“Any idea what this big theory of his was?”
“Something about criminals using secret societies to control politicians, thereby controlling the government, thereby controlling the world banking system. Alessandra might be a better person to ask.”
“Why is that?”
“They were pretty friendly. Tight. Of course, you’ll have to go to Italy to talk to her. I was informed that her absence was due to her sudden return home to take care of family matters. I think that translates to she was sent home in disgrace after she was caught in dishabille with the congressman.”
When Syd finally found her tongue, all she could say was, “The congressman?”
“Congressman Burnett. You do read the papers, don’t you? It made all the headlines about two months ago.”
“I don’t pay too much attention to the D.C. scandals,” she said.
Professor Woods walked to a tall box marked “Recycle” parked in the corner of her office, dug down a bit, and came up with a newspaper and handed it to Syd. “Here you go. Big conspiracy theory. She’s playing hooky with a politician instead of grading papers for my class. Too bad, too. She had a remarkable career in archeology ahead of her, maybe even a position here. She took the assistant’s job with me until one opened up in the archeological department.”
Syd stared at the grainy newsprint photo of a woman who resembled her sketch. Said woman was either whispering political figures or sweet nothings in the representative’s ear. Hard to say unless one was actually there, listening to it. What was it Scotty had told her? The explanation for all this? Diplomat’s daughter being sent home to prevent an international scandal in the press?
That whole coincidence thing again. Easily bought if one didn’t look too closely at the more obvious circumstances, the biggest being that if the girl in the photo was the girl in her sketch, then she was very much dead. “Did Xavier ever mention any specifics on this conspiracy theory of his?”
“He offered up several theories, the main gist being that Freemasonry was running amok in our country, about to start wars or ruin the banking system and government all in one fell swoop. One of his main points was that a Masonic lodge called the Propaganda Due, or P2, had emerged again, after being shut down in Italy back in the 1980s for political corruption. This time, however, he thought it was happening right here in the capital. Oh, and they were instrumental in the deaths of a number of microbiologists, who were working on bioweapons research. In other words, classic conspiracy theory stuff you can find on any Internet site.”
Microbiologists? What were the chances that field would crop up a second time in as many days? “So how far out there was he?”
Professor Woods gave Sydney a somewhat patronizing smile. “Do you ever read your horoscope?”
“Occasionally.”
“Ever wonder how it is that your daily horoscope can fit into your life, as though there is some truth to it all?”
“Because it’s so general.”
“Exactly. The theories I teach are more a way of illuminating history throughout the ages. They’re themes that recur over and over, but when looked at very closely are no different than what is going on today. Conflict in history revolves around the same issues. Money and power. And those without, blame it on those who have it all.
“I liken the conspiracy theorists,” she continued, “to those who read the Bible and interpret it to suit their own needs. One can look anywhere, grasp a word that is vague in one context, or might have a dual meaning in another, and twist a phrase to mean something completely different from what the author intended. Xavier’s paper was returned to him for being too general. I asked him to do a little more research on the start of Freemasonry, and why the Catholic Church was so opposed to it back when it first surfaced. You could say he came back enlightened.”
“How so?” Syd asked, wondering what, if anything, this would tell her about her missing student.
“He discovered a theory that Freemasonry started much earlier than the eighteenth century as originally believed. It was, he said, a means of hiding and protecting the Templar Knights who escaped the persecution, imprisonment, and execution by Pope Clement V and Philip IV of France in 1307. According to Xavier’s research, the Templars went underground, only to emerge in the early 1700s as Freemasons, a group that believes in a supreme being, but does not affiliate itself with any church or specific religion. What this new secret society did espouse was something the church found extremely dangerous at the time: freedom of religion, the separation of church and state, the education of children by laymen, and the right to choose one’s own government. You might recognize those as the very tenets that this nation was founded on.”
“So Freemasons aren’t the mastermind behind all evil in this country?”
“If you’d asked my mother back when I was a kid, she’d tell you it was rock-and-roll. Don’t get me wrong. The church was right in some respects. If you have a secret society and they meet in secret and there is an inner circle of powerful men running it, and one or more is corrupted, it doesn’t matter if they are church members, Freemasons, or politicians. There will be conspiracy, and unless it is caught, bad things can happen, just as history has proven again and again.”
Which told her exactly nothing. But her list of names had grown to two. “Mind if I keep this article?”
“Feel free.”
“Any chance you have a copy of these conspiracy theories Xavier was working on?”
“I’ll print one up for you. My students are required to turn a draft in electronically before the final draft is due. Gives me a chance to look it all up on the Internet, see if anyone’s doing too much cutting and pasting,” she said, returning to her computer. She scrolled through some files, then printed out a copy, handing it to Syd. “Unfortunately, he never did turn in the final draft, so I don’t know if he ever found the proof he was looking for.”
