Extinction, page 34
“Do you remember the pictures you drew as a child, which I framed? They were remarkable.” Karman looked around at the others. “And all of you? I have your stories too. I can teach you what was withheld for so long—your patrimony. Your origins. Who you are. Each one of you.”
Nobody moved.
“You mentioned those pirate stories I used to read to you,” said Karman. “Remember what they did when they captured a ship? They invited the sailors to join them. If they did, they had to sign the articles and swear to become a pirate. If they didn’t, they had to walk the plank and die. I’ll sign the articles.”
More silence.
“What I’m saying is, I’ll join you. I understand you. I believe in you. I was the one who always protected you against the Sapiens.” He took a deep breath. “I created you, each one of you, from dust. Literally. Each one of you came from dust drilled from secret pockets of DNA trapped in ancient bones.”
There was a confused murmuring from the group. They had dropped their hands. They were uncertain, nervous.
“The Sapiens are coming to get you. It will be awful what they’ll do to you. Very soon now, their helicopters will be arriving in the valley, and heavily armed men will be coming up here in force to capture you and return you to bondage. You need to escape.”
Joey’s face twisted with emotion.
“Above us,” said Karman, raising his voice and pointing, “among those mountain peaks is a hidden pass out of this valley. It goes into a vast, uninhabited wilderness. Beyond that pass, there lies your promised land. No Sapiens live there—it’s all for you. I know the way. I will lead you. But we’ve got to hurry, because they’re coming. I will lead you to the promised land. I will share your destiny—if you’ll accept me. The decision is yours to make—now.”
Joey stared at him and finally, after a long moment, nodded sharply. “Yes,” he said. “We accept.”
A murmuring of approval came from the congregation. Accept. We accept.
“I must ask for something in return,” said Karman. “You will let these people go.”
“No,” Joey said.
“Joey? Let these people go. Empathy, remember? You need to practice it. You all do.”
“No.”
“It’s the price of my cooperation.”
Joey said nothing. The others looked uncertain, agitated, looking to Karman and then to Joey.
“Empathy,” Karman said. “Compassion. Practice it. Let them walk away. They had nothing to do with how you were abused and misled.”
Joey paused and then brusquely turned to Cash and the group. He waved his rifle. “Go!”
Nobody moved.
“You’re going to have to lay down the rifle before they’ll come out,” Karman said.
Joey laid the rifle on the ground.
Cash was the first to stand up, then the others.
“Go,” said Joey. “Get out!”
Cash began to edge out of the rocky outcrop, the others following. They walked around the outcrop and downhill, toward the line of Neanders. The line opened up to let them pass through, the Neanders glaring at them with fierce expressions as they passed by.
They continued past them, walking fast down the steep slope, trying to keep from stumbling. Nobody said a word—they just kept moving, not daring to look back, leaving the Neanders behind. Cash picked up the pace, angling away from the Jackman Mine entrance, from which smoke and fire were still pouring. She felt numb. Far down the valley, she could see the lodge continuing to burn, along with the movie town. And then, she heard the distant throb of helicopters and could see their blinking lights coming up the valley.
The rescue had finally begun.
Half an hour later, when they reached the tree line, Cash stopped, and they regrouped, recovering their breaths. She finally turned and looked up at the mountainsides. Far above, along a snowy ridgeline, framed against the stars, she could see a wavering band of lights moving northward toward the pass—and into the great wilderness beyond.
76
The conference room at CBI headquarters in Lakewood was already packed for the debriefing when Cash entered and took a seat at the front next to Romanski, Reno, Colcord, and others involved in the Erebus investigation. The CBI’s new director, Blaisdell Holmes, stood at the podium, waiting for the hubbub to quiet down and the debriefing to begin. Holmes had been deputy director of the CBI, and her elevation to the top spot after the demise of McFaul was expected and uncontroversial.
Over the past month, the media had dragged the CBI through hell, but Holmes had handled it well, admitting fault where blame was due, quietly resisting the many unfair and inaccurate accusations, and calmly refuting the mind-boggling proliferation of conspiracy theories that arose, each one more outlandish than the last—as if the incident hadn’t been crazy enough to begin with.
When the digital clock behind the podium registered three p.m., Holmes stepped forward to the podium, tapped on the mic, and said, “I extend a warm welcome to the CBI and the Eagle County Sheriff’s Office.”
