handing it back to her.
She turned it over in her hands a few times before she returned it to the dresser. Perhaps some bits of radiation still clung to it, but it felt odd. Warmer in some places, cooler in others, and it buzzed when she touched it.
Harry picked up the same photograph Tara had been contemplating earlier, the one she’d intuitively linked to the Eight of Cups. “Hey, look at this.” He pointed to a glimmer of light on the horizon.
Tara squinted at the glimmer he’d pointed out. “I don’t know what that is.”
“A light artifact from the camera being in the plastic bag?”
“Maybe.”
She grabbed her laptop and called up the digital photograph. Under magnification, she could see it looked much like a star, as seen by a telescope. To the naked eye, it appeared to be one point of light. Resolved by enlargement, it split into two white lights.
“Headlights,” Harry said. He riffled through his papers, spread out a county map. “There isn’t supposed to be a road there.”
Tara summoned up an internet satellite map and zoomed in to the area in moments. To her disappointment, no road appeared on the map. But the installation they had just visited in the caldera didn’t appear, either. She double-checked her coordinates against Harry’s map. It was the right place, wiped blank by the order of someone in power and shaded into digital obscurity by an artist.
“Maybe someone saw something,” Harry mused. “I want to check that out tomorrow to see where it leads.”
“Agreed.” Tara hunched over the laptop on the floor. She realized her sweatshirt had slipped a bit over her shoulder, and the white weal of a scar was visible over her clavicle. She noticed Harry’s eyes had followed the line of it. She sat back, embarrassed, and pulled the neck of the sweatshirt up.
Mercifully, he did not ask. Harry leaned back against the dresser, stretching his legs out before him. “The way I see it, there are several possible answers to Magnusson’s disappearance.”
“Which are?”
“It was a pure accident, and he was killed in the explosion. That seems to be what Corvus is thinking.”
Tara kept her face neutral. “And that also seems to be what Gabriel is thinking.”
“It could have been sabotage, by himself or another person, and he was killed.”
“Possibly. I don’t believe he was happy working on the project. He could have come into conflict with someone with a different agenda.”
“Or he could have destroyed his work himself.”
Tara’s lip twisted. “I don’t think he destroyed all of it.” She told him about the scrapes on the USB ports.
“Where would he have hidden it?”
“At home, with former colleagues, with friends or relatives. We should start with them.”
“Sounds good. But we also have to address the last possibility: Magnusson is alive.”
Tara wrapped her arms around her knees. “Then two possibilities branch from there: he disappeared of his own accord, or someone has taken him.”
T HE FIRST RULE IN TRACKING IS TO KNOW ONE’S ENEMY .
A tangled skein of property records led Adrienne to Tara’s cabin. She’d purchased the property through an attorney, and it had taken some digging to correlate this with the attorney who had handled Juliane’s estate. Backtracking through public records with the name had given her a location.
Adrienne left her motorcycle not far from the road. She was forced to pick her way down the overgrown path on foot. Bleached tassels of grasses poked up through a thick layer of snow. Chunks of gravel and ice crackled underfoot as Adrienne walked down what once might have been a driveway, but had been allowed to return to the earth.
In spite of herself, Adrienne approved. As a nomadic sort, she was accustomed to sleeping under the stars. . . Adrienne had not willingly lived under a roof since she was a child. It was too confining. She could appreciate the next best thing. . . isolation in the middle of nowhere.
The cabin was
She turned it over in her hands a few times before she returned it to the dresser. Perhaps some bits of radiation still clung to it, but it felt odd. Warmer in some places, cooler in others, and it buzzed when she touched it.
Harry picked up the same photograph Tara had been contemplating earlier, the one she’d intuitively linked to the Eight of Cups. “Hey, look at this.” He pointed to a glimmer of light on the horizon.
Tara squinted at the glimmer he’d pointed out. “I don’t know what that is.”
“A light artifact from the camera being in the plastic bag?”
“Maybe.”
She grabbed her laptop and called up the digital photograph. Under magnification, she could see it looked much like a star, as seen by a telescope. To the naked eye, it appeared to be one point of light. Resolved by enlargement, it split into two white lights.
“Headlights,” Harry said. He riffled through his papers, spread out a county map. “There isn’t supposed to be a road there.”
Tara summoned up an internet satellite map and zoomed in to the area in moments. To her disappointment, no road appeared on the map. But the installation they had just visited in the caldera didn’t appear, either. She double-checked her coordinates against Harry’s map. It was the right place, wiped blank by the order of someone in power and shaded into digital obscurity by an artist.
“Maybe someone saw something,” Harry mused. “I want to check that out tomorrow to see where it leads.”
“Agreed.” Tara hunched over the laptop on the floor. She realized her sweatshirt had slipped a bit over her shoulder, and the white weal of a scar was visible over her clavicle. She noticed Harry’s eyes had followed the line of it. She sat back, embarrassed, and pulled the neck of the sweatshirt up.
Mercifully, he did not ask. Harry leaned back against the dresser, stretching his legs out before him. “The way I see it, there are several possible answers to Magnusson’s disappearance.”
“Which are?”
“It was a pure accident, and he was killed in the explosion. That seems to be what Corvus is thinking.”
Tara kept her face neutral. “And that also seems to be what Gabriel is thinking.”
“It could have been sabotage, by himself or another person, and he was killed.”
“Possibly. I don’t believe he was happy working on the project. He could have come into conflict with someone with a different agenda.”
“Or he could have destroyed his work himself.”
Tara’s lip twisted. “I don’t think he destroyed all of it.” She told him about the scrapes on the USB ports.
“Where would he have hidden it?”
“At home, with former colleagues, with friends or relatives. We should start with them.”
“Sounds good. But we also have to address the last possibility: Magnusson is alive.”
Tara wrapped her arms around her knees. “Then two possibilities branch from there: he disappeared of his own accord, or someone has taken him.”
T HE FIRST RULE IN TRACKING IS TO KNOW ONE’S ENEMY .
A tangled skein of property records led Adrienne to Tara’s cabin. She’d purchased the property through an attorney, and it had taken some digging to correlate this with the attorney who had handled Juliane’s estate. Backtracking through public records with the name had given her a location.
Adrienne left her motorcycle not far from the road. She was forced to pick her way down the overgrown path on foot. Bleached tassels of grasses poked up through a thick layer of snow. Chunks of gravel and ice crackled underfoot as Adrienne walked down what once might have been a driveway, but had been allowed to return to the earth.
In spite of herself, Adrienne approved. As a nomadic sort, she was accustomed to sleeping under the stars. . . Adrienne had not willingly lived under a roof since she was a child. It was too confining. She could appreciate the next best thing. . . isolation in the middle of nowhere.
The cabin was
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