Page 47 of Identity Unknown
White-painted cabinets with glass doors offer the same supplies ordered for my district offices. Parked next to the autopsy table is a portable C-arm x-ray machine, and I roll it closer, turning it on. The display runs through the start-up routine as the landlined black phone begins to ring from the countertop. I stop what I’m doing to answer it.
“Hello.” Pressing the button for speakerphone as Lucy instructed, I look up at her through the observation window as we begin talking to each other.
“How do you read me?” Her voice sounds in the headset under my hood.
“Loud and clear,” I reply.
“We’re hermetically sealed between an airlock and thick glass up here,” Lucy says. “This is the only way to hear each other. Marino, hello, hello?” She then says when he remains silent, “You there?”
“Yep,” he answers gruffly.
Lucy moves out of the way, and Benton leans closer to the phone upstairs.
“We very much appreciate Doctor Scarpetta and Pete Marino taking time to be here,” he begins, as if we had a choice. “We apologize for the inconvenience of being airlifted to an undisclosed location with little notice.”
“You mean flying in tornadoes and lightning with a freakin’ dead body on board that might be contaminated? You referring to Lucy almost killing us?” Marino feels compelled to vent his frustrations while she stares down at him.
“We were fine,” she says. “But it was a bit like a mechanical bull.”
“I’m not getting back on it any time soon. Hopefully never,” he promises.
“I know you appreciate the importance of what we’re doing and the need for discretion,” Benton goes on. “By now, it’s apparent that Area One isn’t a topic of discussion. I’ll remind you of a few guidelines you’ve heard before. I’m saying this mostly for your benefit, Pete, since you don’t have a security clearance.”
“And I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t feel like spendingmy life buried under a shit-pile of secrets.” Marino glares up through his face shield.
“You know how things have to be done,” Benton says with nothing in his tone.
“Yeah, I know the drill,” Marino says rudely, and I’m reminded of our conversations inside the helicopter.
At least he no longer hates my husband, who’s not going to give him emotional traction. No one better at playing the indifferent card than Benton. There’s much he won’t forgive or forget when it comes to Marino, and the feeling is mutual. At best, they tolerate each other, occasionally suffering flare-ups when Marino is heavy into the bourbon.
“The minute you pulled up to this facility you were granted an OTRI.” Benton is going to brief him, doesn’t matter if Marino doesn’t want to hear it. “A one-time read-in, a temporary top-secret clearance.”
“Otherwise, you couldn’t be here,” Bella Steele reminds him.
“I’m not the one who invited me,” Marino answers.
“What goes on here can’t be shared with anyone unauthorized, including family. One’s spouse, for example. Regardless of how badly the person wants to know.” It’s General Jake Gunner saying this, and no question he’s referring to my sister.
As I suspected, when Marino and I were talking in the locker room, we were monitored. He complained about how unhappy Dorothy will be if he doesn’t tell her the details of what we’ve been doing today. The commander of Space Force and possibly everyone else in the observation area was listening.
“You can’t mention anything you observed or learned while here. Once you leave, it never happened,” Bella says.
“Better hope I don’t have to take a polygraph, because I won’t pass it.” Marino shakes open a black plastic bag, lining a bucket with it.
“If you play by the rules, there’s no reason for a polygraph.” The NSA’s comment sounds like a warning.
CHAPTER 18
Doctor Scarpetta, before you get started we need to ask you a few questions,” the CIA’s Gus Gutenberg says, and I feel an interrogation coming. “It will take just a few minutes, and I apologize in advance for coming across as personally invasive. It goes without saying that all of us here have the utmost respect for you. But we understand you once had a significant relationship with Sal Giordano. That has to be discussed.”
“I did long ago.” I tell him the year Sal and I met, giving a quick summary of what was going on with me then.
“You lived together in Rome for two months. In the Giordano family apartment,” Gus continues.
“Yes.”
“And when it was time for you to return to the U.S., Sal didn’t want you to leave. That’s what he told you.” Gus has gotten up from his chair, moving closer to the observation window, looking down at me. “He wanted you to stay in Rome with him during his yearlong sabbatical, and talked to you about eventually getting married. Is this accurate?”