The purpose of the debriefing was to update CBI on the progress of the investigation. The crisis at Erebus was over—but the investigation itself continued.
Holmes reminded everyone that the details that would be discussed at the debriefing were confidential, restricted to law enforcement only, and that no recording was allowed. Then she placed a portfolio on the podium to refer to, opened it, and looked around the room.
“We have what we believe is a final tally on the dead and missing,” she said. “Nine of the experimental subjects are deceased. None were able to be taken alive. They were killed fighting with the Air National Guard units sent into the valley. An unknown number of experimental subjects, perhaps as many as two dozen, escaped over the mountains and are still at large in the Flat Tops Wilderness Area.”
Experimental subjects was the phrase officially adopted to refer to the Neanders. It somehow seemed less threatening. The idea that they were resurrected Neanderthals had only been accepted with the greatest reluctance and only after incontrovertible DNA sequencing had been completed. Most of the rest of the de-extinction evidence had been wiped out in the destruction of the labs. The federal government had stepped in and dropped a classification order on most of the information being recovered.
“The numbers of casualties and missing are significant,” Holmes went on. “They include Maitland Barrow, CEO of RxB, the holding company of Erebus, presumed dead; Erebus CEO, Karla Raimundo, presumed dead; security director, Andrew Maximilian, presumed dead. Missing are sixteen Erebus security personnel and fourteen other employees, presumed deceased from the explosion and collapse of the laboratory and mine complex. The chief scientist of Erebus, Marius Karman, is believed to be alive, having joined with the experimental subjects in the Flat Tops Wilderness Area. The deceased include the actor Brock Ballou; four other employees of the film company; and twelve members of the media. Five Air National Guard members died in the assault on the valley, along with six members of the Denver PD SWAT team. My predecessor, Wallace McFaul, lost his life in the incident, as did businessman Rolf Gunnerson, and of course his son, Mark, and daughter-in-law, Olivia, whose deaths initiated this investigation.”
She paused and swept the room with a grave expression. “In short, there was a shocking loss of life, not to mention the many others who were injured and traumatized. I’d like to call for a moment of silence for those victims.”
A hush fell.
Then she resumed. “I would like to acknowledge the important roles in the case played by Agent in Charge Frances Cash, Sheriff James Colcord, Forensic Services detective Bart Romanski, and forensic technician Michael Reno.”
Cash heard this and colored. She wasn’t fooled. She was in the doghouse internally, but what was worse, she blamed herself. She’d retained her job only because the CBI needed something positive to point to after the McFaul disaster, and she was that thing. Colcord hadn’t fared as well; he’d been slammed in the press, and it seemed likely he’d lose the upcoming election in November. The media, having lost so many of their own, had been hammering everyone pretty good. And then there was that filmmaker Doyle, who’d witnessed Brock Ballou’s killing but managed to escape the crazies. He was now making hay on every talk show in America. The governor had taken a big hit when it became known he’d been reluctant to close the resort and had delayed calling in the National Guard. There were no actual heroes in Cash’s mind except for the National Guard and the Denver PD.
Holmes went on, “As we know, Erebus was engaged in the so-called de-extincting of Pleistocene megafauna. They were also engaged in a secret project to manipulate the human genome as part of a commercial program offering prospective parents the ability to create designer babies with enhanced physical characteristics. They did this, apparently, through resurrecting Homo neanderthalensis, an extinct hominin species that occupied Eurasia hundreds of thousands of years ago. Erebus harvested some of their genes to insert into human embryos. The families who opted for this genetic enhancement paid many millions of dollars to receive it—without knowing their babies were getting Neanderthal genes.” She paused. “We are in the process of identifying those families and notifying them of that fact. You can imagine the news is an unwelcome surprise. The children who were born with these genetic enhancements, some of whom are as old as nine years, are being evaluated by medical professionals for any side effects or unexpected presentation of disease or infirmity. It appears there may in fact be issues with regard to a propensity toward violence—but that is beyond our purview. Unfortunately, the identities of many of these families have leaked to the media.”
She shifted another piece of paper.
“The laboratory where this work occurred was completely destroyed in an explosion and landslide. The area is still closed off and under investigation, and it will be for some time. The resort lodge burned to the ground, as did the historic mining town of Erebus, which had been converted into a movie set. The entire valley is closed as a crime scene and is being examined for evidence.”
