Tate waited. He wanted to make sure the man wasn’t coming back. Just when he thought it was safe, he started to crawl out of the metal duct and heard another crash.
He jerked back inside and let his eyes search below in the eerie green light of the night vision goggles. A large container had slipped from the overturned cabinet. It crashed and shattered.
Tate heard the hum before he noticed the contents. What appeared to be black specks scattered over the floor suddenly started coming to life, one by one flitting up, then suddenly gathering and moving together. They lifted up off the floor, a swarm of black. The humming grew louder as the swarm moved back and forth as if looking for the best escape route.
He ducked deeper into the air duct as the swarm moved past him. He recognized the buzz and caught a glimpse before it disappeared. And he wondered why in the world a swarm of mosquitoes had been kept locked up in a laboratory cabinet.
33.
It’s been a while since I’ve had to dig up a body,” Dr. Gunther told O’Dell.
Both were on their knees, carefully scooping. Ross and another guardsman took the plastic tub away when it got full, replacing it with a second one. The two men had the tedious chore of sifting through the mud for anything that might be considered evidence. O’Dell knew there was slim chance of that. No matter what had originally happened to these bodies—whether they were murdered or not—being caught up in the slide most likely had destroyed any trace evidence.
“I imagine you were surprised then when Mr. Logan called you for this project,” O’Dell said.
She restrained herself from simply coming out and asking the woman why in the world she was here for such a supposedly sensitive mission. However, something in her tone must have tipped off Dr. Gunther, because she shot O’Dell an irritated look.
“It wasn’t Logan,” she said. “I’ve never met the man. His boss and I worked together years ago.”
O’Dell nodded, satisfied. Of course it was something like that. It wasn’t much different from Ben asking her. Old favors. Funny how they could feel an awful lot like payback.
“Your forensic background,” Dr. Gunther began to ask, then she seemed to stop herself and reworded her thoughts. “I understand you’re an FBI agent. But you obviously have extensive experience in retrieving dead bodies.”
O’Dell hesitated, wondering if she should give the short, more appropriate answer. Somehow over the years, without a plan or strategy, she had become a leading expert in criminal behavior, specializing in dismemberment and ritualistic murders. Murders that often ended up being the work of serial killers. The doctor, however, was simply asking why she was a part of this mission.
“When you chase killers for a living, you find yourself examining their handiwork up close and personal whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t understand why they think this body is not a victim of the slide.” She wiped a cloth over his face and shoulder, careful to clean off the mud but not rub hard enough to disturb or break the flesh. “There’s very little decomposition.”
“The mud would slow it down considerably.”
At that moment Dr. Gunther grabbed for her flashlight.
“This is interesting.”
She flipped the switch and, instead of examining the shoulder more closely, the doctor pointed the light up higher, where something had caught her eye. Slowly she swept the beam over the portion of the man’s head that was exposed. They only had a side view. The other half of his face was still buried in mud.
He’d shaved his hair down to the scalp. Dr. Gunther’s cleaning efforts now revealed circular marks, slight indentations that showed up in the harsh beam of light. The three circles were a bit shinier than the rest of his skin, as if some kind of greasy solution had been used that prevented the dirt from sticking.
O’Dell waited, expecting Dr. Gunther to voice a theory, but the woman remained quiet. O’Dell could venture to guess the marks had been made by electrode pads. She wondered if his head had been shaved specifically for some kind of neurological test.
When Dr. Gunther still hadn’t said anything, O’Dell glanced at her. She could see the pinched furrow between the woman’s eyes. Her thin lips were pursed tight. Without comment she moved the beam of light back to the shoulder and began wiping the dirt away. This time her fingers appeared more hesitant. Even as an image started to reveal itself, Dr. Gunther slowed her movements.
Before the old woman had shifted her attention to the dead man’s head, O’Dell noticed the corner of a tattoo starting to reveal itself on his shoulder. She suspected the yellow beak of an eagle. She could make out the top of letters curved above it and guessed it read: U.S. Airborne.