Page 61 of Dead Mountain

“Not yet. As I said, we’re still analyzing the evidence.”

“A lot of time has passed since the tragedy,” said another national anchor. “There’s been a huge improvement in forensic technology in those intervening years. Can we assume the discovery of these two bodies caused a fresh examination of the original evidence?”

“We would be remiss if it had not.”

“And has any of that technology revealed new leads?”

“Yes, but it’s too soon to say what those are.”

“What’s going on with the ancient Indian bones that were also found in that cave?” yelled somebody else.

“The bones have been repatriated to Isleta Pueblo and buried, under the auspices of tribal leaders, on sacred ground. For more information, you’ll have to speak with the tribe itself.”

“What about the radiation?” came a new voice. “Were the new bodies contaminated like some of the others?”

“We’re looking into that,” Sharp said. Not a white lie, exactly, but—since the answer they’d already received was positive—an omission of detail.

“Where did the radiation come from?”

“Again, we’re actively pursuing that question.”

“As everyone knows, strange moving lights were seen in the mountains the night of the hikers’ deaths,” another voice called out. “Have you considered the possibility of some sort of alien attack or encounter?”

“Those aliens I’ve spoken to deny any involvement.”

A murmur of amusement rose up. Corrie marveled at how Sharp was playing this unruly crowd like a conductor taming an orchestra.

“What about the Boston Project?” came a shrill voice.

“The Boston Project?” repeated Sharp.

“The secret project launched in parallel with the Manhattan Project! The one involving biowarfare and genetic engineering.”

Corrie’s heart sank as she recognized Melody Ann, the leader of the Manzano Families group she’d seen gathered in protest outside Agent Gold’s house the day before.

“The so-called Boston Project,” said Sharp mildly, “was thoroughly and completely debunked years ago. We do not believe there ever was such a project.”

Melody Ann was surrounded by the same people as before, only this time there were more of them. Several were again holding signs that read, TRUTH. Corrie wondered how that mob had gained entry to a press conference—then realized it would be awfully difficult to turn away family members.

“I represent the Manzano Families,” Melody Ann continued, “and we believe there’s a cover-up in process here: one that’s been in the works since our children first went missing. How can you be so sure that the Boston Project isn’t real?”

“Thank you for the question,” said Sharp, addressing this woman as if she were a professional reporter. “I mentioned that we’re reexamining all aspects of this case, new and old. It’s important that we keep an open mind.” He paused to let this sink in. “So let me direct my response to all the various Dead Mountain theories that stray into the realms of the exotic or unusual.”

He looked around. “We have, in fact, considered every single one of these: aliens, a Yeti attack, Russian espionage gone awry, North Korea, ghost hyenas from the asteroid belt, and, of course, the so-called Boston Project you mention. We have found absolutely no evidence so far to support any of these. But let me repeat, so as to be very clear: until such time as we actually solve this case with solid, tangible, irrefutable evidence, we would be doing the victims a disservice if we did not keep our minds completely open.”

“You claim to have investigated, but we don’t believe it!” cried Melody Ann. “This whole thing is a smokescreen, a misdirection. You!” she said, pointing at Corrie. “What are you hiding? What are all of you hiding?”

Corrie felt as if she’d been suddenly tossed a bundle of rattlesnakes, but Sharp didn’t miss a beat. He leaned into the mike, and the power of his amplified voice rang loud and clear, overpowering the strident woman. “You have my promise that we will make ourselves available again as soon as we know more. Thank you for coming, and good day.”

And with this he turned, nodding at Garcia and motioning for Corrie to precede him back into the field office. A fresh volley of questions rolled over their shoulders, along with a group of voices—Melody Ann’s included—chanting the names of the victims: “Henry Gardiner . . . Luke Hightower . . . Andrew Marchenko . . . Lynn Martinez . . .”

33

SPECIAL AGENT BRENDAN O’Hara paused at the summit of Wilson Peak, his breath condensing into clouds of frost in the cold mountain air. It was a stupendous sight, with views both east and west. The peak was flat, a large expanse of unbroken snow ending in steep cliffs. Snow had accumulated to about a foot, but the wind had stripped most of it off the high ridgeline, making snowshoes unnecessary. He hadn’t been happy with the assignment—it seemed like a waste of time, searching these snowy mountains for human remains—but now that he was up here, he was glad. O’Hara was a hiking aficionado, and he decided to treat this not as a time-wasting assignment but as a day off from work.

The view northward showed the broad summit narrowing to a ridge that continued along the spine of the mountains, leading to another peak that stood up like a shark’s tooth in the distance. He checked his GPS app on his phone—Lagarto Peak, right on the border of the Kirtland AFB property. It was less than two miles away, and the hike to its base looked easy. Beyond that, it was steep.

Agent Bellamy came up behind him with two people from the Evidence Response Team, carrying packs with their usual equipment and containers—although it didn’t seem likely they would gather any evidence in these snowy mountains.

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