She paused and took a deep breath.
“With regard to my predecessor—all of you have seen the media reports. It appears he shot and killed Rolf Gunnerson. That is still under investigation. His conduct has cast a shadow over the CBI, and we will need to work hard to regain the trust of the public and media. I call on all of you to undertake this task.
“The investigation is ongoing, and there is still much more to be done. The Flat Tops are being searched. So far, the experimental subjects, led by Karman, have evaded our searches. The area, although large, is finite. We do expect to eventually track them down, especially as winter closes in and they become easier to track.”
She closed her papers and said, “That is all I have to say for now. We will take your questions. I will ask those in the front row, who participated in the case, to come to the stage to be available for any questions that might arise.”
Cash, Colcord, and the rest stood up and filed onstage. Cash looked over the sea of law enforcement and Forensic Services people looking back at her. It was painful for her to think about what might be going through their minds about her role in the debacle.
But the questions were not too challenging, and if people were thinking bad thoughts, they kept them to themselves. An hour later, the room had finally run out of questions, and the meeting was adjourned.
As they filed out, Colcord fell into step beside her, and they walked out together into the parking lot.
“Well, partner,” said Colcord, “that wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
She shook her head. “Yeah.” And then she hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Back there, when we were locked in that chamber and thought we were going to die, you wanted to say something to me—some last words. Remember that?”
He nodded. “Sure do.”
“What was it?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Ah! Now you’d like to know?”
She looked at him. “I would.”
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come by my coffee shop in Eagle one of these fine days, and we’ll have a cup of joe and talk about it?”
She took in his friendly face, crinkled blue eyes, and cowboy hat. “Deal.”
77
Frankie Cash stamped the snow off her boots and pushed open the door of the cafe, the scent of brewing coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloping her along with the welcome heat from a woodstove. She unwound the scarf from around her neck, hung up her coat on the rack by the door, and looked around. It was more like a comfortable living room than a coffeehouse, with old leather sofas and chairs, wooden tables, a counter along one side, and an antique woodstove with silver trim in the center.
Sheriff Colcord rose from a grouping of chairs near the stove and strode over to her, no longer in his uniform but wearing jeans, a checked shirt—and the cowboy hat.
“Hello, Agent Cash,” he said, extending his hand. “Welcome to the Ore House.”
She took the hand. “How about dropping the sheriff this and agent that? Call me Frankie.”
“And I’m Jim. Let’s get you something.”
He led her over to the counter. She ordered a triple espresso—and declined the pecan sticky bun he was having, although it looked fabulous. They took their beverages to a pair of beaten-up leather chairs near the stove, walking across the creaky wooden floor.
Cash settled into the chair, absorbing the warmth. It had snowed overnight, and the temperature outside had barely crept above five degrees. The plate glass windows, decorated with Christmas boughs and ribbons, were all frosted up, the cool light of winter filtering through. She could hear a snowplow scraping past on Eagle’s main street, which contributed to the cozy feeling inside.
She sipped the coffee.
“You like?” asked Colcord.
“Perfect,” she said. “And this place—I love it. It’s just like what you described.”
“Thanks.” He tucked into his own coffee and then took a bite of the sticky bun. “I dreamed up this place on my last tour in Iraq. Over that year, I built it in my mind, bit by bit, piece by piece, as a way to keep my thoughts from … all the other things going on.”
She nodded. “I guess congratulations are in order—I mean, getting reelected.”
Colcord nodded. “It was a close call. The Erebus disaster took its toll, but my opponent was …” He chuckled and circled his finger around his temple. “I was lucky.”
“Lots of idiots running for office these days.” After a moment, she said, “So … I’m still curious. What was it you wanted to say to me?”
He gazed at her, smiling. “I wanted to tell you that I had a deep respect for you and that I was sorry I wouldn’t get the chance to know you better.”
“That’s it?” She felt vaguely disappointed.
“What did you expect, a confession of love?”
She flushed. “No, no,” she stammered, “but thank you. I feel the same about you.”
“How do you feel about the get-to-know-you-better part?”
“I … don’t have an objection to that.”
He looked at her intently. “Okay. Good to know.”
She covered up her embarrassment by tossing down the last of her coffee.
“So how about you?” he asked. “Any fallout?”
