The Reburialists - J. C. Nelson Page 0,19

recounted the story, and how Brynner charged in. How I felt like I had to do something. “He was part of my field team.”

She nodded, then punched numbers on her desk phone. “Put me through to room 223. This is Margret Bismuth. You’ll find me listed under ‘Family.’”

The phone clicked, and after a moment, Brynner answered. “Carson speaking.”

Director Bismuth’s eyes bulged from her head, and she snarled at the phone. “How could you do that? What were you thinking? You were supposed to be on a plane to New Mexico. You foolishly led an analyst into a situation with multiple co-orgs.”

“Good to hear from you, too, Aunt Maggie.” Brynner coughed. “Did Grace tell you she almost shot me? I’m fine, in case you are wondering.”

She glowered at the phone like her gaze could melt it. “You are not. Medical didn’t clear you to take active assignments. I didn’t clear you for this operation. And you should know that I have Grace Roberts in my office right now.”

I think the noise from the other end was the sound of Brynner choking.

“You are the closest thing I have to family, Brynner Carson, but you will never be your father. Heinrich Carson put other people’s safety first.”

She spun in her chair, her back to me. “You will escort Ms. Roberts to your aunt and uncle’s home and ensure she obtains access to your father’s journals. Your only assignment will be to rest and heal. I’ve read our psychiatrist’s report. He wrote enough about you to cover an entire field team.”

Only silence answered.

“Your priority is to determine the location of this heart. It is your only priority. If I find that you have led Ms. Roberts into contact with another co-org, I will terminate your association with the BSI. I love you like a son, Brynner, but I can’t allow you to endanger others. Now, get ready. You’ll leave on the three o’clock flight.”

She didn’t wait for his answer.

The afternoon sun sparkled on distant ferries moving in and out of the port, and the office building murmured with noonday work. I was lost in my own head, rewinding the conversation to play it over in my head again and again.

“You’re his aunt?”

When the director turned back to me, the edges of her lips curled up ever so slightly. “Not in the strictest sense, but some family you don’t get to choose. Lara and Heinrich were my best friends. I meant what I said when I dispatched you. You are to translate Heinrich’s journals, file the reports, and come home.”

“Brynner didn’t ask me to go into the restaurant.”

“No, but I ordered him to catch a flight, and he ignored me. He should have known you would follow him. Field teams do in fact stick together.”

I nodded. “Next time I’ll leave the co-orgs to him.”

“I meant what I said to you about this being a safe, quiet assignment. There isn’t to be a next time. If Brynner does attempt to drag you into another encounter, you are to call me immediately.”

She walked around the desk, pressing a business card into my hand. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I rose, sensing a dismissal.

BRYNNER

Hospitals were like a second home to me. By eighteen, I’d spent so much time in them it just seemed natural to visit now and then. The doctors had sewn my wounds back together and wrapped my chest in tape, but the pain stayed with me.

I didn’t take pain meds.

I couldn’t.

My dad’s words came back to me every time I looked at pills.

“Drugs will make you vulnerable. Vulnerable will make you dead.” Better to embrace the pain and live than let a meat-skin slaughter me while I languished in a drug-induced stupor.

And they had tried to get Dad. Tried every which way they could. Crawling out of the tanks at gas stations. Jumping off overpasses when Dad drove by. Anything to get at the man who hounded and haunted them throughout the world.

They didn’t hate me the same way. I’d sent more meat-skins back to the grave than I could count. Only had one call me by name. No. My Dad’s name. What I needed was a vacation. To find a sunny spot in the Middle East where I could float out on a raft, a few feet from shore, and rest.

Sleep. Forget.

Instead, Director Bismuth treated me like some errand boy. “Go fetch your father’s notes, Brynn. And take Grace Roberts with you. Don’t go doing the only thing you’ve ever done, because she

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