I found McMahon at his temporary headquarters in the Bryson City Fire Department. As with the incident morgue, the function of the FBI office had changed. McMahon and his colleagues had shifted their focus from crash to crime scene investigation, their paradigm from terrorism to homicide.

Space formerly occupied by the NTSB was now empty, and several cubicles had been merged to create what looked like a task force squad room. Bulletin boards that had once featured the names of terrorist groups and militant radicals now held those of eight murder victims. In one cluster, the positive IDs: Edna Farrell. Albert Odell. Jeremiah Mitchell. George Adair. In another, the unknown and those still in question: John Doe. Tucker Adams. Charlie Wayne Tramper. Mary Francis Rafferty.

Though every name was accompanied by a date of disappearance, the amount and type of information varied considerably from board to board.

On the opposite end of the room, more boards displayed photos of the Arthur house. I recognized the attic cots, the dining room table, the great room fireplace. I was examining shots of the basement murals when McMahon joined me.

"Cheerful stuff."

"Sheriff Crowe thought that was a copy of a Goya."

"She's right. It's Saturn Devouring His Children. Saturn Devouring His Children."

He tapped a photo of the raft scene.

"This one's by Theodore Gericault. Know him?"

I shook my head.

"It's called The Raft of Medusa. The Raft of Medusa."

"What's the story?"

"We're checking."

"Who's the bear?"

"Same answer. We ran the name but came up with zip. Can't be that many Baxbakualanuxsiwaes out there."

He removed a thumbtack with his nail and handed me a list.

"Familiar with anyone on the playbill?"

"The names from the tunnel walls?"

"Yeah. Special Agent Rayner's working them."

Three folding tables lined the back of the room. One held a computer, the others cardboard boxes, each marked with date and provenance: Kitchen drawer L3. Living room, north wall bookcase. Kitchen drawer L3. Living room, north wall bookcase.Other boxes were stacked on the floor.

A young man in shirtsleeves and tie worked at the computer. I'd seen him at the Arthur house, but we hadn't met. McMahon gestured from the agent to me.

"Roger Rayner, Tempe Brennan."

Rayner looked up and smiled, then went back to his monitor.

"We've nailed a few of the more obvious players. The Greek and Roman gods, for example."

I noted comments following some names. Cronus. Dionysus. The Daughters of Mineus. The Daughters of Pelias. Polyphemus.

"And the pope and the Aztec emperor popped right up. But who the hell is Dasakumaracarita? Or Abd al-Latif? Or Hamatsa?" He pronounced the names syllable by syllable. "At least I can say 'Sawney Beane' or 'John Gregg.'"

He ran a hand through his hair and it did its rooster thing.

"I figured an anthropologist might recognize some obscure goddess or something."

I was staring at one name, my nerve cells tingling. Hamatsa.

Moctezuma. The Aztecs.

Saturn devouring his children.

"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?" My voice sounded high and shaky.

McMahon gave me an odd look, then led me into an adjacent cubicle.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts.

"What I'm about to say is going to sound ludicrous, but I'd like you to hear me out."

He leaned back and laced his fingers across his paunch.

"Among the Kwakiutl of the Pacific Northwest, the Hamatsa were a society of tribal elite. Young men who hoped to become Hamatsa went through a lengthy period of isolation."

"Like fraternity pledges."

"Yes. During their time in the forest the initiates would periodically appear on the outskirts of the village, demented and screaming, charge in, bite flesh from the arms and chests of those unfortunate enough to be present, then disappear back into the woods."

McMahon's eyes were on his hands.

"Shortly before the end of his exile, each initiate was brought a mummy that had been soaked in salt water, cleaned, and split open. The initiate was expected to smoke-cure the corpse for the final ritual."

I swallowed.

"During that ritual the aspirant and senior members of the brotherhood devoured portions of the corpse."

McMahon did not look at me.

"Are you familiar with the Aztecs?"

"Yes."

"They appeased their gods through the ritual eating of human beings."

"Cannibalism?"

McMahon's eyes finally met mine.