“I guess I was lucky too. McFaul made a huge deal of taking over just before the shit hit the fan—with the media right there, recording it all. Those reporters who survived just crucified him. It diverted the unfriendly fire away from me, so to speak. And the CBI needed a couple of heroes after McFaul’s disgrace to parade around, so they chose Romanski and me. It was pretty mortifying and totally undeserved, and everybody at the CBI knows it.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
Cash shook her head. “I could’ve—should’ve—done better. I should have insisted on getting the SWAT teams and National Guard in there earlier. I should have insisted on shutting down the resort earlier. If it weren’t for you finding out about the Jackman Mine and getting those maps, I don’t know where we’d be.”
Colcord shook his head. “You’re the one who got that warrant that blew the case wide open.”
“Yeah, but it was too late,” she said. “It didn’t stop the uprising or whatever you want to call it. I can’t believe Erebus knew all along what was going on and who the killers were. Unbelievable. How did they think they’d get away with it?”
“They were arrogant. They believed their own security would find them and take care of it themselves.” He sipped his coffee. “But what I find puzzling is why McFaul killed Gunnerson. Does CBI have any idea what that was about?”
“Hard to know what happened between those two, but I bet Gunnerson was the instigator.”
“De-extincting Neanderthals—what a batshit crazy thing to do,” said Colcord.
“That’s the problem with science,” said Cash. “If something can be done, it will be done—no matter how dangerous. I have no doubt that in China or Russia or even somewhere else in America, Neanderthals are being resurrected. There may be a lot more of them out there. They sequenced the Neanderthal genome in 2010—it was only a matter of time before someone started cloning them.”
“It’s the Tower of Babel all over again,” said Colcord. “It’s what happens when you play God.”
“Exactly right. And it’s pretty astonishing they can’t find them in that wilderness—especially now that it’s winter. I know they’re tough, but there must be five feet of snow out there, twenty below zero at night, blizzards. How the heck are they surviving?”
“They’re committed,” said Colcord. “And consider how big the area is. If you add up the Flat Tops, plus the surrounding National Forest and BLM land, that’s over a million acres in the heart of the Rockies. And the Rockies stretch from New Mexico to Canada—so if they’re traveling, they could be anywhere.” He paused. “They don’t look so different from humans that they might be able to pass for us. Sure, they’re weird-looking and talk funny, but a lot of people are weird-looking and talk funny. There’s no deficit with their intelligence.”
Nobody moved.
“You mentioned those pirate stories I used to read to you,” said Karman. “Remember what they did when they captured a ship? They invited the sailors to join them. If they did, they had to sign the articles and swear to become a pirate. If they didn’t, they had to walk the plank and die. I’ll sign the articles.”
More silence.
“What I’m saying is, I’ll join you. I understand you. I believe in you. I was the one who always protected you against the Sapiens.” He took a deep breath. “I created you, each one of you, from dust. Literally. Each one of you came from dust drilled from secret pockets of DNA trapped in ancient bones.”
There was a confused murmuring from the group. They had dropped their hands. They were uncertain, nervous.
“The Sapiens are coming to get you. It will be awful what they’ll do to you. Very soon now, their helicopters will be arriving in the valley, and heavily armed men will be coming up here in force to capture you and return you to bondage. You need to escape.”
Joey’s face twisted with emotion.
“Above us,” said Karman, raising his voice and pointing, “among those mountain peaks is a hidden pass out of this valley. It goes into a vast, uninhabited wilderness. Beyond that pass, there lies your promised land. No Sapiens live there—it’s all for you. I know the way. I will lead you. But we’ve got to hurry, because they’re coming. I will lead you to the promised land. I will share your destiny—if you’ll accept me. The decision is yours to make—now.”
Joey stared at him and finally, after a long moment, nodded sharply. “Yes,” he said. “We accept.”
A murmuring of approval came from the congregation. Accept. We accept.
“I must ask for something in return,” said Karman. “You will let these people go.”
“No,” Joey said.
“Joey? Let these people go. Empathy, remember? You need to practice it. You all do.”
“No.”
“It’s the price of my cooperation.”
Joey said nothing. The others looked uncertain, agitated, looking to Karman and then to Joey.
“Empathy,” Karman said. “Compassion. Practice it. Let them walk away. They had nothing to do with how you were abused and misled.”
Joey paused and then brusquely turned to Cash and the group. He waved his rifle. “Go!”
Nobody moved.
“You’re going to have to lay down the rifle before they’ll come out,” Karman said.
