The Project 04 - Black Harvest

people crazy. Send them screaming into the streets if they knew what was in them. A terrorist plot aimed at killing fifty thousand people, barely stopped in time. A nuclear device gone missing. The latest from North Korea. A memo about possible gas attacks in the New York Subway.
    Elizabeth often found a pattern where others saw unrelated pieces. Right now she didn't like what she was thinking. Her intuition was ringing alarms. The Pentagon's connection to CDC, Weinstein and Campbell bothered her. They were hiding something. That was nothing new, but what were they hiding?
    Sophisticated bombs had killed two scientists, brutal murder a third. All three were tied together by the urn and what might or might not be in it, the key to a devastating crop disease.
    She sipped water and swallowed two aspirins. She took a yellow pad from her drawer and uncapped FDR's pen. Sometimes she liked to write things down. To sort out her thoughts. It was slower, more intimate than the computer. It helped her think. She made a list.

    C,M,W killed, two bombs. Semtex. Who?
    Pentagon?
    Myth/Demeter/Persephone/Urn
    Crop blight
    Attack/Selena/Leak Who?
    Hospital shootings/Greece

    There were too many things on that list. What was the Pentagon connection? There might be a way to find out. She triggered her intercom.
    "Steph, could you come in for a minute?"
    "Right there, Director."
    Stephanie came into the office and sat. When it came to hacking into high security systems, Steph had no equal.
    "What's up?"
    "I have a tricky job for you. The Pentagon."
    "You want me to hack in?"
    "Yes."
    "DIA?"
    "Depends on what you find. There are a couple of things I'm looking for."
    Steph waited.
    "First we need to know what they're doing with CDC. Why was Campbell upset?"
    "Okay."
    "Find out if they have a bio-warfare plan involving crops or crop blight. Anything you can. They mustn't know it was us."
    "What's second?"
    "If you come across something, see if you can find out who authorized it."
    "It will take a day or two. They'll never notice."
    "Good enough. I'd like you to do it right away."
    Steph got up and headed for her computers. Elizabeth picked up her pen and began tapping. She felt her chest tighten, her breath getting short. Time for her shot, she'd forgotten. She set the pen down. She opened her drawer, took out a hypodermic and a glass vial, measured out the dose and injected her thigh. In a minute she felt better. Her disease was halted, under control. But she had to pay attention.
    Her lungs would never recover. She wouldn't be running any marathons, but at least she was alive. She wished there was someone who could be with her, if it ever got worse. But there wasn't anyone.
    She'd been single since a relationship gone wrong when she was a lot younger. She didn't have much time for relationships. She had a Brownstone in Georgetown, the ear of the President, a new Audi and more real power than most of the men who ran things in the nation's Capitol. But she didn't have anyone to share it with when she went home. She'd accepted there might not ever be someone. Her work had become her lover.
    She took two more aspirin and looked at the list again.
    S omeone had leaked the information on the tablets. It was only a question of time until she knew who. Then she might find out who had killed Campbell and the others and sent thugs after Selena. The only thing certain was that it all centered around the urn.
    Elizabeth leaned back in her chair. One step at a time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

    The passage at the foot of the stairs went straight for about twenty feet and made a right angle turn to the left. It opened into a long, high cave, hollowed out by the old mineral springs. The cave was dark. It had irregular walls with strange shapes hanging from the ceiling. Nick felt like it was ready to swallow him.
    The bones started right away.
    He didn't know what he'd expected. Maybe skeletons, wrapped in moldering rags. Maybe dried out, leathery bodies. Coffins. It wasn't like that.
    Arched, oven-shaped shelves lined the walls. The shelves were piled with bones. Some shelves were filled with thigh bones stacked like firewood. Some with arm bones, others with the small bones of feet and hands. Some were filled with rows of empty skulls staring at nothing. Hundreds of skulls had been fastened onto the walls. They climbed and curved over the shelves. The light from the candles flickered and danced over the bones.
    The bones were mute. The skulls had nothing