Page 28 of Dead Mountain

“These questions we need to ask,” she went on, arms stretched wide, skeletal fingers spread. “They’re not hard. They’re easy. And we deserve answers—let’s be honest, we’ve earned them.”

Gardiner chewed this over. He was reluctant to admit it, but again she had a point. Two more bodies found—their own children’s, almost certainly—but no notification. At least he’d had a body to bury. He knew what Paul, Cosmo, and Cassy—and, at least indirectly, Melody Ann herself—must be going through right now.

As more people began to express agreement, Melody Ann raised her voice over the noise. “And when they refuse to answer those easy questions—and they will—we escalate to the hard ones. Was it really a couple of drunk kids who found these two bodies? How could ordinary people stumble by accident on something the government, the military, has been searching for now a decade and a half? Is it sheer ineptitude? Or is there something else going on? Something . . . perhaps intentional?”

Now she moistened her throat with a drink of water. The word “intentional” had quieted the group. And into this quiet she spoke again, in a low voice.

“The FBI are covering something up. I’m certain of it—and so are you. As a group, we now need to focus on a single goal: to learn the truth of what that something is.”

17

GO PAST THE church and keep heading straight,” said Stan Morrison, fiddling with his phone while sitting in the passenger seat of the Institute car Nora was driving. They were navigating a warren of dirt streets in the old section of Isleta, just now passing the iconic whitewashed church in the center of the pueblo, one of the oldest mission churches in America.

“In half a mile, Tribal Road 40 crosses a bridge, and it’s on the right.”

His directions brought them to a modest stucco building with a dirt parking lot, surrounded by bare cottonwood trees—the office of the governor. She parked in front and they got out. It was a cold, sunny fall morning, and a steady wind blew skeins of dust along the ground.

They went inside. A friendly receptionist in the small waiting room directed them to the back, where a short hall led to a conference room. Even though they were early, the Tribal Council had already assembled and were seated around an oval table.

As they entered, the council members rose and came forward. Darren Tenorio introduced everyone in turn and they shook hands. The council consisted of only six people in addition to the governor, and they all soon took their seats again, along with Nora and Stan Morrison.

“Welcome to Isleta Pueblo,” said the governor as he sat down last. He spoke in a soft voice. “We appreciate you coming and answering our questions. Councilman Tenorio said you were supportive yesterday at the cave.”

“I was glad to help,” said Nora. “I’m sorry it was even necessary.”

The governor nodded and opened a file in front of him, sliding out a piece of paper and holding a pen, getting ready to take notes.

Nora was curious how this would proceed. The meeting seemed informal and friendly—that was the Pueblo way, she’d learned in previous dealings—but she knew the subject was one of the utmost seriousness.

“Please tell us the full story,” said the governor. “It would be helpful to hear it firsthand, from an unbiased source. So if you don’t mind, start from the beginning.”

“I’d be glad to.” She told the story of the drunken frat boys, the car accident, taking shelter, the vandalism, the discovery of the bodies both ancient and recent, and the involvement of the FBI, while the Tribal Council listened in respectful silence and the governor jotted down some notes.

She tried to keep it succinct. “And that,” she concluded, “is where we are now.”

The governor turned to the group. “Does anyone on the council have questions?”

Polite hands went up.

“The two recent bodies in the cave,” one councilwoman asked. “How certain is it that they’re from the Dead Mountain incident?”

“The FBI seem to be almost a hundred percent certain.”

“The newspaper report indicated violence.”

“That’s correct. One body had a knife sticking into its chest.”

This caused a brief silence.

“Was it a murder?” another asked.

“I can’t say until they’re autopsied, but it seems likely.”

“And these two hooligans—will they be prosecuted?” This was from the governor himself.

“I don’t know. It’s up to Sheriff Hawley—that’s his jurisdiction.”

This was met with a chilly silence and several frowns.

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