Morwood sat back in his chair. “Extraordinary. A man, killed in the first atomic test—and all these years, no one knew.” He tapped a finger on the desk, thinking. “Since the event occurred on a military reservation during a weapons test, we obviously have to bring in the army. So I would suggest that the next step is to brief army command at the White Sands Missile Range on these findings.” He glanced at Nora. “And for now, this must remain absolutely confidential. Don’t tell your colleagues at the Institute.”

Nora nodded. She wondered how that would go down with Weingrau, when she eventually learned about it.

“But why was he out there?” Corrie asked. “What the hell was he doing?”

Morwood looked at her. “That, Corrie, is the question your investigation must now answer.”

24

THE ARMY COMMAND center at White Sands Missile Range was like a town unto itself, Corrie thought as they passed through a checkpoint into a sun-drenched grid of metal and stucco buildings in a flat expanse skinned out of the desert sands. She, Morwood, and Nora had driven to the base in one of the seemingly endless supply of black FBI SUVs. Following behind was Sheriff Homer Watts in his vehicle. Watts had been briefed, and his reaction had been one of astonishment.

They’d been met at the gate by a pair of soldiers in an open-top jeep, who escorted them past some housing blocks, a water tower, a golf course, and an array of white radar dishes to their destination: a low, flat structure of tan stucco. They pulled into a set of parking spaces reserved for the commander.

As they climbed out, Corrie took a deep breath. An early October heat wave had descended in full force, and it must have been close to a hundred degrees. The heat shimmered off the asphalt, and beyond the residential and operational areas of the base a dust devil twisted across the desert. Although the mountains framing the horizon were lofty and dramatic, it was not what you’d call a pretty place.

They were met at the door by another soldier, along with a welcome blast of A/C. The soldier ushered them through security and led them down a long corridor.

The base commander rose when they entered his office. “General Mark McGurk,” he said, coming around his desk and extending his hand. Corrie’s first reaction was one of surprise: he didn’t match her idea of a general at all. For one thing, he was short, with a round face. And instead of being in dress uniform, he wore rumpled combat camo, the only sign of rank a little black star on his left breast pocket.

“This is my executive assistant,” he said as they shook hands, “Lieutenant Woodbridge.”

By contrast, Lieutenant Woodbridge was Black, slender, elegant, and at least six inches taller than the general himself.

They all sat down in chairs arranged in front of the desk. The office was functional, with pictures of what Nora assumed to be McGurk’s wife and kids on the desk, the walls covered with plaques, commendations, and photographs of missiles in various stages of testing: on the ground, rising into the air, and exploding. The desk was flanked by two flags, the American flag and the yellow flag of New Mexico, with its iconic Zia sun symbol.

“So,” General McGurk said, sitting back down, “I have to tell you that your notice came as a huge surprise. Imagine—finding the remains of someone killed in the Trinity test. I’ve reported it up the chain of command, and there’s been a lot of interest. And concern. Even though it happened seventy-six years ago, it obviously remains a tragedy—and it just as obviously has the potential for negative publicity. As we’re all too aware, anything nuclear is bound to be controversial.”

“Exactly our fears,” said Morwood. “It’s one of the reasons we’re keeping this under wraps.”

“Very smart. And I just want to add that we in the army appreciate the FBI bringing this to our attention so promptly.”

“At least we now know it wasn’t a homicide,” Morwood said. “But there are still some case details that need to be cleared up.”

The general nodded.

Morwood turned. “Special Agent Corinne Swanson is agent in charge. She’ll fill you in.”

The general’s eyes turned to Corrie. Although his expression remained unchanged, she nevertheless sensed surprise. It was, she knew, the usual combination of youth and gender that threw him off.

“Thank you, sir,” she said briskly. She removed a thick binder from her briefcase and placed it on the general’s desk. “I’ve copied all the relevant documents and reports.”

“Many thanks, Agent Swanson.”

She tried to speak confidently, keeping a quaver of nervousness out of her voice as she addressed this powerful, if approachable, individual. “I’ll just touch on the highlights of the investigation so far, sir. And then, if you don’t mind, I was hoping to ask a few questions.”

“Of course.”

Corrie proceeded to tell the general about the relic hunter, the shootout with Sheriff Watts, and the initial discovery of the body. “Dr. Nora Kelly performed the excavation,” she said. “There were a lot of puzzling forensic details relating to the body, most of which the man’s exposure to the Trinity test has now answered.” She described the fractures; the skin peeling like a mummy’s wraps; the charred areas of clothing.

As she spoke, she flipped through the binder to show various pictures.