The Bone Chamber

8

Amazing how quickly MPDC officers swooped down on that apartment. And amazing how quickly Sydney and Penny were separated, and Sydney hustled away by some “detective” to an interrogation room at some “outstation” that didn’t look remotely like it belonged to the MPDC cops at all. She thought of Zachary Griffin’s cover and resources that allowed him to walk into Quantico without any problems. Whoever he worked for could certainly pull off something like this. The guys who brought her in definitely had that federal feel, as did the questioning. It was enough to make a girl think that not only was this related to Tasha’s hit-and-run, but something bigger was going on.
And definitely enough to make a girl think that she wasn’t leaving this area until she found it.
Unfortunately, it seemed everyone else had different ideas, her ex being one of them. “You need to go home,” Scotty told Sydney, hours later, after the cops, if that’s who they really were, finally let Scotty come pick her up and take her to his apartment.
“You’re the one who told me I shouldn’t sleep alone after the shooting.”
“I don’t mean your apartment, I mean San Francisco. You’re supposed to be on vacation, on your way to Thanksgiving at your mom’s place, and after tonight, you need it.”
“How can I possibly go home without answers?”
“Answers to what?” Scotty dropped a pillow and blankets on the coffee table, since she refused his offer to share his bed, insisting on the couch instead. “Go back to your mom’s. Don’t put your career in jeopardy by being stubborn.”
“Jeopardy? For what? Not rushing home to finish my scheduled two-week vacation? Are you saying that someone is ordering me home?”
“No, but if this is another federal agency, as you claim, you know that they’ll pull strings and have you moved to where they see fit.”
“Last I heard, it was my business where I spent my vacation time, not the Bureau’s or any other agency out there.”
“No one’s ordering anything. All I’m saying is that before you get all fired up to investigate, remember what happened the last time you got involved. The reason you jumped on the Quantico position to begin with…”
He let that hang in the air, and she suddenly doubted herself, wondered how it was she’d even contemplated looking into Tasha’s death, because, in a way, he was right. This was out of her league. She came back to Quantico to regroup. She didn’t need this sort of trouble…
Syd leaned back on Scotty’s couch, closed her eyes. It had been a long night of intense questioning by her interrogators. Suspect number two was nowhere to be found, which was part of the reason she had no desire to sleep in her empty apartment. Suspect number one was DOA, and determined not to be a security guard at the Smithsonian at all.
That part she believed, that he wasn’t a guard. It was the rest of the story that didn’t fit, and she was having a hard time letting it go. “Don’t you find their theory that this guy stole his security guard uniform so he could rob unsuspecting victims in a series of home invasions a little too pat?”
“No.”
“Well, I do.”
Scotty picked up the TV remote and flicked through the channels until he found the late night news, which was when Sydney noticed something else odd. Their shooting hadn’t even made it to the media yet.
“He targeted me,” she continued. “No doubt once I’d walked onto the Smithsonian grounds and began asking questions, I was marked. Was probably marked from the moment I started that forensic sketch.”
“I checked into it,” he said, his gaze fixed on the TV. “You’re way off base.”
“Meaning what?”
“This drawing. It’s being kept quiet because they think the victim might be a foreign diplomat’s daughter. If it gets out, the press will turn it into an international scandal.”
“They happen to mention this victim’s name?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. If they’d wanted me to know, they’d tell me.”
She watched the TV in silence for a few moments, thinking that there were still too many unanswered questions, even if it was some diplomat’s daughter. And what about this “guard”? Had he stolen the uniform and stationed himself at the Smithsonian in order to see who might come poking around in the Jane Doe murder? Unfortunately, she couldn’t very well voice her suspicions to Scotty, since she wasn’t supposed to be working on the case at all. She could, however, voice her suspicions about the shooting that she was involved in. “Don’t you find it strange that the cops were there so fast?”
“Someone probably heard the shots. They were close by.”
“I heard sirens before the guy hit the floor, Scotty.”
Scotty turned off the TV, tossed the remote onto the coffee table, then looked over at her. She couldn’t quite make out his expression in the now darkened room. She didn’t need to, though, because she could hear the disapproval in his voice. “What’s up is your overactive imagination. You’re making a federal case out of something the locals need to handle. They think this guy has targeted others the same way. The unsuspecting come into the Smithsonian, he follows them home, he robs them. The last thing they need to do is advertise that the Smithsonian has turned into a crime-infested blight. Tourism is down enough as it is.”
“Fine. You’re right, I’m wrong. I’ll go home. Be a good girl.”
