.
“I don’t really know, sir,” Alex said. “I find the entire thing . . . ridiculous. If I wasn’t smack dab in the center of it, I’d think I was crazy. I wonder about my sanity often. But when I listen to Dex lay out the facts, and I reflect on my own findings and experience, I can’t help but think that we need to be prepared.”
“Or go after these Black Skeletons?”
“If that’s possible,” Alex said. “We’ve been told there is an archive. The Ambitum Rosa have never heard of it. This archive gives details on who is behind all of this and why. It’s my belief that pursuing the location of this archive is crucial.”
“Or?” the Admiral asked.
“Be prepared to fight them where we live.”
“You think it will happen on US soil?” the Admiral asked.
“Where did the people in the ancient pueblos go? What happened to the great societies at Tenochtitlan?”
“Well, Cortes . . .” the Admiral started.
“Moctezuma was at the height of his power when Cortes came. He ruled over five million people in Central and South America,” Alex said. “The Aztec nation was enormous, wealthy, and prosperous. By the 1500s, Tenochtitlan was the largest city in the world, with close to three hundred thousand inhabitants. Five hundred years later, the descendants of that great nation sneak across our border and feel fortunate to be able to pick fruit for five dollars a day.”
The Admiral raised his eyebrows and looked at Alex. She gave him a slight nod.
“That’s what this is about,” Alex said. “Why would the great nation of America be any different than the Aztecs?”
“We have vaccines?”
Alex smiled.
“I get your point,” the Admiral said.
“Sir, how is Howard Gordon?” Alex asked. “I’ve stayed away for his . . . safety.”
“Oh, Howard,” the Admiral smiled. “We stopped by to see him when we got into town. He was in bed reading a story to a toddler while a baby slept in the crib nearby. Grandchildren. His wife was in the kitchen baking cookies with a few older grandchildren.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“He was happy,” the Admiral said. “He’s in great pain, but healing. The doctors are hopeful.”
“Will he retire?” Alex asked.
“He’s adamant that he will not retire his post until you have seen this mission all the way through,” the Admiral said. “That’s what he told me.”
“Does he know about all of this?” Alex asked.
“Like myself, I think he’s always known,” the Admiral said. “We knew something was going on when your team was murdered. We spent hours arguing over it when you were flying back to the States. While none of us could have expected . . . this, nothing you say comes as a huge surprise. It’s a little . . . odd, but not a surprise.”
Alex nodded.
“I’ve been informed that you moved out of Buckley,” the Admiral said.
“If they can reach me there . . .” Alex nodded.
“Will you stay at the Federal building?” the Admiral asked.
“We’re looking at office space in downtown Denver or possibly out by the airport,” Alex said. “In our own space, we can lock it down so only people we know and trust are admitted.”
“Plus, you’ll never be kicked out,” the Admiral said.
“Yes, sir.”
“About that . . .”
Alex watched the emotion work across the Admiral’s face.
“There’s nothing you could have done, sir,” Alex said. “I never would have thought that I was vulnerable on base. Never. But there I was, stuck under my own conference table, fighting for my life with a plastic spoon, after my Colonel was shot and my guest murdered. If The Monk hadn’t been there, I would be dead. Period.”
The Admiral turned to face Alex on the couch.
“Getting kicked off base and in the manner it was done . . .” Alex nodded. “That was just icing on the cake. If we are to continue, we need a more secure location.”
“I’m sorry I was used as a weapon to hurt you,” the Admiral said. “You must believe that there was nothing I could have done differently.”
“You didn’t have to call the cab,” Alex smiled. “Or give me money to get home or a phone.”
The Admiral gave her a fatherly smile.
“What are you going to do with The Monk?” the Admiral asked.
“He’s staying with us for a while,” Alex said. “He’s . . . mentally shaken. Zutterberg was his only living relative — and his friend. Ethan feels like he killed Zutterberg by bringing him to Buckley. He needs time to breathe.”
“Where is he now?” the Admiral asked.
“Hiking the Colorado Trail,” Alex said.
“In the snow?” the Admiral asked.
“He is The Monk, sir,” Alex said. “We see him every week for a supply drop. We have eyes on him at all times via the team at Peterson. The space and solitude seem to be helping.”
“The Major General has approved his loan to the US Army,” the Admiral said. “He said you made a strong case for the loan.”
“He needs time,” Alex said. “Not vacation time. Time to grieve in the air and space of the world. He can get that here, with our support.”
“And when he’s ready?”
“We’ll absorb him into our team,” Alex said. “If
that’s what he wants. He may want to retire.”
“And you think he’s reliable?” the Admiral asked.
“Why?”
“There’s a theory that The Monk set the entire thing up,” the Admiral said. “Paid the driver. Brought Zutterberg to Buckley to get the deed done and you out of Buckley.”
“Could be,” Alex shrugged.
“You’re not going to defend him?” the Admiral asked.
“I’m at a place in my life when I’m open to anything,” Alex said. “But I’d be surprised if Ethan was behind anything.”
“Why?” the Admiral asked.
“Planning’s not his strength,” Alex said. “I’d trust him in any firefight. But planning? He usually has no idea what day it is, let alone be able to create some elaborate scheme. That’s why we bring him food every week. He can’t plan for what he needs one week to the next. But who knows?”
“You’re growing up,” the Admiral said.
“I’m scared,” Alex said.
The Admiral nodded at the simple honesty of her statement.
“The Senator and Haemon Jasper?” the Admiral asked.
“The Senator gave us the name of the person he told about the vault,” Alex said.
“Dead,” the Admiral said.
“That’s correct,” Alex said. “The Senator outlined the money transfer, who approached him, and the entire deal. He was very forthcoming. Of course, everyone is dead. He believes that if he wasn’t in prison, he’d be dead, too. So he’s oddly grateful to Samantha.”
“Cretin,” the Admiral said. “And Haemon Jasper?”
“He believes he is near the center of what we’re calling the Black Skeleton,” Alex said. “He may even be a mastermind of the entire thing. Helen was able to convince him that she would do his bidding. So now we wait to see what he wants.”
“Helen is incredibly brave,” the Admiral said.
“It’s always the little people who change the tide of the war,” Alex said.
“Tolkien?”
“My father, the General, sir,” Alex said. “It’s never great armies or brilliant strategists who win wars. It’s little people doing miniscule things that bring about a change in the tide of war. Never underestimate the power of individuals doing the right thing at exactly the right moment.”
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