Old Bones by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child (Nora Kelly #1)
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 917 Kb
Old Bones : #1 bestselling authors Preston & Child bring the true story of the ill-fated Donner Party to new life in a thrilling blend of archaeology, history, murder, and suspense.
Nora Kelly, a young curator at the Santa Fe Institute of Archaeology, is approached by historian Clive Benton with a once-in-a-lifetime proposal: to lead a team in search of the so-called “Lost Camp” of the tragic Donner Party. This was a group of pioneers who earned a terrible place in American history when they became snow-bound in the California mountains in 1847, their fate unknown until the first skeletonized survivors stumbled out of the wilderness, raving about starvation, murder-and cannibalism.
Benton tells Kelly he has stumbled upon an amazing find: the long-sought diary of one of the victims, which has an enigmatic description of the Lost Camp. Nora agrees to lead an expedition to locate and excavate it-to reveal its long-buried secrets.
Once in the mountains, however, they learn that discovering the camp is only the first step in a mounting journey of fear. For as they uncover old bones, they expose the real truth of what happened, one that is far more shocking and bizarre than mere cannibalism. And when those ancient horrors lead to present-day violence on a grand scale, rookie FBI agent Corrie Swanson is assigned the case…only to find that her first investigation might very well be her last.
“Yeah, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing you usually see.”
They stopped talking and gazed out over the river while a couple strolled by arm in arm, paying them no attention. Then the man in the suit spoke again.
“But it was deserted. Right?”
“Yes. I got lucky with the actual site—right up against the Rue Froidevaux wall. Any farther in, and I would have been visible from the apartment building across the street.”
“Was it hard work?”
“Not really, except for having to keep quiet the whole time. And yesterday’s goddamned rain. Look!” He pointed to his running shoes, which were even more soiled than the backpack.
“Thanks a lot.”
The man in the suit glanced up and down the walkway. Nobody but the two lovebirds, now dwindling into the distance. “Let’s have a look.”
The other grabbed his backpack and unzipped it, revealing additional mud and something covered in layers of plastic tarp, bubble wrap, and soft chamois cloth. A nasty smell arose. The suited man took out a penlight and carefully examined what lay within. Then he gave a grunt of approval.
“Well done,” he said. “How long did it take you to bike over here?”
“About ten minutes, using back streets.”
“Well, we’d better not hang around longer than necessary.” The man leaned over and unsnapped the leather bag between his knees. The top sagged open, and something inside gleamed briefly in the indirect light.
“What’s that?” the biker asked, peering. “I don’t take plastic or precious metals.”
“Nothing. Your money’s here.” He patted the breast of his suit jacket.”