Lynn chose this particular site expressly because it carried out no governmental or law enforcement work at all, and was thus a little more off-radar than many other such establishments. In addition, it had a sister facility in Los Angeles that could deal with analysis of the fragments of cloth that Lynn had collected from the burial site. This would enable them to deal with everything in just one visit, thus minimizing their exposure.
As they entered the foyer, they were surprised by just how busy it was, from young mothers with screaming babies to ageing college professors and white-coated laboratory technicians, the place was a hive of bustling activity.
Adams had shaved his head and started to grow a beard, while Lynn had dyed her hair blonde, changed her style of make-up and clothes considerably, and put in blue contact lenses. They had also both used powder to try and lighten their skin tone, and both now wore glasses to adjust the contours of their faces. Even so, they still avoided looking towards the security cameras pointing from the ceiling down into the busy foyer. They were officially dead, of course — Lynn twice now — but if the past few days had taught them anything, it was that it was impossible to be too careful.
Lynn approached the desk, backpack in hand. After a brief discussion with the receptionist, during which Lynn asked for a full DNA test for three of the samples she had brought with her, they were told that due to a backlog, results wouldn’t be ready for at least a month. The handing over of five hundred dollars in cash — courtesy of Fabricio Baranelli — immediately moved that up to just over a week.
Lynn turned to Adams. ‘A week,’ she said, deflated even though she had been expecting as much. ‘Can we wait that long?’
‘Well, without access to government labs, I don’t see what choice we have. I mean, the only way we’d even have access to better facilities was if we used your position, but that would mean using your name, and we definitely can’t afford to do that.’
Lynn nodded, then turned back towards the receptionist. ‘OK,’ she agreed, and then gave her a cellphone number from a newly acquired, pay-as-you-go, untraceable handset. ‘Call me on this as soon as you have anything. And there’ll be an extra five hundred for you if you get those results to us in under a week.’
Walking out of the centre, Lynn turned to Adams once more. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘now what?’
‘We’ve done the science bit,’ Adams said, ‘now we need to do the real work. Let’s go and meet my friends.’
Baranelli had been as good as his word. The day after their meeting, Lynn and Adams had been back in the United States.
The professor had been chartering an aeroplane for his aerial research on a long-term basis, and had simply filed a flight plan up to Mexico, citing connected research as his reason. The little bird had needed to be refuelled once in Columbia, and had then made it to Mexico, where nobody at the small airfield expressed any interest in the two passengers that deplaned and went on their way.
The pain from their hastily extracted teeth — covered by adrenalin for so long — was now becoming unbearable, and so Adams used his old contacts to make a late-night visit to a friendly dentist in a small town nearby.
An Oglala Lakota like Adams, the dentist took cash and asked no questions. He did, however, tell Adams that it was a good job that they had come; if they had left it much longer, there would have been the possibility of infection, which might have led to blood poisoning.
The old man had patched them up quickly — albeit not exactly painlessly, and then advised them to get some rest. Adams and Lynn had just smiled, sharing the same thought — the chance would be a fine thing.
The town was close to the border, and after their brief but necessary detour, Adams had led Lynn back along the same unmanned trails he had used to enter Mexico several days before.
As they had made their way across Arizona towards Phoenix, hitchhiking in a battered pick-up, Adams had used their new cellphone to call one of his Shadow Wolves colleagues, careful to use codes he had not used in years, aware that plain speech might well be picked up by electronic surveillance. But his friend had understood, and a meeting had been arranged for the following morning.
The Tohono O’odham Sweat Lodge was located in a part of the reservation completely out of bounds to those not associated with, or invited by, the tribe.
The sweat lodge is an ancient American Indian custom, a traditional tribal ceremony that is still carried out by many tribes across the country. It is similar to a sauna in that there is heat and moisture — people sit around a firepit filled with stones, upon which they pour water, while ensconced in a heavy, blanket-covered tent — but the sweat lodge is a more spiritual affair, the heat being used to create the atmosphere of being in the womb of the ‘great earth mother’. It is intended to help purify not only the body but also the mind, emotions, and spirit.
Adams and Lynn arrived at the lodge in the early morning. Adams greeted his old colleagues with warm embraces, and was introduced to the newer members of the team. Lynn was also introduced, and she understood what an honour it was for her to be there — outsiders were seldom welcome.
Adams was pleased to see his old friends but he was disturbed not to see Mark ‘Spirit From Above’ Takanawee at the meeting. The fact that this was the man who had provided him with his passport and some cash for his trip to South America — as well as the troubled looks on the faces of the other men — did not bode well.
But his questions would have to wait, for tradition demanded that first they had to ritually cleanse themselves, and then light the fire for the ceremony, and only then could the talk begin.
2
Adams looked over at Lynn. It wasn’t the first time she had been in a sweat lodge — he had taken her to the Lakota lodge back at his home reservation when they had been married — but he saw that the extreme heat was taking its toll on her, sweat running profusely down her face and neck. As per custom, she was fully clothed. Adams wondered if she was going to pass out. It had been a long time, after all.
But she continued to hang in there, even joining in with the ritual songs and chants, in time to the steady, rhythmic beat of the drums. To Adams, she had never looked more beautiful.
‘Matt,’ said John ‘First to Dance’ Ayita, a Cherokee tribesman who was the unit leader, having moved up to the position after Adams had left, ‘it is time to talk.’
And with that, the feeling within the tent immediately changed.
Adams nodded his head. ‘What happened to Mark?’
Ayita looked pained, looking up to the roof of the tent, and the sky beyond. ‘He was taken from us, not so very long ago. He is with the spirits now.’
‘How?’ Adams asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
‘Heart attack.’
Adams knew the coincidence was too great. There was no way it would have been a real heart attack, and a wave of grief swept over him. It was his fault entirely. The enemy would have finally caught his image at the airport entering Chile, found out the passport he was travelling under, and then tracked down Mark Takanawee. And then they would have tortured him for information, finally staging a heart attack.
‘Did you get a chance to look at the body?’
Ayita’s face was grave. ‘Bodaway managed to check the body out at the morgue before he was buried.’
Bodaway ‘Fire-Maker’ Arawan was the Shadow Wolves’ chief medic, a legend among the tribes for his fusion of traditional medicine with the latest cutting-edge medical practices.