“Proof of what?”
“That there was a conspiracy going on in our government at this moment, and someone in power should know. He said he needed a few days to get the information together. Whatever that might be, I have no idea, as he never returned to class. But I recall that when he and Alessandra were walking out, I overheard her telling him that he needed to leave this harebrained scheme of his alone, as he had no idea what he was getting into and it was going to lead to-her words exactly-‘a big bunch of nothing and a whole lot of trouble.’”
“Thanks,” Sydney said, flipping through the pages, too numerous to quickly scan. “Can I call you if something else comes up?”
“Sure,” she said, digging a card from her desk drawer, and writing her numbers on it. “My home and cell. Normally I don’t give them out, but I find the fact the FBI is asking questions a bit intriguing.”
Sydney opened the door, then hesitated, turning back. “You don’t happen to have the address of your assistant who had to return to Italy?”
“She lived on campus.”
“I mean her home address.”
“Should be easy enough. She’s the daughter of the U.S. ambassador to the Holy See.”
“The Holy See?” Syd stared at the newspaper photo, not sure what to think. “As in the pope?”
“Yes. So you can imagine her father wasn’t too pleased when he heard the rumors of her…involvement with a married man. No doubt that’s why he ordered her home.”
“No doubt,” she said, though that wasn’t what she was thinking at all. She folded the newspaper and report, putting both in her purse. “Thank you very much for your time, Professor.”
Scotty was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, when she exited. “Are you ready to go to breakfast?”
She pulled out the card Zach Griffin had given her. Breakfast was the last thing on her mind.
9
“About breakfast?” Scotty asked again when they reached the car.
Sydney slid into the front passenger seat, glanced at her watch. “I need to pack a few things I for
got the first time around. Maybe you could drop me off at my apartment, grab us some fast food, come back, get me, and we can head straight to the airport.”
“Special requests?” Scotty asked, backing out of the parking space, then having to stop for two young women who darted in front of the car, probably late for a class.
“Anything.”
Which seemed to suit Scotty fine, especially the part about heading straight to the airport, no doubt because he thought it would keep her out of trouble. The moment he dropped her off in front of her building, she ran upstairs with her briefcase and overnight bag, shoved her key in the lock and threw open the door, tossed everything down, then opened her cell phone. Several phone calls later, Sydney was no closer to learning Zach Griffin’s true identity. He wasn’t answering his phone, and his so-called boss at the “newspaper” he worked for said he was leaving the country on an editorial assignment. Her next call was to a contact at CIA. Which netted her zero results. If Griffin was CIA, they weren’t admitting any association to him. But Griffin definitely worked for a governmental agency, because someone had to fund all the bells and whistles to his so-called newspaper job, and no way could he step onto the grounds at Quantico, arrange for a private plane and a forensic drawing, never mind the cooperation of her bosses, if someone high up the food chain wasn’t pulling some strings.
Right now the only thing she’d deduced was that he was leaving the country. So where the hell was he going?
Rome, Italy.
Had to be. If the victim’s father was the ambassador to the Holy See, then Sydney’s money was on Zach Griffin flying to Rome. She scrolled through a list of names in her cell phone, finding the number for Jonathon Levins, her contact at Homeland Security. “I need a favor. How quickly can you check outgoing flight records and see if there’s a Zach Griffin departing on any of them?” she asked on a hunch, since she didn’t know if that was his real name, a cover, or even a name he’d use for travel.
“From which airport?” Levins asked.
“Dulles? Probably an international flight, and if you want it narrowed further, to Rome.”
“What am I putting down for the reason?”
“You want the unvarnished truth or a close proximity?”
“Since when are you one for skirting rules?”
“Since circumstances dictated it. Look, I can’t go into anything, but you know me, and you know I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t important. Everything’s on the up-and-up, I’m just going about it in an…abstract manner. So, if anyone asks, the case is a missing person, probable kidnap, possible homicide.”
“Victim?”
She thought of the article, decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to publicize what the CIA, or whoever the hell they were, didn’t want publicized. Even so, no one seemed too worried about the man Alessandra had been with at the time of her death, no one except Penny Dearborn. And since he was still missing, that made it legitimate. “Xavier Caldwell.”
“Got it. I’ll call you back.”
The next call Sydney made was to Tony Carillo in San Francisco. “Good morning, merry sunshine,” she said.
“Morning, yes. Good, it depends on why you’re calling. Can’t you let a guy finish a cup of coffee first?”
“You didn’t happen to hear the rumor about the security guard at the Smithsonian who tried to kill me last night, did you?”
“Missed that one. So fill me in.”
“I can’t. I just want to let you know where I’ll be, in case something happens.”