"On a grand scale. When Cortes and his men entered Moctezuma's capital, Tenochtitlan, they found mounds of human skulls in the city square, others impaled on spikes. Their estimate was over one hundred thousand."

Silence. Then, "Saturn ate his children."

"Polyphemus captured Ulysses and dined on his crew."

"Why the pope?"

"I'm not sure."

McMahon disappeared, returned in a moment.

"Rayner's looking him up."

He looked at a note, scratched a clump of hair.

"Rayner found the Gericault painting. It's based on the 1816 wreck of a French frigate, La Meduse. La Meduse. According to the story, survivors ate the dead while stranded at sea." According to the story, survivors ate the dead while stranded at sea."

I was about to show McMahon my own findings when Rayner appeared in the doorway. We listened as he read from scribbled notes.

"I don't think you want the old boy's entire resume, so I'll give you the highlights. Pope Innocent III is best known for organizing the Fourth Lateran Council in twelve fifteen A.D. A.D. Anyone who was anyone in Christendom was told to get his butt to this meeting." Anyone who was anyone in Christendom was told to get his butt to this meeting."

He looked up.

"I'm paraphrasing. With all the honchos convened, Innocent decreed that henceforth the words hoc est corpus meum hoc est corpus meum were to be taken literally, and the faithful were required to believe in transubstantiation. That's the idea that, at Mass, the bread and wine are changed into the body and blood of Christ." were to be taken literally, and the faithful were required to believe in transubstantiation. That's the idea that, at Mass, the bread and wine are changed into the body and blood of Christ."

He looked up again to see if we were with him.

"Innocent decreed that the act isn't symbolic, it's real. Apparently this question had been debated for about a thousand years, so Innocent decided to settle the issue. From then on, if you doubted transubstantiation, you were guilty of heresy."

"Thanks, Roger."

"No problem." He withdrew.

"So what's the link?" McMahon asked.

"Innocent defined the most sacred ceremonial act of Christianity as true God-eating. It's what anthropologists call ritual anthropophagy."

A childhood memory. A nun in traditional habit, crucifix on her breast, chalk on her hands.

"Do you know the origin of the word host host?"

McMahon shook his head.

"Hostia. It means 'sacrificial victim' in Latin."

"You think we're dealing with some fringe group that gets high on cannibalism?"

I took a steadying breath.

"I think it's much worse than that."

"Worse than what?"

We both turned. Ryan stood in the spot recently occupied by Rayner. McMahon gestured at a chair.

"Worse than drooling over myths and allegorical paintings. I'm glad you're here, Ryan. You can verify what I'm about to describe."

I pulled Jim's photos from my briefcase and handed the first to McMahon.

"That is the reconstructed leg bone of a red deer. The gashes were made with a sharp instrument, probably a stone knife. Notice how they cluster around the tendon and ligament attachment points, and at the joints."

McMahon passed the photo to Ryan, and I handed him several more.

"Those are also animal bones. Notice the similar distribution of cut marks and striations."

Next picture.

"Those are fragments of human bone. They were recovered from the same cave in southeastern France where the animal bones were found."

"Looks like the same pattern."

"It is."

"Meaning?"

"Butchery. The bones were stripped of flesh and cut or twisted apart at the joints."

"How old is this stuff?"

"One hundred thousand to one hundred and twenty thousand years. The site was occupied by Neanderthals."

"Is this relevant?"

I gave him several more prints.

"Those are also human bones. They were recovered at a site near Mesa Verde, in southwestern Colorado."

"Anasazi?" Ryan asked, reaching for a photo.

"Yes."

"Who are the Anasazi?" McMahon.

"Ancestors of groups like the Hopi and Zuni. This site was occupied by a small group around 1130 to 1150 A.D., A.D., during a period of extreme drought. A colleague from Chapel Hill did the digging. These are his photos. At least thirty-five adults and kids were butchered. Notice that the pattern is identical." during a period of extreme drought. A colleague from Chapel Hill did the digging. These are his photos. At least thirty-five adults and kids were butchered. Notice that the pattern is identical."

I fed them another photo.

"Those are stone tools found in association with the human bones. Tests confirmed the presence of human blood."