Scotty stood, leaned over, kissed the top of her head, gentling his tone, as if that would make up for his disbelief in her whacked-out theory. “You’re doing the right thing. Get some rest, quit worrying. You have a long flight in the morning.”
“Good night,” she said, then sat there for several minutes in the dark, long after he’d disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door. Doing the right thing…That was what she was all about these days. The prudent thing would be to go home, let the authorities here handle it, forget about everything—everything but Tasha…Besides, why couldn’t it be a home invasion robbery, as the “locals” called it?
Because for one, regardless of what Scotty thought, it was clear the locals weren’t handling it. This shadow agency, whoever they were, was. And two, home invasion? It was more like a home assassination than some robbery attempt. She pictured the guy looking into Scotty’s car, as though he’d been watching it, probably followed her there. That part she believed, that they’d followed her, probably from the moment she’d left the Smithsonian, but what sort of crook follows a victim, an FBI agent, to the PD and doesn’t back off? Most crooks liked their victims unaware, unassuming, and uninvolved with the police.
Too many connections to other seemingly unassociated matters. Her secret sketch sanctioned by the CIA, or OGA, her discovery of the Smithsonian grounds as the crime scene, the “phone company” showing up at Scotty’s, the towed car leading to the missing paranoid boyfriend who thought people were following him, never mind his unaccounted-for paramour, and the now dead Smithsonian security guard. She still wasn’t sure what all the connections meant, only that her hunch on the possibility of a towed car leading her to a potential victim had landed her here. These were not the sort of coincidences Sydney believed in. And if it wasn’t coincidence then what the hell was it, and what did it have to do with the forensic sketch? Was there any connection to this foreign diplomat’s missing daughter?
She got up, walked to the window, looked out to the street below, wondered if she was being watched at this very moment, figured she probably was. If there was one thing she had faith in, it was the various U.S. intelligence agencies’ methods of surveillance. After all, the FBI shared a number of those techniques. She’d been trained in some of them, and certainly been a part of them in the past—the very recent past. If one of these other government agencies had been following her, it explained why the cops had arrived so fast. What it didn’t explain was why two armed men were allowed to get that close to her in the first place.
Unless a mistake had been made somewhere along the way?
She wasn’t supposed to look into the case, and the CIA/OGA had suspected she might, which was why they’d taken the steps they had when she’d left Quantico. But the CIA, if they were following her, had lost her. The bad guys, whoever they were, had definitely followed her. But if they were ready to take her out that quickly, if they were the ones responsible for Tasha’s hit-and-run, then how was it that Penny had escaped their notice? As whacked out as Penny’s theories had sounded, she certainly had some information that could be considered vital.
Then again, maybe they had ignored Penny, assumed she wasn’t a threat, because her only connection to her missing boyfriend and his new girl had been the loan of her car, and that had merely been left in a construction zone, towed, and subsequently returned…They might not have even realized there was a connection to Penny, via her boyfriend, until Syd had stepped in, followed up on the lead herself.
Clearly no one had suspected that a lowly domestic FBI agent would connect the dots and stumble onto the Smithsonian and right into the lap of one of the players…
She closed her eyes, because that was, in essence, what she’d done. Stumbled across them. That was not how she liked to operate. She needed control. Today had not been a controlled situation, and she’d almost gotten killed as a result.
She was not about to let that happen again, and that begged the question of what to do next.
The smart thing—the right thing—to do would be to go home as ordered, let the big boys handle it, the Mr. Federals of the world. And she might have, but for two things. One, she was somewhat responsible for her friend’s death, since she was the one who’d recommended Tasha for the job. Two, she’d killed someone tonight, someone who no doubt meant to kill her.
Hard not to take that personally, especially knowing that there had been two men approaching Penny’s apartment. Which meant there was someone else out there, someone she couldn’t identify, who probably had the same agenda: kill her.
She’d given her card to that security guard. That meant they knew who she was. One up on her, since she still didn’t know who they were, and if she went home to San Francisco, they could very well follow her there. She’d be doing exactly what she’d swore she’d never do, never allow to happen again. Dragging danger to her family’s doorstep. Never, she thought, turning away from the window, unable to see if anyone was sitting in any of the darkened cars parked below.
Grabbing her blanket and pillow, she settled on the couch. She’d never been very good at the whole let-sleeping-dogs-lie thing. No, she liked her dogs up and barking, the better to find out which were the vicious ones.
There were going to be some upset males come morning. Scotty for one, but also the alleged Special Agent Zachary Griffin, and this last thought made her smile. Served him right.