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“It’s possible I could face disciplinary action, maybe even just by telling you what happened. Not only that, but I need some things looked into that might also lead to…issues. Things on the QT.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re keeping secrets from the government to assist in something that, as far as I know, might be questionable, and might result in disciplinary action?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Something that if you discuss with me, I could also face disciplinary action?”
“Yep.”
“Like being-terminated-type action?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I’ll take that as a yes. Which is why you don’t want me involved.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. I get it. So what exactly am I not getting involved in?”
She told him the information about her anthropologist friend, killed in an alleged hit-and-run, and her upcoming trip to Rome.
“Why Rome?”
“That forensic drawing I did? It was a girl with a missing face. A girl whose father happens to be ambassador to the Holy See.”
“The Holy…shit. You’re kidding me, right?”
“I’m about to head to the airport to get on a plane to Rome to follow some guy who works for some as of yet unknown branch of the government, so, no, I’m not kidding. What I really need is for you to either talk me out of this, or find out what you can on a certain congressman that this girl was with before she was killed.”
“Congressman?”
“A couple months ago, there was a newspaper article linking the ambassador’s daughter with a married congressman. She was allegedly sent home to Italy when it was rumored the two were having an affair. Might be interesting to talk to the man. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl was found dead after an affair with a married politician.”
“You think that’s why everything’s being kept so hush-hush? Someone trying to save this congressman’s career? Wait. Don’t answer that. I’m not supposed to be getting involved. Remember?”
“Remember what? A conversation we never had? Don’t suppose you have any investigations that would take you to D.C.?”
“I’m sure I could scrape up something.”
“I don’t yet know where she was killed, but her body was found at the Smithsonian. One of the guys that came after me was wearing a Smithsonian security uniform, and he stepped out of the very building located next to said crime scene. Makes me wonder if she wasn’t killed inside, and the body moved. Another part of me wonders if this security guard wasn’t stationed there as a means of watching who might come poking around about her death.”
“And you walked right into it?”
“There were extenuating circumstances.”
“You don’t think the guy was stupid enough to kill her in front of some security camera?”
“We could only hope,” she told him. “Actually I’d be happy just to trace her last steps. Pull those security tapes, see if she’s wandering around, admiring the artwork, or if she’s there for a purpose.”
“Or if she’s there at all.”
“Which is why we need to look into this congressman connection.”
“Call me when you get to Rome. Let me know where you’re staying.”
10
The moment Tony Carillo disconnected with Sydney, he called his friend Michael “Doc” Schermer, who was literally the go-to guy when it came to discovering obscure information. “You at your desk?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess who I just heard from?”
“Your soon-to-be ex, who realizes she made a big mistake and is begging your forgiveness, but you told her to pound sand, because you just came into a major inheritance, and the girls are lined up outside your door?”
“Whatever you spiked your coffee with, save me some. And no. Fitzpatrick just called. She’s on her way to Italy.”
“And what’s she doing there?”
“Being that she’s an upstanding agent, she couldn’t discuss it with me, for fear I’d end up in front of the OPR tribunal alongside her,” he said, referring to the Office of Professional Responsibility, the Bureau’s internal affairs watchdogs. “So you can see my dilemma.”
“So what is it you can’t discuss with me, for fear I’d be drawn and quartered alongside you?”
“You mean the part about the ambassador to the Holy See’s daughter being murdered, after having her
face and prints removed to prevent her ID? Or something about a possible affair with a congressman and the pontification of whether or not the death was related?”
“First,” Doc Schermer said, “I’m impressed you can use pontification in a sentence. Second, in light of the case matter relating to the pope, I’m wondering if you did it on purpose. Third, if I’m going to get fired, I’d rather it wasn’t for a bad pun. So what is it you’re not really asking me?”
“To find out everything you can on this congressman. I want to know every skeleton in his closet, and every committee he’s ever sat on. I want to know about the girl and what she’s involved with. And last but not least, I could use a legit reason to get on a plane to D.C. ASAP, so I can get the Bureau to pick up the tab. If I’m going to be unemployed soon, I’d rather not be out the airfare.”
“I’m sure I can dig up an old case for you that needs follow-up in the D.C. area,” he said, and Carillo heard the click of his keyboard as Doc Schermer started typing. “Give me the names of all the involved…”
Sydney looked around her apartment, trying to figure out all she’d need for the trip. Everything except her work clothes was still in boxes. Her indecision on where to look for an apartment was now costing her time, and she wished she’d just let Scotty pick out a place. A few minutes later her contact at Homeland Security called her back.
“What’s the good word?” she asked Levins.
“Your guy’s flying to Rome, Fiumicino, via Dulles at seven P.M.”
“What are the chances you can book me on that flight in the seat next to him?”
“Can’t. But I can put you in the row right behind him.”
“Works for me.”
“Ciao. And you owe me. Credit card number would be a good start. I’ll think of a proper extortion after you get back.”
The Bone Chamber Page 9