Joey laid the rifle on the ground.
Cash was the first to stand up, then the others.
“Go,” said Joey. “Get out!”
Cash began to edge out of the rocky outcrop, the others following. They walked around the outcrop and downhill, toward the line of Neanders. The line opened up to let them pass through, the Neanders glaring at them with fierce expressions as they passed by.
They continued past them, walking fast down the steep slope, trying to keep from stumbling. Nobody said a word—they just kept moving, not daring to look back, leaving the Neanders behind. Cash picked up the pace, angling away from the Jackman Mine entrance, from which smoke and fire were still pouring. She felt numb. Far down the valley, she could see the lodge continuing to burn, along with the movie town. And then, she heard the distant throb of helicopters and could see their blinking lights coming up the valley.
The rescue had finally begun.
Half an hour later, when they reached the tree line, Cash stopped, and they regrouped, recovering their breaths. She finally turned and looked up at the mountainsides. Far above, along a snowy ridgeline, framed against the stars, she could see a wavering band of lights moving northward toward the pass—and into the great wilderness beyond.
76
The conference room at CBI headquarters in Lakewood was already packed for the debriefing when Cash entered and took a seat at the front next to Romanski, Reno, Colcord, and others involved in the Erebus investigation. The CBI’s new director, Blaisdell Holmes, stood at the podium, waiting for the hubbub to quiet down and the debriefing to begin. Holmes had been deputy director of the CBI, and her elevation to the top spot after the demise of McFaul was expected and uncontroversial.
Over the past month, the media had dragged the CBI through hell, but Holmes had handled it well, admitting fault where blame was due, quietly resisting the many unfair and inaccurate accusations, and calmly refuting the mind-boggling proliferation of conspiracy theories that arose, each one more outlandish than the last—as if the incident hadn’t been crazy enough to begin with.
When the digital clock behind the podium registered three p.m., Holmes stepped forward to the podium, tapped on the mic, and said, “I extend a warm welcome to the CBI and the Eagle County Sheriff’s Office.”
The purpose of the debriefing was to update CBI on the progress of the investigation. The crisis at Erebus was over—but the investigation itself continued.
Holmes reminded everyone that the details that would be discussed at the debriefing were confidential, restricted to law enforcement only, and that no recording was allowed. Then she placed a portfolio on the podium to refer to, opened it, and looked around the room.
“We have what we believe is a final tally on the dead and missing,” she said. “Nine of the experimental subjects are deceased. None were able to be taken alive. They were killed fighting with the Air National Guard units sent into the valley. An unknown number of experimental subjects, perhaps as many as two dozen, escaped over the mountains and are still at large in the Flat Tops Wilderness Area.”
Experimental subjects was the phrase officially adopted to refer to the Neanders. It somehow seemed less threatening. The idea that they were resurrected Neanderthals had only been accepted with the greatest reluctance and only after incontrovertible DNA sequencing had been completed. Most of the rest of the de-extinction evidence had been wiped out in the destruction of the labs. The federal government had stepped in and dropped a classification order on most of the information being recovered.
“The numbers of casualties and missing are significant,” Holmes went on. “They include Maitland Barrow, CEO of RxB, the holding company of Erebus, presumed dead; Erebus CEO, Karla Raimundo, presumed dead; security director, Andrew Maximilian, presumed dead. Missing are sixteen Erebus security personnel and fourteen other employees, presumed deceased from the explosion and collapse of the laboratory and mine complex. The chief scientist of Erebus, Marius Karman, is believed to be alive, having joined with the experimental subjects in the Flat Tops Wilderness Area. The deceased include the actor Brock Ballou; four other employees of the film company; and twelve members of the media. Five Air National Guard members died in the assault on the valley, along with six members of the Denver PD SWAT team. My predecessor, Wallace McFaul, lost his life in the incident, as did businessman Rolf Gunnerson, and of course his son, Mark, and daughter-in-law, Olivia, whose deaths initiated this investigation.”
She paused and swept the room with a grave expression. “In short, there was a shocking loss of life, not to mention the many others who were injured and traumatized. I’d like to call for a moment of silence for those victims.”
A hush fell.
Then she resumed. “I would like to acknowledge the important roles in the case played by Agent in Charge Frances Cash, Sheriff James Colcord, Forensic Services detective Bart Romanski, and forensic technician Michael Reno.”
