Frozen by Jay Bonansinga Read Free Book Online Page B

abstraction. But now, all at once, this assignment had become more than mere petrified bones and frozen flesh. In the space of an instant, the subject had turned to the here and now, and real grief, and warm blood and electric shock. And the change rattled the journalist.
    She glanced over at Okuda and saw the incredulous look in the young scientist’s eyes. “I still don’t understand how you can rule out coincidence,” he said after swallowing a gulp of lager and stifling a belch.
    â€œTechnically you’re right,” Grove replied with another shrug, “but the truth is, in this business you follow everything out to its logical conclusion.”
    â€œBut where’s the logic here?”
    Grove regarded the watermarks on the stained tabletop. “All we have right now is a connection, a visual connection, and that’s all.”
    â€œOkay . . . so?”
    â€œWe might be dealing with some sort of ritual, some sort of cult thing that gets its inspiration from ancient man.”
    Okuda looked away for a moment, thinking, and Maura saw something glint in the young Asian’s eyes. Grove saw it, too, but didn’t comment. Okuda’s hands were trembling again. Grove wondered how a young man with such pronounced tremors could do delicate slide work at a microscope or finesse a brittle, priceless artifact—regardless of whether the shaking was a simple nervous tic or some kind of reaction to the current turn the conversation was taking.
    â€œOn the other hand,” Grove said, “you’ve got to look at the possibility of a copycat situation.”
    Maura perked up. “But how would anybody—”
    â€œPictures have been published, correct? Photographs, maps, diagrams. Shots of the mummy’s position, the pose.”
    Maura thought about it for a moment. “What are you saying? Some sicko saw the Iceman in Discover and decided to recreate the death over and over again?”
    â€œIt’s a possibility we have to look at.”
    Okuda looked up at Grove. “What else?”
    Grove let out a sigh. “What else? Well, there’s the X-factor.”
    â€œWhich means?”
    â€œThe X-factor is a connection we haven’t figured out yet.”
    â€œWhat other possible connection could there be?”
    â€œI don’t know yet.”
    â€œWe’re talking about the early Copper Age here,” Okuda reminded him.
    â€œI understand that—”
    â€œThat’s six thousand years ago. Okay? They were just figuring out how to use the wheel.”
    â€œIf you don’t mind, what I’d like you to do is tell me everything.”
    Okuda looked at him. “What do you mean?”
    â€œTell me about that time, and this guy, this Iceman, who he was, tell me everything.”
    Okuda slumped as though he had just been asked to swim the English Channel with an anchor around his neck. “It’s kind of a big subject, Ulysses.”
    Grove flashed his smile. “We’re not going anywhere.”

    They went through that first round of drinks pretty rapidly as Okuda described what the world was like six thousand years ago. The bar began to fill up with rowdy college kids, as well as grizzled townies looking to drown some sorrows on a lonely weeknight. The jukebox seemed to get louder and louder with each banal pop song, and Okuda had to strain his voice to be heard. He explained that the consensus among archaeologists was that the Iceman was European, or at least a native of Central Asia, who had reached the North American continent across the Bering Strait. From the tools found near his body, chances were good that he was a mountaineer. Maybe some sort of itinerant.
    At some point, the waitress returned to ask if they wanted to order food. Nobody was hungry, but they did order another round of drinks. After the waitress had trundled off, Okuda said, “He might have been a shaman, somebody who went from village to