Harvey Bennett Mysteries
Books 7-9
Nick Thacker
Contents
The Book of Bones
1. Ben
2. Lars
3. Dietrich
4. Ben
5. Elias
6. Ben
7. Ben
8. Dietrich
9. Ben
10. Elias
11. Ben
12. Ben
13. Eliza
14. Dietrich
15. Ben
16. Ben
17. Alina
18. Ben
19. Ben
20. Eliza
21. Lars
22. Ben
23. Elias
24. Ben
25. Eliza
26. Eliza
27. Ben
28. Ben
29. Ben
30. Ben
31. Ben
32. Dietrich
33. Ben
34. Ben
35. Ben
36. Ben
37. Ben
38. Ben
39. Ben
40. Ben
41. Ben
42. Eliza
43. Ben
44. Ben
45. Ben
46. Ben
47. Ben
48. Ben
49. Eliza
50. Eliza
51. Ben
52. Ben
53. Ben
54. Eliza
55. Eliza
56. Ben
57. Lars
58. Ben
59. Lars
60. Ben
61. Ben
62. Ben
63. Eliza
64. Ben
The Cain Conspiracy
I. Act 1
1. Derrick
2. Ben
3. Julie
4. Cisco
5. Ben
6. Ben
7. Garza
8. Julie
9. Ben
10. Edmund
11. Ben
12. Garza
13. Julie
14. Ben
II. Act 2
15. Garza
16. Edmund
17. Ben
18. Edmund
19. Garza
20. Ben
21. Ben
22. Julie
23. Ben
24. Ben
25. Ben
26. Julie
27. Ben
28. Garza
29. Julie
30. Julie
31. Garza
32. Ben
33. Ben
34. Julie
35. Ben
36. Ben
III. Act 3
37. Ben
38. Julie
39. Ben
40. Ben
41. Garza
42. Ben
43. Edmund
44. Julie
45. Ben
46. Ben
47. Edmund
48. Julie
49. Ben
50. Edmund
51. Julie
52. Julie
53. Ben
54. Julie
IV. Act 4
55. Edmund
56. Ben
57. Julie
58. Julie
59. Garza
60. Ben
61. Ben
62. Ben
63. Julie
64. Garza
65. Julie
66. Edmund
67. Garza
68. Ben
69. Ben
70. Julie
71. Julie
72. Ben
73. Julie
74. Ben
75. Ben
76. Ben
77. Julie
The Mendel Paradox
1. Prologue
2. Ben
3. Lars
4. Dietrich
5. Ben
6. Elias
7. Ben
8. Ben
9. Dietrich
10. Ben
11. Elias
12. Ben
13. Ben
14. Eliza
15. Dietrich
16. Ben
17. Ben
18. Alina
19. Ben
20. Ben
21. Eliza
22. Lars
23. Ben
24. Elias
25. Ben
26. Eliza
27. Eliza
28. Ben
29. Ben
30. Ben
31. Ben
32. Ben
33. Dietrich
34. Ben
35. Ben
36. Ben
37. Ben
38. Ben
39. Ben
40. Ben
41. Ben
42. Ben
43. Eliza
44. Ben
45. Ben
46. Ben
47. Ben
48. Ben
49. Ben
50. Eliza
51. Eliza
52. Ben
53. Ben
54. Ben
55. Eliza
56. Eliza
57. Ben
58. Lars
59. Ben
60. Lars
61. Ben
62. Ben
63. Ben
64. Eliza
65. Ben
66. Ben
Afterword
Also by Nick Thacker
About the Author
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The Book of Bones
1
Ben
Three Days Ago
Anchorage, Alaska
Ben held up the package of hand warmers, wondering if the people who had designed them had ever truly experienced cold. He sighed, then mumbled under his breath. “Five dollars for a pack of these things?”
He tossed the orange pack of hand warmers back into the bin on the shelf and moved on. He needed a few more supplies, mostly small items and refills for his first-aid kit, to fill out his ‘bug-out bag,’ a precaution in case he had to leave the cabin quickly and a ready-to-go survival pack.
He liked to keep it full and prepared for anything, but he really enjoyed the process of shopping for the items he kept inside it. He was in Anchorage, at one of the big-box sports and outdoor stores, and he’d just been wandering through the single aisle of clearance items, hoping to find something useful that he didn’t have yet.
So far, it had been a bust.
He’d stocked up on first-aid gear and more gauze, finding his supply dwindling, especially after a surprise rescue mission had taken him on snowmobile up into the mountains behind his land. He’d had to rescue the pilot of a downed plane, treat his injuries, then help him retrieve data from the crash site.
His kit and gear had performed well, but he had left the mountains short on some critical supplies.
Harvey "Ben" Bennett, the leader of the newly formed Civilian Special Operations, was a bear of a man. Tall and thick, with brown hair and brown eyes, he looked like an enlarged version of an average American man. He kept the hair short enough not to have to worry about it, and he wore clothes that allowed him comfort and utility, which fit in well in the backwoods of Alaska.
The lingering winter was still pressing down on the area, so today he had on a wool base layer underneath a red and brown plaid long-sleeved shirt. A heavier coat rested on the passenger-side front seat of his SUV, but the early afternoon sun had warmed him enough that he’d gone into the store without it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He kept it on silent, and there were only three callers that he allowe
d through to actually vibrate the phone’s ringer. One was Julie, the caller now.
“Hey,” he said, bringing the phone up his ear.
“You still shopping?”
“About to head out. They didn’t really have anything here — I’ll just order online. What’s up?”
Julie paused, and Ben could hear her clicking around on her laptop. His wife was one of the CSO members, and she'd recently taken a role as a sort of intelligence and information technology officer. She had a degree in computer science and had worked for the CDC as a computer information systems researcher, where she had excelled before meeting Ben.