Cash heard this and colored. She wasn’t fooled. She was in the doghouse internally, but what was worse, she blamed herself. She’d retained her job only because the CBI needed something positive to point to after the McFaul disaster, and she was that thing. Colcord hadn’t fared as well; he’d been slammed in the press, and it seemed likely he’d lose the upcoming election in November. The media, having lost so many of their own, had been hammering everyone pretty good. And then there was that filmmaker Doyle, who’d witnessed Brock Ballou’s killing but managed to escape the crazies. He was now making hay on every talk show in America. The governor had taken a big hit when it became known he’d been reluctant to close the resort and had delayed calling in the National Guard. There were no actual heroes in Cash’s mind except for the National Guard and the Denver PD.
Holmes went on, “As we know, Erebus was engaged in the so-called de-extincting of Pleistocene megafauna. They were also engaged in a secret project to manipulate the human genome as part of a commercial program offering prospective parents the ability to create designer babies with enhanced physical characteristics. They did this, apparently, through resurrecting Homo neanderthalensis, an extinct hominin species that occupied Eurasia hundreds of thousands of years ago. Erebus harvested some of their genes to insert into human embryos. The families who opted for this genetic enhancement paid many millions of dollars to receive it—without knowing their babies were getting Neanderthal genes.” She paused. “We are in the process of identifying those families and notifying them of that fact. You can imagine the news is an unwelcome surprise. The children who were born with these genetic enhancements, some of whom are as old as nine years, are being evaluated by medical professionals for any side effects or unexpected presentation of disease or infirmity. It appears there may in fact be issues with regard to a propensity toward violence—but that is beyond our purview. Unfortunately, the identities of many of these families have leaked to the media.”
She shifted another piece of paper.
“The laboratory where this work occurred was completely destroyed in an explosion and landslide. The area is still closed off and under investigation, and it will be for some time. The resort lodge burned to the ground, as did the historic mining town of Erebus, which had been converted into a movie set. The entire valley is closed as a crime scene and is being examined for evidence.”
She paused and took a deep breath.
“With regard to my predecessor—all of you have seen the media reports. It appears he shot and killed Rolf Gunnerson. That is still under investigation. His conduct has cast a shadow over the CBI, and we will need to work hard to regain the trust of the public and media. I call on all of you to undertake this task.
“The investigation is ongoing, and there is still much more to be done. The Flat Tops are being searched. So far, the experimental subjects, led by Karman, have evaded our searches. The area, although large, is finite. We do expect to eventually track them down, especially as winter closes in and they become easier to track.”
She closed her papers and said, “That is all I have to say for now. We will take your questions. I will ask those in the front row, who participated in the case, to come to the stage to be available for any questions that might arise.”
Cash, Colcord, and the rest stood up and filed onstage. Cash looked over the sea of law enforcement and Forensic Services people looking back at her. It was painful for her to think about what might be going through their minds about her role in the debacle.
But the questions were not too challenging, and if people were thinking bad thoughts, they kept them to themselves. An hour later, the room had finally run out of questions, and the meeting was adjourned.
As they filed out, Colcord fell into step beside her, and they walked out together into the parking lot.
“Well, partner,” said Colcord, “that wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
She shook her head. “Yeah.” And then she hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Back there, when we were locked in that chamber and thought we were going to die, you wanted to say something to me—some last words. Remember that?”
He nodded. “Sure do.”
“What was it?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Ah! Now you’d like to know?”
She looked at him. “I would.”
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come by my coffee shop in Eagle one of these fine days, and we’ll have a cup of joe and talk about it?”
She took in his friendly face, crinkled blue eyes, and cowboy hat. “Deal.”
77
Frankie Cash stamped the snow off her boots and pushed open the door of the cafe, the scent of brewing coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloping her along with the welcome heat from a woodstove. She unwound the scarf from around her neck, hung up her coat on the rack by the door, and looked around. It was more like a comfortable living room than a coffeehouse, with old leather sofas and chairs, wooden tables, a counter along one side, and an antique woodstove with silver trim in the center.
Sheriff Colcord rose from a grouping of chairs near the stove and strode over to her, no longer in his uniform but wearing jeans, a checked shirt—and the cowboy hat.
“Hello, Agent Cash,” he said, extending his hand. “Welcome to the Ore House.”
