Prophet of Bones by Ted Kosmatka Read Free Book Online Page A

outside the realm of natural processes, a phenomenon relegated to the moment of creation, and to the mysteries of Allah.
    — EXPERT WITNESS, HERESY TRIALS, ANKARA, TURKEY

7
    Gavin McMaster stepped into the bright room.
    “So this is where the actual testing is done?” he asked. The accent was urban Australian.
    “Yes,” Mr. Lyons answered.
    Gavin shifted his weight and glanced around the room. His hair was long, more salt than pepper, worn in a thick ponytail that hung down over the back of his shirt collar. Behind him, the door swung shut with the telltale hiss of positive air pressure—a hedge against contamination.
    It never ceased to amaze him how alike laboratories are across the world. Cultures that could not agree on anything agreed on this: how to design a centrifuge, where to put the test tube rack, what color to paint the walls—white, always. The bench tops, black. Gavin had been in a dozen similar labs over the years. Only the people made them different.
    “Please wait here; I’ll see if he’s available.”
    Gavin nodded. “Of course.”
    He watched the small man scamper toward the research team working at the lab bench.
    One of the team members, a broad, dark-haired man, sat hunched over a test tray of PCR tubes, pipette in hand. The young man straightened when Mr. Lyons whispered in his ear. He was big and young—Asian cheekbones, blocky shoulders. His father’s shoulders, Gavin thought. Gavin knew it was Paul without being told.
    Paul stood, pulled off his latex gloves, and followed Mr. Lyons across the room for an introduction.
    “Gavin McMaster.” Gavin stuck out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Carlsson.”
    They shook.
    “Paul,” the young man said. “You can call me Paul.”
    “I apologize for interrupting your work.”
    “It’s time I took a break anyway. I’d been sitting at that stool all morning.”
    “I’ll leave you two to your discussion,” Mr. Lyons said, excusing himself.
    “Please,” Paul gestured to a nearby worktable. “Take a seat.”
    Gavin sank onto the stool and set his briefcase on the table. “I promise I won’t take much of your time,” he said. “But I did need to talk to you. We’ve been leaving messages for the last few days and—”
    “Oh.” Paul’s face changed. “You’re from—”
    “Yes.”
    “This is highly unusual.”
    “I can assure you, these are unusual circumstances.”
    “Still, I’m not sure I like being solicited for one job while working at another.”
    “I can see there’s been a misunderstanding.”
    “What misunderstanding?”
    “You called it a job,” Gavin said. “We just want to borrow you, not hire you away. Consider it a temporary change of pace—a transfer position.”
    “Mr. McMaster, I currently have more than a full workload. I’m in the middle of a project, and to be honest, considering the backlog we’re dealing with, I’m surprised Westing let you through the door.”
    “Is that what you’re worried about?” Gavin smiled. “Your company is already on board. They’ve granted you a … let’s call it a sabbatical of sorts. I took the liberty of speaking to management before contacting you. They were very accommodating.”
    “How did you…” Paul looked at him, and Gavin raised an eyebrow. With corporations, the question of “how” was usually rhetorical. The answer was always the same. And it always involved dollar signs. Pay a company enough money, and they’ll subcontract you any employee you want.
    Gavin saw understanding dawn in Paul’s eyes. “Of course, we’ll match that bonus to you, mate.” Gavin unfolded a check from his suit pocket and slid it across the counter.
    Paul barely glanced at it. Instead he looked around for Mr. Lyons, who was nowhere to be seen.
    “Is this how you usually staff a project?” Paul said.
    “We’d prefer not to take on reluctant third-party participants, if that’s what you’re asking. On the other hand, we’re on a tight