“New job,” she finally said. “Just came in, Mr. E vetted it. Looks legit to me.”
“What is it?” Ben asked, switching his phone to his other hand as he pushed his near-empty cart toward the checkout area.
“Apparently we’re being asked to meet with a woman, Eliza Earnhardt, who claims she has information on a company that’s doing some… how did she put it? ‘Questionable research.’”
“‘Questionable research,’ huh?” Ben said. “Sounds fun. What sort of questionable research?”
Ben could almost hear Julie shaking her head. “Didn’t say.”
“They never do. Must be legit — no one ever shows their cards on the first hand.”
“It would make them a poor poker player,” Julie said.
“Anyway, what’s the plan? Is there a meeting set up?”
“Mrs. E is working on it; I’ll have more for you when you get back.”
Mrs. E was another member of the CSO, the wife of the man who had brought them all together. She and her husband had run a massive communications conglomerate and had invested heavily in satellite communications and technology earlier in the decade. Now, with Mr. E's health issues and reclusiveness preventing him from participating in the day-to-day dealings of his company, they had turned their sights on more philanthropic efforts.
"Okay, well I'm checking out, then I'll be heading home. Give me an hour."
“You got it — I’ll send Reggie a text; I think he’s somewhere in the lower forty-eight.”
“Sounds good, Jules. Thanks.”
He hung up and pushed the cart toward the counter. The young blonde-haired girl behind the counter looked to be no older than fourteen, and she gave him a wide, braces-covered toothy smile as he neared the register. He’d seen her here before. Nice girl, probably working part-time on weekends and in the summer.
“Find everything okay?” she asked.
“Not really,” Ben said. “I think you guys are out of milk and cheese.”
The grin faded and was replaced by a mix of confusion and terror. “Uh, sir… this is a sports store. We sell outdoor products.”
Ben nodded slowly, looking up at the ceiling and really trying to sell the ruse. “Ah, that must be why. Okay, thanks.”
He held back a smile as she passed the two items he was purchasing over the conveyer belt, but she did a poor job of hiding her eye roll.
2
Lars
Three Days Ago
Grindelwald, Switzerland
Lars slammed the receiver down onto its cradle. It was a satisfying experience; pressing the ‘END’ button on a cellphone lacked the impactful tactile feedback of smashing a mechanical device into another one.
He’d had the old-school phone installed here for personal reasons. His team and the contractors who’d built his office in this brand-new building didn’t know what that reason was, and he had no interest in telling them. The office was his, and he’d put it together his way.
But that way — the way he’d set up the space — wasn’t just his way. It was his grandfather’s office, or at least an exact replica of it. Down to the type of now-ancient telephone he’d purchased from an antiques collector in Prague, everything matched his recollection of his grandfather’s study from when Lars was a boy.
His grandfather’s own office had morphed over the years into a more modern, more practical suite, from which he ran his EKG empire. Baden Tennyson, the ‘Baron of Biology,’ was a man exceptionally gifted in not just the pursuit of science but also in the art of building empires. Baden Tennyson had grown his company into a worldwide powerhouse of research and development in the biological sciences, and he had formed strong alliances with multinational pharmaceutical companies that paid him and his company attractive dividends.
Lars, the 'golden boy' of the family and longtime expected successor to his grandfather's throne, had spent his formative years as an Army doctor, then transitioned into medical research. Finally, recently he had been deemed by his grandfather old enough to lead an entire division of EKG. That age — thirty-four — was far later than Lars would have wanted, but he wasn't going to argue with his grandfather. It had taken a lifetime, but Lars finally had gotten the coveted position of Director and Lead Researcher at the brand-new division of his grandfather's company.
Lars had been involved with every aspect of the growth process of the new division, from selecting a proper secluded location to hiring each of the employees and security team members. Lars was a perfectionist, and he now had the blank check and blessing from his idol to build exactly what he wanted. This division was Lars’ pride and joy, and he fully intended to make it his grandfather’s as well.
Everything about this room needed to reflect his passion for his job and his desire to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. He had no desktop computer in here — though he carried a laptop with him wherever he went — and most of the modernized equipment he needed for the more mundane aspects of his job he kept in his assistant’s office next door. He took notes on a yellow legal pad, using a replica of a 1959 fountain pen he’d once seen his grandfather use. He’d even had a doorbell-like intercom system put in, but it was rarely used.
Lars Tennyson stood and stretched. He needed a break, but now was not the time. There was work to be done, and that work was now reaching the point of no return. If they stopped the research, they couldn’t resume it later. It was all or nothing, now or never.
He strode through the office, admiring the way his shoes sunk into the soft, plush orange carpet — so unlike the shiny tiled floor throughout the rest of the building — and knocked on the door of his assistant’s office.
He didn’t wait for a response. Lars flung the door open to find his plump, round assistant, Roger Dietrich, panting and surprised, the cheap big-box store-purchased desk speaking volumes about the man sitting behind it. Efficient, practical, savvy.
“Lars — what’s up?”
“We need to move to the next phase of research. Today. Now.”
“Wait, wait,” Roger said. “It’s too early — I mean, Dr. Canavero was supposed to have a scheduled call —“
"I was just on the phone with him," Lars snapped. "He informed me that there have been delays and that he is choosing to hesitate instead of choosing to push forward."
“And you told him —“
“I told him nothing,” Lars said, recalling how he’d hung up on his head physician in mid-sentence. “But as I recall, I’m in charge of this research. I’m responsible for its success.”
“Yes, but —“
“I need you to explain to Canavero how important this test is. How crucial it is to our success. Without a successful trial this week, our research is thrown back months. Potentially years.”