She took the hand. “How about dropping the sheriff this and agent that? Call me Frankie.”
“And I’m Jim. Let’s get you something.”
He led her over to the counter. She ordered a triple espresso—and declined the pecan sticky bun he was having, although it looked fabulous. They took their beverages to a pair of beaten-up leather chairs near the stove, walking across the creaky wooden floor.
Cash settled into the chair, absorbing the warmth. It had snowed overnight, and the temperature outside had barely crept above five degrees. The plate glass windows, decorated with Christmas boughs and ribbons, were all frosted up, the cool light of winter filtering through. She could hear a snowplow scraping past on Eagle’s main street, which contributed to the cozy feeling inside.
She sipped the coffee.
“You like?” asked Colcord.
“Perfect,” she said. “And this place—I love it. It’s just like what you described.”
“Thanks.” He tucked into his own coffee and then took a bite of the sticky bun. “I dreamed up this place on my last tour in Iraq. Over that year, I built it in my mind, bit by bit, piece by piece, as a way to keep my thoughts from … all the other things going on.”
She nodded. “I guess congratulations are in order—I mean, getting reelected.”
Colcord nodded. “It was a close call. The Erebus disaster took its toll, but my opponent was …” He chuckled and circled his finger around his temple. “I was lucky.”
“Lots of idiots running for office these days.” After a moment, she said, “So … I’m still curious. What was it you wanted to say to me?”
He gazed at her, smiling. “I wanted to tell you that I had a deep respect for you and that I was sorry I wouldn’t get the chance to know you better.”
“That’s it?” She felt vaguely disappointed.
“What did you expect, a confession of love?”
She flushed. “No, no,” she stammered, “but thank you. I feel the same about you.”
“How do you feel about the get-to-know-you-better part?”
“I … don’t have an objection to that.”
He looked at her intently. “Okay. Good to know.”
She covered up her embarrassment by tossing down the last of her coffee.
“So how about you?” he asked. “Any fallout?”
“I guess I was lucky too. McFaul made a huge deal of taking over just before the shit hit the fan—with the media right there, recording it all. Those reporters who survived just crucified him. It diverted the unfriendly fire away from me, so to speak. And the CBI needed a couple of heroes after McFaul’s disgrace to parade around, so they chose Romanski and me. It was pretty mortifying and totally undeserved, and everybody at the CBI knows it.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
Cash shook her head. “I could’ve—should’ve—done better. I should have insisted on getting the SWAT teams and National Guard in there earlier. I should have insisted on shutting down the resort earlier. If it weren’t for you finding out about the Jackman Mine and getting those maps, I don’t know where we’d be.”
Colcord shook his head. “You’re the one who got that warrant that blew the case wide open.”
“Yeah, but it was too late,” she said. “It didn’t stop the uprising or whatever you want to call it. I can’t believe Erebus knew all along what was going on and who the killers were. Unbelievable. How did they think they’d get away with it?”
“They were arrogant. They believed their own security would find them and take care of it themselves.” He sipped his coffee. “But what I find puzzling is why McFaul killed Gunnerson. Does CBI have any idea what that was about?”
“Hard to know what happened between those two, but I bet Gunnerson was the instigator.”
“De-extincting Neanderthals—what a batshit crazy thing to do,” said Colcord.
“That’s the problem with science,” said Cash. “If something can be done, it will be done—no matter how dangerous. I have no doubt that in China or Russia or even somewhere else in America, Neanderthals are being resurrected. There may be a lot more of them out there. They sequenced the Neanderthal genome in 2010—it was only a matter of time before someone started cloning them.”
“It’s the Tower of Babel all over again,” said Colcord. “It’s what happens when you play God.”
“Exactly right. And it’s pretty astonishing they can’t find them in that wilderness—especially now that it’s winter. I know they’re tough, but there must be five feet of snow out there, twenty below zero at night, blizzards. How the heck are they surviving?”
“They’re committed,” said Colcord. “And consider how big the area is. If you add up the Flat Tops, plus the surrounding National Forest and BLM land, that’s over a million acres in the heart of the Rockies. And the Rockies stretch from New Mexico to Canada—so if they’re traveling, they could be anywhere.” He paused. “They don’t look so different from humans that they might be able to pass for us. Sure, they’re weird-looking and talk funny, but a lot of people are weird-looking and talk funny. There’s no deficit with their intelligence.”
