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Golding walked among the tables； and every bone carried a small bar…code decal。 Some lay in little heaps on plastic or aluminum trays。 Some had been partially articulated： ribs to vertebrae； mandibles to craniums。 Here was most of a hand； here only a fingernail。 Several nearly pleted skeletons lay in a long line； head to toe。 Many of the bones had been sawed or drilled。 There were hacksaws on the wall； even a meat cleaver。
〃It took quite a search to find you；〃 said Golding。 〃The security chief for your building finally suggested this place。〃
〃Captain Enote？〃
〃An older man。 An Indian。 He said no one can keep up with you。〃
〃The Captain frets over me；〃 laughed Miranda。 〃Just like you do。 What brings you here？〃
〃I came to see you。〃
Miranda was politely flattered； then said； 〃I mean Los Alamos； you were just here a week ago。〃
〃I came to see you；〃 Golding repeated seriously。
Miranda lowered her eyes； and her pleasure made Golding feel joyful and loved； but sad； too。 This beautiful young woman meant so much to so many people。 They liked her。 It was stronger than that； more than her genius that drew them。 They believed in her。 Miranda was blind to it； that was Miranda。 She should have had lovers； and Golding was pretty sure she had never had one。 She should have had girlfriends and jogging partners and belonged to book clubs。 She should have been making group raids on the Santa Fe art scene and breaking boys' hearts and talking deep talk over long meals。 All of that。 But she was alone。 Minus her father； all Miranda had for family was a frail old lady who showed up in her life once in a blue moon。
〃Is everything okay？〃 Miranda asked。
Everything was not okay。 They would get to that； slowly。 〃What on earth are you doing over here？〃 Golding asked。 〃The Captain said this is your latest hangout。〃
〃I have an idea；〃 Miranda confided。
〃I'd love to hear it。〃
〃All right。 Just give me a minute。〃 She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear。 〃I was finishing something。〃
〃Take your time。 I won't touch anything。〃
〃Oh；〃 said Miranda； 〃the bones are safe。〃
Golding continued her stroll along the aisles。 She began to see the wounds。 Trauma was not her specialty； but the marks and breaks spoke clearly。 Some of these men had lived violent； brutal lives。 You could see where fractures had healed or calcium had fused over nicks and cuts on the bone。 More glaring were the injuries that had not healed。 Golding looked around the large room。 These men from Golgotha had died horribly。
She knew about the bones。 Everyone did。 Visitors had pared the remains to the aftermath of a great battle。 But as Golding walked about； few of the injuries correlated with ancient battle。 The skulls had not been caved in。 Neck vertebrae didn't display the slice marks of cut throats nor the chop of beheading。 Collarbones were not cleaved by swords or axes。 She had read that preindustrial warriors monly displayed more damage to their left； or defensive side； yet the wounds to either arm were random and few。
The unhealed bone injuries were almost exclusively lower extremity。 Heel bones had been pierced by spikes。 Long leg bones had been hacked； snapped； and bent。 A curious wound； one scholars hadn't thought of before this discovery； was an incision across the front of the knee。 Sever the patellar tendon and you got the same result as breaking a man's thighbone； and with a lot less effort。 How terrible； thought Golding。 Death on Roman and Jewish crosses resulted from asphyxiation。 No matter their agony； these men had struggled hour after hour to push themselves upwards to breathe。 Surely some of them had tried to hang down and escape into death。 But their bodies had taken over。 Life could be such a stubborn vegetable。
Miranda closed a drawer and came over。 〃There are something like nine thousand bone fragments here。 I'm still getting to know who's who。〃
〃You're putting them all together？〃
Miranda leaned over and straightened a few finger bones。 〃People wander in now and then。 It's like a big munity jigsaw puzzle for them。 They fill in what they can。 Then someone else es and fills in a little more。〃
They reached a set of metal shelves。 It was a small museum of execution tools： a rusted hammer head； bent nails； plaques of 〃keeper〃 wood driven over the foot or hand to keep the flesh and muscle from tearing free。
〃These always get me；〃 Miranda said。 She picked up a small terracotta ampoule from a collection of thirty or forty。 〃Tear vials。 Their women left them by the crosses。〃 She laid it back on the shelf。 〃I've tried scraping for a sample。〃
〃A sample？〃
〃You know； genetic。 Female。 All I get is salt。〃 Miranda murmured； 〃sorrow。〃
〃What is it you're looking for？〃
〃Same thing as everybody else。 Patient Zero。〃
Golding didn't have to ask which Patient Zero。 No one even paid attention to the lesser contagions anymore。 Doomsayers were predicting Corfu might be bigger thanYersinia pestis。 Little did they know。 At thirty…five percent mortality； the Black Death was a case of the sniffles pared to whatever this bug was。
〃Since when did you join epidemics？〃
〃Epidemics kind of joined me；〃 Miranda answered。 〃Some of the other divisions came and asked if I could help with different aspects。〃
〃I don't see the connection。〃 Alpha Lab specialized in genome studies and cloning； not virus hunting。 〃You think the virus is still alive in the bones？〃
〃Not anymore。 We know it's not。 Not in these bones。 Molecular Pathology descended on them like termites； putting holes in everything； chopping specimens into splinters。 They gave up looking a month ago and threw everything in storage here。〃
That's what Miranda had meant bythe bones are safe。
〃They're still trying to get their hands on other genetic material from the period；〃 said Miranda。 〃But it won't be ing from Jerusalem。 Not after what happened to those Navy kids。〃
Kids。She sounded a hundred years old。 Maybe a handful of the sailors had been her age。 The rest had been veteran soldiers and scientists； men and women twice her age and older。 Golding had lost some good friends to the operation。
Three months ago； the Navy had sent a carrier group back into the Mediterranean。 The ships carried a rare alliance of specialists from the Centers for Disease Control； the National Institutes of Health； and the US Army's Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases。 The mission was televised； Gulf War…style； 24/7。 It was supposed to have been a slam dunk for American know…how； a quick end to The End； as some tabloids had dubbed Corfu。
People everywhere had watched the operation unfold。 The broadcasts were full of subtle drama and endless sidebars on disease control； treatments in progress； and barrier nursing procedures。 On deck； the crews manned their stations in cotton masks； paper booties； and latex gloves。 Vessels deployed throughout the hot zone with specific targets。 They approached the port cities of Greece； Israel； Lebanon； and Egypt as if World War III were about to erupt。 But the cradles of civilization were desolate。
With the warships floating off shore； teams of virologists； veterinarians； entomologists； physicians； and zoologists had been airlifted t