Page 172 of The Bone Code
I breathed in the mix of seaweed, wet sand, and salt air. Listened to the acres of silence. Felt momentarily comforted.
Then, goose bumps. Maybe the morning chill. Maybe thoughts of the dead woman who’d speak to me later that day.
I went back inside. Birdie was gone, no doubt miffed that his breakfast order would arrive later than his requested time. I checked the bedside clock.
8:17 a.m. Hours until my meeting with Vislosky.
Caffeine? Exercise?
Strongly preferring the former, I nevertheless donned running shorts and a hoodie and laced on my Nikes. After feeding the feline,I set out in the direction of the Front Beach pier, a route of roughly three miles round trip. Plenty, given that I’d barely had a nodding acquaintance with exercise of late.
The tide was high, leaving only a narrow ribbon of hard-packed sand skimming the shore. My footfalls pounded to the rhythm of the shrouded Atlantic sucking in, then spitting out the surf.
At the halfway point, I slapped my usual barnacle-studded pylon—an OCD ritual, I know—and hooked a U-ey. On the homeward leg, the sun began poking encouraging rays at the mist. The heavy veil grudgingly started to lift. Ghostly figures materialized. Walkers. Shell collectors. Dogs chasing balls or Frisbees, then racing back to their owners.
My breathing was steady, my muscles finally loose. I kicked into high. For the first time in days, it felt good to be alive.
I showered, then pulled on yoga pants and my favorite long-sleeved jersey from Skagway. Was indulging in the deferred coffee and a side of Cheerios when Ryan called.
“Bonjour,mon cowboy.” Close to a line by Mitsou, a Quebecoise singer.
“Tabarnac. Don’t we sound perky.”
“I just ran on the beach.”
“Are you all hot and sweaty?”
“I took a shower.”
“Are you still naked?”
“I’m in the kitchen eating breakfast.”
“I don’t suppose you’d want togetnake—”
“What’s the haps?” Through the crunch of Os.
“What are you, twelve?”
“Blame the endorphins.”
“The haps are twofold. First, traces of Semtex were found at InovoVax.”
“A plastic explosive.”
“That very thing.”
“The one that brought down Pan Am flight one-oh-three over Lockerbie, Scotland.”
“Eight ounces in a Samsonite suitcase.”
“Jesus in a pear tree.”
“It’s powerful stuff. And easy to use. Stick a couple of ounces behind the crapper, hide in the alley, detonate with a call from your cell phone.”
“Is it hard to get?”
“Ehhh. Semtex is used in commercial blasting, demolition, mining, that sort of thing. Access is regulated, but with a good source, you can score a hunk.”