“Might want to work on those point-counterpoint surveillance techniques tomorrow,” she said, just in case they were listening. “Oh, and FYI, my favorite red is cabernet. California cab.”
The same as Tasha liked…
A shaft of light spilled into the hallway when Scotty opened the bedroom door. “You say something?” he called out.
“Just talking to myself.”


At eight the next morning, Scotty unlocked his Bureau car and held the door open for Syd. She slid in, and he stood there a moment, smiling. “I think this is the right decision you’re making, Syd. Go home, let the locals deal with it.”
“I’m stubborn. Not stupid.” When he got in, started up the car, she added, “Since we’ve got a few hours to kill, mind if we make a quick stop before we head to my place and then the airport?”
“Where to?”
“UVA.”
Scotty threw her a strange glance. “The university?”
“Old professor friend I haven’t seen in a while. Just want to drop in, say hi. See if he remembers me.”
He glanced at his watch, then shrugged. “Guess we have time.”
“Thanks.”
Syd leaned back in the car, checked the side view mirror. A Dodge pickup pulled out after them, but turned off a block later. She hoped the fact it was broad daylight would keep suspect number two from coming after her for the moment, and her right elbow automatically pressed against her side. She felt the hard edges of her temporary replacement sidearm the FBI had issued her. The minions who had interrogated her last night had taken her weapon, allegedly to book it into evidence for the requisite testing after the shooting.
Scotty was also armed, always a plus, since two guns were better than one, she thought, stifling a yawn. Scotty caught it, said, “We should stop for coffee first,” and she didn’t argue. She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning over the whole affair, thinking about what she might have missed, then coming up with today’s battle plan, not saying anything inside Scotty’s apartment for fear that not only would he try to talk her out of it, but Griffin would swoop in and physically escort her to that damned plane himself.
When they got to the university, she asked Scotty to wait in the car while she checked with the administration staff to locate the professor.
“I’ll go in with you,” he said.
She didn’t want Scotty to see her pulling out her credentials and making this an official visit, since that sort of ruined the whole “old friend” scenario she’d woven for him, especially when she didn’t know what department or what class. “It’ll only take me a second to see if he’s in. If he’s not, I’ll be right out and we’re off to breakfast.”
Scotty leaned back in his seat, gave her his best “hurry up” look, and she was off. There was only one Professor Woods who taught at the university, Denise Woods, and apparently she had a nine A.M. class and was presently in her office. Maybe Scotty wouldn’t notice Sydney’s slip-up on the professor’s gender. The girl at the counter gave Sydney a map of the campus, pointing out a parking lot closer to the professor’s building.
Five minutes later, she was knocking at the professor’s office door, with Scotty at her side. The professor opened the door, and Syd eyed the very beautiful, petite blond-haired woman, and smiled. “Professor Denise Woods? I’m Sydney Fitzpatrick. I’ll bet you don’t recognize me.”
She gave Sydney a thorough appraisal. “You’re right. Should I?”
“Yes, you should.” Syd turned to Scotty. “Can you give me a couple minutes here, Scotty? It won’t take long, I promise.”
He didn’t trust her, she could see it in his expression, but he did give her the privacy she requested, perhaps because she had promised to be on that plane, and he stepped away from the door. “Make it quick.”
“Scout’s honor.”
Syd stepped inside, closed the door of the small office behind her, then pulled out her credentials. “I’m Special Agent Sydney Fitzpatrick, FBI, looking into the disappearance of one of your students.”
“Xavier Caldwell?”
“Yes. You’ve been contacted about his disappearance?”
“No, but I did wonder at his sudden absence.”
“When was that?”
Professor Woods walked over to her laptop computer on her desk, cluttered with stacks of papers, books, manila folders. She ran her finger across the mouse pad, tapped something into the computer, then said, “Almost two weeks ago.”
Syd took out the sketch she’d made of her Jane Doe. “Does this woman look familiar to you?”
“She bears a striking resemblance to my assistant, Alessandra Harden.”
“Is she here?”
“With her father. May I ask what this is about?”
“As I said, a missing person’s case. On Xavier Caldwell. Other than that, I’m not at liberty to say.” Primarily because she had no damned clue as to what it was about. Even so, she now had a name to go with the face. “Did either of them approach you about anything odd? Conspiracy theories?”
The professor hesitated, her gaze narrowing slightly. “As a matter of fact Xavier did, and I can honestly say that at the time I figured it was an excuse for not turning in his final draft report, which happened to be on the very same subject. Telling me he was in the midst of the biggest conspiracy theory in modern history is no excuse for not turning in his report on conspiracy theory in past history.”
“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.